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heartofroses112 · 3 months ago

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Our Own Choices First Draft — Fox and Bly confronting Cody

Bly and Fox shared one last, long look before Bly activated the panel. The doors slid open on near silent tracks. There, across the room, standing by the thick transparisteel window and gazing out into the ever-changing space outside of their ship, stood the Commander. Cody. His helmet was off, nowhere to be seen in the large room.

The way he held himself, arms clasped behind his back and stance strong, was so obviously Cody. Bly didn’t know how he had never seen it before. Well, he had seen it. He’d just thought it impossible. Fox had found reports, had heard it directly from the slimeball Emperor himself of Cody’s death. But here he was, standing before them, fighting alongside them and their brothers for fourteen long years without so much as a hint to his identity.

Bly and Fox made their way across the room, footsteps muffled but just loud enough as to give their movement away. Bly rubbed his arms, wishing for the warmth of his armor. Space was cold. But the plastoid was constricting. It wouldn’t allow him to drag Cody into the bone-crushing hug he had been yearning for since the dramatic asshole had whipped off his helmet and insulted Palpatine in so many colorful ways that he must have spent years coming up with them.

Bly stepped up to Cody’s left side, staring out into space along with him. Fox stopped on Cody’s right, and for several long moments, the three of them stood in silence.

Finally, Bly could not take anymore. “Why?” he said.

“There’re a dozen answers to that question. All depends on what you’re asking.”

Bly choked on a laugh. He’d forgotten how snarky Cody chose to be when it was just their batch. And Rex, but, well, he was practically a part of their batch at this point. He had been, at least. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“Then you know my answer.”

“Cody.” Fox cut in, sharp and straight to the point. Out of the corner of his eye, Bly watched the full-body shudder that wracked through Cody. Bly ignored the tight pang in his chest at the hidden motion. “We thought you were dead.”

“And so did I.”

Bly frowned. “We’ve been here for the past two years at least. That’s plenty of time when you could’ve told us. Hell, what about your own men from the 212th? They’ve been here since the beginning, and they’ve been mourning their commander this whole time.”

“Until I arrived on that planet and saw your faces, I was convinced you were both dead.” Cody still hadn’t looked at them. “After the Order went out… I looked for you. But Rex was killed when they turned on Tano. Wolffe was confirmed MIA almost immediately. Fox, you, you were always at the Chancellor’s side, I couldn’t risk that you would ever join me.”

His voice was flat and without any inflection. “So that left you, Bly. But a week later, all I found were reports that you ate your blaster.”

Fox sucked in a breath.

“And I thought about… I thought that maybe… I wondered if you made the only right choice left.” His whispered words should have died at their ears. Instead, they ricocheted around the cold, steel room. “Bly, you were the one I wanted to see most. Because you…” Cody sighed, eyes falling shut even as his head tilted backward. “You were the only one who could understand.”

“Understand what?” Bly thought he knew. There was really only one thing Cody could have meant by that. But how could Bly have never known before now?

Cody’s eyes opened, gaze locked on the rivets along the outer wall. “You loved your general. And I lov—” He cut himself off, tearing his eyes away to instead stare at the ground. “I love—” He tried again.

“Oh, Cody.” Bly’s heart was in his throat, breaking into pieces for the pain that was still so clearly etched across his brother’s face. There was a reason Cody wore his helmet more than the rest of them; he’d never been able to hide his true feelings when he was just so damn expressive. It’s how Wolffe had known if he had pushed Cody too far when they were still just cadets. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Rex told me to wait,” he said simply. “He thought it would be funny if you all saw me and… If you guessed. It wasn’t hard, apparently.” He loosed a breath from between his teeth. “Course, then the Order went out.”

“Cody, I’m so sorry.” Again, Cody shuddered at the sound of his name. Bly longed to drag his brother into his arms. But Cody wasn’t ready for that yet, not after so many years with no more contact than the mission required.

“It can’t be changed.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Fox murmured, stepping slightly closer to Cody. “And you’ve kept this inside for so long.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Bly asked, suddenly so full of rage at the self-imposed exile his brother placed himself in. “We’ve been here for years now, Cody. And it’s not just us. What about everyone from the 212th? They’ve been mourning their commander, their brother for so long and you’ve just been here the whole kriffing time?”

“I will not expect you to understand my actions.”

“Damnit, Codes, we want to talk to you, not the karking Commander! We’ve been around him enough.” Fox glowered at the side of Cody’s head. But Cody still didn’t look at either of them.

“He’s all that’s left.” Cody’s voice was devoid of emotion. He returned to looking out the viewport, the light of distant stars reflecting on his face. “Cody died the day he shot down his General and felt no remorse.”

“It was the chips,” Fox tried.

“I was still the one to follow the Order. And then my brothers were dying around me, and my batchmates were gone, and there was no one left to understand how I felt, and there was so much riding on my fucking shoulders. So, you do not get to come in here and lecture me. There is nothing else I have wanted more than to look at my brothers without a karking helmet between us, to actually be with them and not just be the karking Commander!”

Cody’s chest heaved, his fists clenched tight against his thighs. Fox and Bly exchanged a look, the same expression of worry and hurt flashing between them. Cody turned and paced several steps away from them. “You have no idea,” he started, voice low and tightly controlled, “how hard it has been this past decade, to see you, my closest brothers, and not be able to lessen your grief, to not hold you close and feel safe.”

“No one is making you do this.” Bly felt as if he were pleading, begging a brother to step back, step off the ledge.

Cody sighed, eyes still squeezed shut. “I know. But… I don’t deserve… I can’t… How can I be happy, Bly, when I killed him? I love, I loved, I loved him, and he loved me too. How can I ever forgive myself when the last thought he probably ever had was of how the men he trusted with his life were now the ones taking it?”

Bly stared at his brother. He had so much pent-up… self-hatred. Disgust with himself. Loathing of his actions that had not been his own actions at all. There was a distinct prickling at the back of Bly’s eyes as he watched Cody desperately try to hold the pieces of himself together.

“Cody.” Fox took a step toward Cody.

Cody’s shoulders shook. “Stop,” he bit out.

“Cody,” Fox said again.

Cody turned his head away, eyes still shut. His scar, the scar that was oh so distinctive, the scar that marked him as Cody, the scar Bly had searched for in vain on every brother he met, caught the faint light from above. “Stop it.”

“Let yourself be you again, Cody,” Bly said, closing the distance between them. The pair of them were once more in reach of their lost brother. “Doing this… hiding yourself away in repentance, it’s only letting Palpatine win.”

Cody flinched, but still, he didn’t look at them.

Fox pushed on. “I didn’t know your General well. None of us did, there… there wasn’t time. But I know he fought for our individuality, our sense of self that so much of the Republic tried to wash away. You’ve always been Cody, our Cody. But you never seemed so much like yourself, so confident in who you were and what you fought for, than after you joined Kenobi.”

“He’s dead now,” Cody whispered with a tremble in his voice.

“So, carry on his legacy.” Bly searched his brother’s face, familiar lines that meant upset and anger and stress, tightness in his jaw that meant stubbornness and fear. “Cody, won’t you look at us?”

“The helmet’s gone, Cody,” Fox murmured. “Let us see you. Look at us, please.”

Perhaps it was the ‘please.’ Fox never said it before, not unless the world was ending, or a brother was dying. Slowly, so slowly, Cody turned his head, entire body still trembling. His eyes slid open, and then it seemed as if he couldn’t get enough, gaze flickering between Bly and Fox and never staying still for more than a moment.

“Won’t it be so much more powerful,” Fox said, “when Palpatine is brought down by Cody and Fox and Bly, not just the Commander and his nameless clones?”

“Kenobi and… and Aayla.” Bly stopped, suddenly unable to speak beyond the burning in his throat. He dragged in a breath and continued. “They loved us, Cody. They loved us for who we are. Don’t erase that. Live as Cody, and do it for him. Do it for us, for all the brothers you have rescued. Please, we… we need you. We need Cody far more than we have ever needed the Commander.”

Cody heaved a broken sob, teeth tight against the sound in an attempt to keep it inside. He looked at the wall again, hands clenched around the edges of his armor. Bly fell silent, just watching his brother. If Cody was to come back to them… it would have to be on his own terms. Cajoling and pushing had never worked to make Cody see sense. He always was too stubborn for his own good.

“The Commander is all I know anymore.”

Bly’s heart threatened to break in two. His vision grew blurry. He blinked, hard.

Fox looked similarly affected. But he swallowed. Then he raised his chin and stared Cody down. “If that’s true, if… if you don’t know how to be Cody anymore, then why did you reveal yourself to Palpatine? Why now, after so many years of hiding your face?”

Cody looked at Fox, brow furrowed. “He was threatening you,” Cody said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Fox froze in place. “He scares the shit out of you, Fox, and nothing does that. No one is allowed to do that.” Cody shrugged, eyes still dancing over Fox’s face. “I thought I’d give him a new target to hate.”

Fox still wasn’t moving. Cody sighed and looked away, fingers still digging into his armor. “I… I should go. There’s a lot to do, now that I’ve karked everything up and—”

“Cody,” Fox breathed. “Oh, Cody, Cody, Cody.” He reached out, hands shaking as he brushed the side of Cody’s plastoid-covered arms. Cody stiffened but did not move as Fox dragged him in, crushing him against his chest. Fox was still repeating Cody’s name, burying his face against Cody’s hair, hands tight around his back.

Cody gasped, eyes wide and body trembling like a leaf in a storm. He crumbled into Fox’s hold, pressing his face against Fox’s neck as they clung to each other. “Cody, Cody, my Cody,” Fox continued to whisper like a prayer.

Bly surged forward, sweeping both his brothers into his arms. Bly and Fox squeezed Cody between them, hard plastoid hampering them only slightly. Bly’s forehead rest against the back of Cody’s neck, and his skin felt hot and feverish, a sign of the long, long years without a touch of comfort and love.

Bly couldn’t hold back the tears that trickled down his cheeks, melting down Cody’s neck and into the blacks under his armor. Cody continued to tremble, hands clutching desperately at Fox even as he pressed back into Bly.

“We’re here, Cody. We’re here, we’re here,” Bly murmured. “We have you. Let go, Cody, we have you.”

And so, Cody let go, the grief and anger and hatred that had been building up for over a decade with no outlet finally pouring from him in devastating waves. Cody did not cry, of that Bly was sure. But he trembled and shook and shattered beneath their hands, dry sobs and broken apologies, apologies that Bly meant to return but just could not find the words.

Bly had failed Cody for years, had failed him the day Bly had faked his death and ran from the Empire. But he would not fail him any longer. Cody would never feel alone again, would never feel the same lack of choice and want. Bly would make sure of it. Fox would as well, and the remainder of the 212th, and the 501st, and every brother in between.

For the first time in many, many years, Bly thought of the Jedi, of his Jedi, with only solid resolve. I promise, Aayla. And General Kenobi, if you can hear me. I won’t let him down. I’ll keep him safe. And we’ll avenge you. Palpatine will suffer for all he’s done, to you and to Cody and to everyone else. But for now, Bly kept his batchmates close and held them as if nothing else in the galaxy mattered. Nothing else ever would.

pt 1 | pt 2

#our own choices #our own choices first drafts #our own choices deleted scenes #just a little fun thing #it's wild reading these drafts i wrote maybe a two months into starting OOC #seeing how much i've changed as a writer #and also how much the plot and my ideas changed from its conception #writing #star wars #clones #star wars the clone wars #commander cody #commander bly #commander fox #codywan #blyla

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 month ago

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Commiserating

Anselm Vogelweide x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Visiting his usual healthcare facility for some check-ups, Anselm meets a poor unfortunate soul in need of comfort; and strangely enough, the eccentric man is more than willing to oblige.

TW/CW: Allusions to some sexy times, health issues, financial strain, cancer, child wellness, mentions of bullying, fluff

A/N: Different POV than usual. I don't know why, I should be in bed. This idea came to me because i feel like Anselm probably loves kids despite being the homicidal eccentric business man that he is. And granted this isn't focused on the reader, but I just had to spit this out also this is sort of personal venting because i hate our healthcare system and predatory doctors and insurance companies

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

Honestly, if this were any other healthcare facility, he would not even dare come to the "cafeteria" as many in America would put it.

It was a café, and it was probably the best high-end eatery in any facility in this ass-backwards country he'd partake in. The food was less likely to have plastic and unhealthy things in it. Expensive, surely, but money was never a problem with him.

That, and he adored their pastries. He had a rather large sweet tooth.

He had just finished his exams and was awaiting the results. His beautiful love was handling some business calls on her end, walking around the balcony outside the floor-length windows.

She was the embodiment of a mountain goddess--her hair so soft in the light morning mist, the background of the mountains and the sleepy town in the valley below.

The sun was not hanging in the sky, today; but she was walking on the balcony of this place, lighting up his eyes behind his yellowed lenses.

His eyes trailed up and down her form, imagining the things he would do to her as thanks for "picking up the slack" as she'd told him. Her business outfit was sleek, custom-tailored to hold her form. She looked like a force of nature itself when she was serious about "helping" him with his ventures.

However, a cloud came and darkened his sun's glow, as a frown creased her brow. He knew she could not see him admiring her through the tinted windows, but felt he was watching as she gave her reflection a reassuring smile before returning to speaking, her jaw tensed as she began to pace once more.

The café was silent, save for the sounds of the occasional customer coming in to order, and the clatter of a busy kitchen.

Well... and the soft sniffles echoing off the ornate stone and marble walls. Honestly, the interior decorator knew what they were doing. The marble was carved in mind-numbingly intricate designs in some panels, a small waterfall near the back wall with a wishing fountain.

And, standing in front of the wishing fountain...

Was a tiny body, standing over it. The child wore a dress that went down to the ankles, fuzzy (and rather unsightly) boots went up to the calves. A soft, plush jacket was worn over it all, and to top it off, a beanie in the matching color with a brightly colored poof on top.

He tilted his head, leaning forward in his seat.

He could see movement from behind, and heard the tell-tale "plunk!" of a coin being dropped into the water, interrupting the repetitive sounds of daily life.

When the child's sniffles erupted into bubbling sobs, Anselm felt his heart twinge in his chest. While yes, he would not hesitate to shoot a man he disliked, he disliked seeing upset children even more.

Granted, some of the children were spoiled and annoying brats, but he hated it with every fibre of his being when a child was genuinely upset. And this child most definitely was.

And they were currently alone in the café, with him.

He hoisted himself to his feet, leaning on his cane as he took hobbling steps, his brace squeaking with effort as he made his way over.

And oh, when he saw the poor girl's face, his heart dropped.

Sunken eyes, pallid and sickly skin greeted him, along with eyes that were puffy and red and sorely lacking in sleep.

She must be a patient, here.

She looked up at him, her hairless brows quirking up in uneasiness at the strange man who approached.

He gestured to the large flat edges of the fountain, "May I?"

The little girl nodded, sniffling again and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"Thank you." Anselm smiled, his beard quirking up as he sat down,, a short huff coming from him as he readjusted his leg. He noticed her eyes drag up the brace, before darting away again.

"May I ask your name, Kleine?" He mused softly.

"Bethany." She peeped, her little voice cracked and shaky. Her tiny, skeletal hands wrung at her sleeves.

"Well Bethany, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He nodded politely, "My name is Anselm. Can I ask what has you so... ah, what is it? Down in the dumps?"

Her little lip wobbled, her fingers reaching up to tug nervously at the collar of her jacket, revealing the plastic bracelet identifying her as a patient--as well as the bandaged IV sites in the back of one of her palms.

He could see hot tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over the dams of her lashless eyes and down her cheeks.

"I'm sick..." She whimpered.

Anselm nodded slowly, and held his hands out to her, "Let me help you up. Sometimes it helps to cheer one up to discuss these things, hm?"

Bethany relented, turning herself and letting Anselm hoist her up on the fountain next to him with a soft grunt of effort.

Her little feet didn't even touch the floor, the poor thing. So tiny and obviously fighting a battle that many adults would struggle.

Anselm rubbed gently on her back, letting her work through her little spasming hiccups and little coughs; he handed her his handkerchief to wipe her face instead of using her sleeve, again.

He was patient, letting her collect herself so she could continue speaking:

"And--and... the other--other kids in school are m-mean to m-me..." She sniffed.

His brow knitted tightly, his teeth grinding softly. "Mean?" He asked, "How so?"

"They.... know I'm sick..." Bethany mumbled in reply, her eyes looking at the floor in despair.

"But they still mean to me. My d-doctor, he said I was better enough to go b-back to school... I missed school. I miss my teacher. She's nice to me, she gives me extra snacks..."

"Ah, always good to work on a full stomach rather than empty," Anselm said, trying to inject a bit of levity to the topic. "I myself get rather snackish while working. My darling tends to remind me I forget to eat..."

"Really?"

"Yes," Anselm grins down at her, his hand still providing the soothing caress to her fragile form. "And complains my snacks aren't always good for me..."

"Like.... candy?" Bethany peeped.

"Yes! Yes, candy, other sweets..." He chuckled. "But, enough about me... Continue. Please."

"My teacher's name is--is Miss Henley. She's got funny hair, and likes to do puppet shows for storytime...."

Anselm listened to her ramble about her teacher, the subject calming her from the tears and depression from moments ago, before she returned to the other children.

"The other kids know I'm sick..." She repeated, "Sometimes they... my medicine made all my hair fall out. I wear my hats because I get cold, and... they..."

Anselm pulled out his backup handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his coat, and dabbed a tear that dared try to fall from her eye, his touch gentle.

"...sometimes they take em and throw em over the fence during playground time... sometimes they take em and put em in the trash, or--or fill em with nasty stuff, or put them in the toilet and... make me put them back on..."

Anselm felt a stab of white-hot rage in his gut; his head rocking back.

What horrible little cretins! Bullying an obviously very ill, struggling child who is just trying to make it through school like her peers? Who just wants to play, as all children do? What kind of shit parents raised such little twats?

His jaw set tight, Anselm frowned, "They bully you? Does your teacher not do anything?"

"Miss Henley does... it's why they don't do it 'round her no more." Bethany replied, a heavy sigh coming from her tiny body. "They do it during other stuff... PE, or--or music class..."

"Despicable." Anselm scowled, "What happens when they get in trouble?"

"They get sent home for a couple a' days... the principal makes em write me stuff and say sorry. But they just do it again... and when they come back to school sometimes they get meaner."

"I see... Schools here will preach about fighting back against such atrocities but will not lift a finger to protect you." He muttered angrily, earning a confused look from Bethany.

He waved his hand, forcing his posture to relax a bit. But it was short-lived.

"They also say it's my fault my daddy left... that he... he didn't want a nasty stick for a kid no more..."

The words "nasty" and "stick" being used to describe this sweet, suffering child--even by other children--almost set Anselm's blood to boil.

He had half a mind to track down the parents of those children and force them to take "lessons" in properly raising their children...

"Now listen to me," Anselm said, taking a deep breath through his nose, "I do not know your family situation, but your father not being in your life anymore is not. Your. Fault. You are a child, he is an adult who is obviously more a coward than that. A boy, no man."

Bethany kicked her feet as he spoke, sniffing again as she stared up at him with her big green eyes.

"Those children are likely targeting you because they see you as weak. But you aren't." He poked her gently in the chest, "Because you are strong. You are likely fighting a battle none of those little brats who torment you will ever have to face. You are fighting a battle some adults struggle with; and you are still going to school with it. So you, Bethany, are a fighter. Not a "nasty stick"."

Her little smile made his heart flutter slightly, knowing he was likely one of the few to offer such words of comfort in this dark time for her. And so, he decided to cheer her up further.

"Come, come, Kleine." Anselm adds, awkwardly shuffling to his feet, taking her hand and helping her down. He leads her to a small chair and table set, watching as one of the servers walks up to them, "Can I get you anything?"

"Is there anything you cannot have?" Anselm asked her, raising his eyebrows. "Any diet?"

"No...?" Bethany struggled.

"I will take... two slices of strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream and strawberries; and some hot chocolate." He said politely to him.

"Cake?!" Bethany gasped, her eyes getting big as she bounced in her seat.

"It'll be right out." He grins at Bethany's excitement.

"Wunderbar." Anselm grinned back.

"Wonder... what?" Bethany asked, bouncing more in her seat in anticipation for her sweets.

"Ahh... It is German, my dear. It's another language." He explains with a chuckle.

"Oh... can you speak Spamich?" She asked.

Anselm laughed a bit louder, "Spanish. Yes! A little, though I often speak in my mother tongue more often than anything else, even English, at times."

"Your mommy's tongue?" She squinted, her bouncing halting in the light of her confusion.

"It means the language I was born speaking, first, Kleine." He clarifies, "Like how you speak English first and foremost."

"Ohhh..."

They had more small talk, things like her pet budgie named Chunky, who can whistle "Walking on Sunshine" and the theme from "The Addams Family". She mentioned she liked the Addams family because of how pale she became, she looked like the daughter, Wednesday Addams. She even dressed as her for Halloween while she was in the hospital!

When the cake and drinks came out, Anselm felt almost giddy. Bethany quickly uttered a million happy "thank you's" before digging in alongside Anselm, washing each hefty bite down with a sip of hot chocolate.

Their eating skills were on par with one another, both of them winding up with whipped cream and strawberry toppings on her chins and cheeks. He was being intentionally messier than usual to give her a bit of comfort; so that she didn't feel messy. She was a little girl in pain; she deserved to be messy with some cake.

Once she finished it, she sighed happily, leaning back in her seat with a grin that made her cute little dimples even more obvious; a smile Anselm felt was infectious and her dimples endearing.

"Thank you..." Bethany replied shyly.

"Nein," Anselm says, shaking his head. "Thank you for the lovely company. You are a very--"

"Bethany!" A woman exclaimed, rushing up to the table. Her clothes were a little disheveled, her eyes haunted and exhausted as she pulled Bethany from her seat and tucked her behind her body.

"Ah, you are her mother?" Anselm said, her reaction completely understandable. He stood up and extended his hand, "Little Bethany was in quite a state of distress, so I thought a little bit of conversation and some sweets would lighten her mood. And it would seem I was correct."

He smiled, holding a napkin out to Bethany so she could wipe at her face, and he did the same. Her mother relaxed, and licked her lips anxiously, "I... I can p-pay for the cake, you--"

He shook his head, "It was my gift to her. Do not worry."

"But..."

Anselm held his hand up, "No. Your daughter deserves something sweet for her troubles. A child deserves a little cake now and then, no?"

Her body sagged, looking from her daughter to Anselm a few times. It was obvious this was the happiest she'd seen her daughter in some time, so despite seeing her daughter sitting and dining with a strange man; it seemed she was content with the outcome.

And that she clearly wasn't used to the prodigality of strangers.

"Thank you..." She said, rubbing the corners of her eyes tiredly. "I was... I was trying to talk to the doctor, and..."

Her voice broke a little, making Bethany hug her leg to try and comfort her mother, "I'm trying to get approved for a loan to pay for her next treatment."

"A loan?" His ears perked up, blinking.

"I, her... her dad..." She looked at Bethany and pointed to a booth by the window, deciding the subject was too heavy to discuss with her daughter present.

Bethany hesitantly relented, but happily skipped along when Anselm passed her the last few strawberries on a plate as an offering to convince her.

"Her dad left." She said softly.

"Yes, she mentioned the children at school say cruel things about it." Anselm said, wrinkling his nose.

"How can they be so cruel?" Her mother choked, covering her mouth as she watched Bethany blissfully eat her treat. "How can anybody look at her and think it's--it's okay to do that?"

She took a moment to compose herself, accepting the napkin Anselm offered to dab her tears.

"Her dad left. When she got sick it--it put a massive strain on our marriage and he just... he couldn't take it. I wasn't on the papers for the house so he kicked us out. The divorce is still ongoing and--and it's just... it's so expensive. He already has another woman living with him and she hates Bethany..."

Anselm frowned deeper at listening; the more he heard about Bethany's "father" the more he was tempted to find his address and visit him himself. Letting some harlot come between you and your sickly child? He was worse than scum. He was the bacteria he washed from his hands after making a business deal.

"I had to sell my car and move into an apartment to make ends meet, I can't move out of state until the divorce is finalized so we can't go to my parents." She said, a short sob coming from her. She clapped her hand over her lips to keep it down so her daughter didn't hear.

"I took out a loan, but the money's gone. Mike emptied our joint accounts and his lawyer is trying to "prove" the money wasn't ours; but his. Beth's treatments are just--even with insurance, they're so... they're so expensive. I've been trying to get in contact with Saint Jude's or--or somebody..." She choked up again, and Anselm extended his scarred hand to pat her shoulder.

"But I can't. There's no more money. My parents wanted to put their house up as collateral, or outright sell it, but... if they did that, we wouldn't have anywhere to go once the divorce is done..." She ran a hand through her hair, snagging the messy strands.

This woman was on the brink, the weight of the world on her shoulders and her heart on her sleeve as she struggled to pay for her daughter's medical bills. She suffered sleepless nights, extra shifts, transit fees to her doctors....

"What, may I ask," Anselm says gently, gesturing to the server for more hot chocolate as he guides her to sit. Their eyes drawn to Bethany as she watches birds perch and dance on the balcony outside, "...is Bethany ill with?"

"...it's some sort of cancer, I... I don't know the specifics but it's hard to fight, and they all said she'd get the best care here, but..." She buried her face in her hands, sobbing quietly, "I just don't know what to do. I can't lose her. I lost my sister two years ago in an accident. I can't lose my baby, too."

Anselm's jaw hardened, almost to the point he could feel the joints threatening to dislocate; his teeth cracking.

Yes, he killed people. But the sheer predatory nature of the "healthcare" in America was despicable. A child was dying, and all they could see was dollar signs on her premature death certificate.

It made bile roil in his belly, claw and fight against the cake he had so happily eaten with that darling girl. That sweet, bright little girl who was suffering so greatly due to something completely outside of her control.

He stamped his cane on the floor a few times to calm himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

A doctor walked up to them; and initially he had thought perhaps it was one of his with his test results, but it wasn't. It was a pediatric oncologist. A man with too much plastic surgery done to maintain his youth, his skin stretched taut to conceal evidence of aging, his hair dyed badly and his teeth obviously implanted.

"Mrs Williams?" He asked.

"Yes?" She asked, he voice trembling as she stood.

"I'm sorry, but..." He said, injecting false sympathy into his tone. It made Anselm want to have someone shoot him. It made Anselm want Anselm to shoot him.

"The last payments didn't go through. Unless you pay, we can't treat her here anymore. There are financing options--"

"No! No, the--the money is there, I promise--" She pleaded, "Just--give me a few more days, and I can... Please. I promise I'll pay! Beth needs these treatments!",

"I--"

Anselm grunted, moving to his feet and glaring at the plastic-looking man with contempt, "No."

"What?" The doctor asked.

"I said--no." He growled, getting in his face.

"Any fees required for the treatment and care for that child can and will be billed to me," Anselm said, "And you will wipe that disgusting smile from those ugly straight teeth before I knock them down your throat."

The doctor reeled back in shock, and Bethany's mother stared in awe and confusion.

"Y-you're not exactly family..." The doctor tried. "The insurance company--"

"I will pay for the best plan, then. Whatever you idiot Americans--" He turned to her mother for a moment to utter, "--no offense to you, ma'am--"

And turned back to the doctor. "Whatever you idiots consider healthcare in this country, I will pay. The both of them. That young girl will get the best and most considerate treatments you people can conjure up. Provided it is safe for her, I will even pay for experimental treatments."

"B-but.... You can't..." Bethany's mother said, crying softly in awe.

"I can. And I shall," Anselm smiled as his sun, his love, walked up. Sensing the negative energy, she eyed the doctor with distaste.

"Is something wrong, Anselm?"

"No, nothing is wrong, my darling sun." Anselm said far too cheerily, kissing her on the lips for a moment, "But I will ask that you guide me through this dreadful insurance system you Americans use. I want that young girl," He nodded towards Bethany, who was now watching with a worried look on her face. "And her poor mother here, to have the best plans our money can buy. You'll help me, won't you my darling?"

"Of course." She replied without hesitation, pulling out her own handkerchief to wipe away the drying sticky mess from the cake, picking small crumbs from his beard.

"Now then, doctor..." Anselm's voice dropped with ire, "Any financial concerns can be brought up to me. If it comes to it, I can even have specialists flown into the country myself if you are too inept at treating that child."

Every word Anselm spat at the man beat him back like a physical blow until he was leaving with his tail tucked between his legs, telling them to stay so they can sort out the paperwork.

Anselm comforted Bethany's mother as she collapsed in her chair into relieved, shaking sobs. Bethany rushed over to climb in her lap and hug her mother. It didn't take his lover long to realise what was going on, and her heart broke for their situation.

After a lengthy conversation and many signed papers later... Anselm exchanged contact information with Mrs Williams and little Bethany, even promising to make it to her big school play to watch her play a pixie in some fairytale. (And of course he asked his beloved sun to teach him how to properly use this "face-time" that Mrs Williams mentioned.)

"My love, I'd also like to have someone ruin her disgusting pig of an ex-husband's life," Anselm sighed, waving the two off as they got into their cab he'd called for them.

"Oh? You don't want to kill him?" She teased with a giggle.

"No, that would be a kindness. I want him to suffer." He replied calmly, as if he were discussing the morning paper. "I want him to realize that Bethany and that woman were the best he was ever going to have. I want their divorce finalized as quickly as possible, I want his house. I want to give it to them instead. He will suffer, knowing he was a pig who abandoned his family when they needed him. I want him financially and reputationally ruined. I want him to have to sleep in the gutter like the diseased rat that he is."

He turned to her, and gave her a rather dreamy look, his eyes twinkling, "Oh, and I wanted to discuss the possibility of us having children in the near future."

He slowly grinned, his expression morphing mischievously, "Sweet little Bethany gave me a sort of hankering for a little girl of our own."

#anselm vogelweide #anselm vogelweide x reader #anselm vogelweide x you #big gold brick #oscar isaac characters

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honey-minded-hivemind · 11 days ago

Note

I'm thinking about Henchman/Goon Reader and their increasingly ridiculous lies they tell their boss and coworkers to cover for the teens (and eventually themself). "The fire alarm malfunctioned and released the safety on the enclosures." "I think someone jammed the gate mechanism, it's not opening and closing properly." "The cameras fritzed out around that time, I'll contact IT to see if there was a connection issue or something." "Uhh...the dinosaurs trampled the fence, obviously" "Josh spilled Dr. Pepper on the control panel and I left to get something to clean it up, no clue what happened." "Janitor forgot to lock the vents, the T-rex must have crawled through the heating ducts." "Um...Mercury was in Retrograde?" Goon!Reader is both the smartest and most skilled employee and the worst employee Raptor Dyne has at the same time. It honestly depends on whether or not they have dinosaurs in their sights/custody.

I imagine that Reader eventually gets caught researching heavily into their dinosaur half to try to learn about themself and gets caught by Veloci himself. Of course that's going to raise suspicion after that specific dinosaur has become a more common sight (are they assisting or hiding the dinosaur? Or could it be something else...?) and Reader very quickly has to come up with some excuse as to why they need to know the specific diet and suspected coloration the dinosaur came in. "It's my fursona!" The quickly excuse themself with. Honestly? Both the best and worst thing they could have said because now the suspicion is gone but also they then had to explain fursonas to their very intimidating boss and you just know it got back to their coworkers. They're never living it down.

Haha! Yes!!!! Ooooooh yep.

Reader is trying to save those kids collective *sses, and they're about to scream from how obvious it is that the same five kids who show up all across the globe are probably the dinosaurs or in cahoots with them!!! Are they the only person with intuition here?!

Ugh... that makes keeping them safe easier, they suppose... but d*mn it, being the smartest person in the room is annoying sometimes...

Having to try and look up their own dinosaur species led to a rather... awkward... conversation with their boss about what a fursona is, what the furry community is, and that yes, some dinos were really well-liked and adored by humans, so they're probably pretty chill if he needs any humans to spare (Hint. Hint.) Seriously though, now the entire lab workforce thinks they're a weird kid who watched too many old dino films (Jurassic Park was their first horror movie, sue them! It had DINOS, eating HUMANS. What isn't scarier, when now that IS their reality with their boss being an ancient evil raptor?!)

Oof. They have to rein it back in. Suffice to say, now their boss wants to join the furry community, and they are way out if their depth. Blazing stars, maybe they should have said therian...

(At least the kids are safe... but well... they aren't. Especially since they're able to turn into... some small, raptor thing... now if these files could just help them narrow it down to which species it is, they can at least know what to expect... And why their thoughts feel mushy around the kids and their boss and that odd teacher near the kids...)

(What kind of raptor should Reader be, folks?) (Buggest is probably Gigantoraptor, I think it was related to the Oviraptor, and the smallest is I think Microraptor... there's also Pyroraptor, Atrociraptor, Buitiraptor, Oviraptor, Troodon, Droemaeosaur, Deinonychus, Dakotahraptor, Utahraptor, Mononykus, and Velociraptor... and I'm sure many, many more...)

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere dino squad #platonic yandere dinosquad #yandere dino squad #yandere dinosquad #platonic yandere victor veloci

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milla984 · 1 year ago

Text

And in the Beginning...

Summary: after spending a day at D.C.’s most renowned multifandom convention Spencer and Garcia stop for a coffee. Spoiler alert - our fave Resident Genius dumps their order on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (Reader is a sci-fi buff)

Category: fluff

TW/CW: swearing, mentions of food, some Star Wars-related talk

Word Count: 2k

Once again, a ginormous THANK YOU to @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read the first draft (aka witnessing the horror)!

The following work is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“Highlight of the day?! Jamie Hewlett signing my copy of The Cream of Tank Girl! In you face, Mr. 'Superman Can Fly'...!”

The woman carrying a Chinese paper umbrella rummaged through her purse to retrieve a wallet and pay at the coffee truck parked outside the convention center; stylish two-tone glasses matched the army green jumpsuit with a teddy bear patch on her right leg and the blue mandarin collar button-down shirt she was wearing, and her blond hair was tied up in a pair of small side buns.

The tall man beside her chuckled as he picked up two cups. “I don’t know if I should be more impressed or worried.”

“Why?! We made a deal and it’s perfect: he can have Sci-Fi-Gate, I’m keeping WashCon.”

“Sci-Fi-Gate has amazing Star Trek guests, though…”

A long and colorful scarf was wrapped around his neck and a deep red cravat necktie peeked out of the hem of a plaid design vest, combined with a single-breasted brown coat and a pair of grey pants.

“I can't believe you would really choose the Captains of the Enterprise panel over my emotional stability,” she frowned, paying zero attention to the cosplayer in a trenchcoat with a pair of black wings attached to their back she was about to brush past.

When the feathers smacked her cheek she pulled back, the tips of her umbrella almost poking the tall guy dressed as Doctor Who in the eye; the sudden movement startled the cosplayer and a rapid swing of their dark wings created a commotion in the crowd of people waiting for their turn to order. In the confusion that followed, a random shoulder bumped into yours and pushed you out of the line and off the sidewalk, right in front of the Fourth Doctor - who was struggling to maintain his Fedora in place and watch where he was going at the same time.

Needless to say, he ended up failing at both.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” the blond woman asked.

“I’m so sorry, SO SO SORRY—” the tall guy apologized simultaneously and she cut him off, rushing to your side.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The frantic exchange prompted your brain to whoosh into light speed mode to elaborate and discharge the ‘Ah, shit!!’ and ‘wait… is this iced macchiato?!?!’ inputs in favor of a more suitable reaction at the sight of the considerable amount of caffeine soaking your hoodie.

“... I think I’m okay.”

“First-aid manuals suggest removing all clothes or jewelry near the affected area within moments after the spillage of a hot liquid,” the tall guy said, and the woman gasped in shock.

“Please tell me you didn’t get burned! Once I got this non-fat steamed white chocolate vani—”

“I’m fine,” you growled a bit.

Someone behind you was snickering and, despite the relief of not having sustained serious injuries, the attention was already making you feel uncomfortable.

“Scalds are caused by sources of humid heat and certain types of fibers retain the water, which can be responsible for additional damage to the skin,” the tall guy explained again, speaking faster than anyone you had ever heard.

You tucked your shirt in your jeans and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Let me guess: you’re a doctor.”

“Well… uhm, yes, this is my…” he faltered, unable to tell if you were referencing his costume as a pun or not. “I am, actually.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” the woman added.

She sighed as soon as she realized you were standing there speechless, drenched in coffee, your gaze wandering back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry…”

“They should be more careful with the lids. I think I got lucky,” you muttered through gritted teeth as you pulled the zip down.

Thanks to the decision to splurge some money on yourself, earlier on, you had something to replace your soiled hoodie with. The Fourth Doctor looked away and focused his attention on the cups he was still holding in his hands; before he threw them in the nearest trashcan he inspected their content, confirming he’d fortunately spilled on you a combination of 98% half-caf iced caramel macchiato and just 2% regular hot americano.

The woman was still clasping the handle of her umbrella. “Listen, we were about to check out this itsy-bitsy lovely Indian place ‘round the corner, maybe you should come with us. You know… to try and get cleaned up a little.”

You dug into the shopping bag at your feet, taking a sealed package out to rip the plastic film wrapped around a brown sweatshirt with a stylized front print of the panoramic view of the desert, Jabba the Hutt’s palace and twin suns on Tatooine, and put it on.

“No offense, but my parents taught me to never follow strangers.”

“None taken,” the tall guy replied, “they were absolutely right. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, about 90,000 individuals are reported missing in the U.S. every year and the National Institute of Justice estimates that approximately 4,400 unidentified bodies are recovered annually.”

For the second time in less than five minutes, you considered the possibility he could truly be from Gallifrey. You also wondered if he was aware of his perfect facial structure: everything about his demeanor indicated he wasn’t too skilled in the art of charming people using his sculpted jawline and lean figure.

“... do you always quote statistics about murders and kidnappings like it’s a casual topic of conversation?”

His eyes got even bigger, showing a hint of gold on the inside. “It was merely an observation—”

“Yeah, he… does that,” the woman came to his rescue, “and even if it sounds bad, trust me it’s- it's part of his job. Our job. Except, I don’t deal with the scary, disturbing, yucky stuff.”

Your question wasn’t meant to come out in such a sarcastic tone. “You’re cops?!”

“FBI. Tech Analyst and Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, and the tall guy waved a silent greeting at you.

Even though the chance of running into the Bureau personnel stationed in D.C., at some point, wasn’t unreasonable, ‘two FBI agents walk into a multifandom convention dressed as characters from sci-fi TV shows’ could have easily been the beginning of a bad joke.

Plus, it was hard to picture the Fourth Doctor as a G-Man. “What’s your Ph.D. in, exactly?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And Chemistry, and Engineering. And I hold BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy.”

“Google him. Spencer Reid, B-A-U,” the woman suggested after a short pause, in response to your skeptical expression.

Judging by her tone she was daring you to, as if the situation wasn’t already giving off major The Twilight Zone vibes… and yet, instead of bidding them an unenthusiastic farewell, you pulled out your phone to type his name.

A plethora of results popped on the screen seconds later, so you first clicked on the link titled BAU’s newest member.

“With three doctorate degrees from Caltech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace,” the piece said about newly-recruited Spencer Reid.

“When I ask why he chose Caltech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls,” an older article reported.

You skipped through at least a dozen mentions of SSA Reid’s outstanding performances in the field, then a PDF document, property of the California Institute of Technology, caught your interest and you read the title aloud.

“Identifying non-obvious relationship—”

“Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster-weighted modeling and geographic regression,” he recited by heart, “that's my Engineering dissertation.”

He was too prepared on the subject and too adorably peculiar to be an impostor posing as a genius FBI agent for kicks, during the weekend; you picked his Fedora off the ground as a peace offering.

“Seems like you’re a wunderkind, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer lowered his chin so he could mask the rush of blood to his cheeks and his friend giggled, gently linking arms with you.

“Now, there’s something relevant we need to discuss, pronto… how do you feel about veg biryani?”

An hour and a half proved to be all the time you needed to form a solid conviction that Spencer Reid going on a spiel about the original blueprints of a fictional space station was the best thing since sliced bread.

“It’s part of the iconic imagery Lucas wanted to establish, there’s no health and safety. And don’t forget it was originally designed by the Geonosians.”

You snorted at the mention of the classic ‘designed by a flying alien species’ argument. “That’s not an excuse! Even if the Geonosians designed it, they knew it was meant to be used by humanoid creatures.”

After leaving the restaurant, where you had insisted on paying for your share - much to Garcia's dismay, you’d walked back to the convention center’s parking lot and now you were waiting by your car for Penelope to get hers. As you had recently discovered, she loved mugs, old Italian movies and playing the ukulele; Spencer wasn’t as outgoing and chatty, especially about his private life, but Star Wars was for sure one of his numerous areas of expertise.

“TIE fighters don’t have a proper defense system and the original prototype even lacked structural integrity to support atmospheric flight. The Empire doesn't care about casualties, it’s safe to think they never bothered to install a guardrail or other appropriate safety measures because to them the Death Star technicians are expendable.”

“Okay… solid theory,” you admitted, making him smile as he wiped his forehead to get rid of a lock of curly hair.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have a discussion with someone who knows about the Geonosians. Or the Death Star. It only happened twice but I’ve had people asking me what that was.”

When the convertible Cadillac with a plastic Hawaiian lei tied to the rear-view mirror stopped inches from you, Garcia - behind the steering wheel - proudly gestured at the extension of her eccentric personality.

“Meet Esther. Isn’t she fab?”

You wolf whistled your appreciation, gliding your fingertips over the leather upholstery and orange body paint. “Quick question: how much do you think I’d get if I sued two FBI agents for… damages, let’s say?!”

Penelope produced a fluffy pen out of the glove compartment and scribbled something on the back of a PetMAC receipt she handed it to you.

“Sweet pea, if I were you I'd settle for a lifetime of free IT support.”

“I’ll take it,” you said, “I’m kind of tired of being bullied by my own laptop.”

She stared at you for a moment before her face lit up, like a girl on a trip to a four-story candy shop. “... have you ever been to Baltimore ComicCon?!” she asked out of the blue while Spencer plopped himself down on the passenger seat.

You shook your head. “Do you guys—”

“We should totally go together!!” Garcia proposed. Or rather, declared.

In all honesty, the prospect of attending another convention on your own was depressing and you’d given up on the one in Maryland for that specific reason; you turned to Spencer for his approval, too, and he nodded, maybe because he knew there was no way of stopping Garcia if she had her mind set on a specific goal.

“Baltimore it is, then…?!”

Penelope shot you a smug grin. “Keep in touch. We still owe you a nice dinner and ComicCon’s not up until September, I’d hate to run a background check on your license plate to find you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and saluted them goodbye as they drove off, Esther’s taillights shining bright red.

What a weird Saturday. Meeting a real life genius and the quirkiest FBI agent ever came with a price, and one of your favorite hoodies was most likely beyond salvaging. You needed to know if Spencer Reid was well worth it.

Garcia’s words then echoed in your ears, so you sat in your car and unlocked your phone, scrolling through the most recent Google searches: you had a lot of reading to do.

@matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid x reader #my gifs #milla writes stuff #mentioningmargins #there are references from a couple of other tv shows hidden in this work #feel free to let me know if you can find them #quot “i understood that reference”

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gamesception · 2 months ago

Text

Sception Reads Cass Cain #42

Batgirl (2000) #21 - December 2001 Writer: Kelley Puckett……….Pencils: Damion Scott Inks: Robert Campanella…..Colors: Gregory Wright

My short break turned into a 6 month hiatus, but the first issue of the new Cass Batgirl run releasing tomorrow (at time of writing this) has finally given me the push to start this project up again. While this isn't the most consequential issue to come back to, it is a good one, and it has Stephanie in it, and references og Cass's initial dynamic with Shiva, which is topical since the new book will at least start with a focus on modern Cass's relationship with her mother.

Most of the usual team here this time, only we have a different Wright on the colors than usual. Which did give me a brief moment of panic that I'd been attributing colors to the wrong person, but no, most of the previous issues specifically credit Jason Wright, but this one specifically credits Gregory.

The issue opens with Cass preparing for a training routine, and I have to point out that the evolution of Damion Scott's art style that I brought up in a reply to a post that was going around recently (link) regarding inconsistency in Cass's appearance was already well underway by issue 21 of her ongoing.

The training sequence itself is pretty extreme as Cassandra demolishes dozens of dummies and a few (potentially load bearing?) stone columns in her cave...

Before nearly taking Spoiler's head off and making herself sick with the effort of stopping her own punch and/or the realization of what almost just happened. It's a cool-then-funny sequence which also reinforces how Cassandra is capable of absolutely destroying people, but that she very much doesn't want to actually hurt anyone, traits that will of course be key to events later in the issue because Kelley Puckett is just good like that.

Anyway, Steph is here because Babs sent her to get Cass and bring her to the Clock Tower, since Cass wasn't responding to calls while engrossed in her hours-long training regimen.

*I wish I didn't have to, Mirthful Mike.

But yeah, this issue is a sort of tie in to Joker: Last Laugh, a miniseries / crossover event from 2001 that frankly I didn't much care for. Unfortunately we'll have to look at an issue from the main miniseries run next time, but for the moment Bab's summary is all that needs to be relevant for the current issue.

The more interesting thing going on in the same panel is the little exchange between Babs and Cass about whether Cass has been studying her super villain files. With Cass answering 'no' in a kind of embarrassed way, which Barbara reads as Cass being embarrassed about not doing her homework, something Babs obviously things Cass ~should~ be doing but that she's kind of given up on Cass ever caring enough ~to~ do, with Cass just not caring about the part of the job that she's not good at / the part of the job that Barbara does. It's a whole thing., and a point of tension that at this point in the comic is slowly building and then later will be forgotten about and unmentioned for a huge run of issues and then even later than that will explode out of nowhere. Again with my recurring comment about this book being fantastic on the build up of character arcs and not as great on the follow through.

BUT ANYWAY, Babs is completely misreading this situation, because Cass isn't embarrassed because she think she's been caught not doing something she should, she's visibly embarrassed (love the art from Scott here, again with managing a very expressive Cass despite being in the full face covering mask) because she thinks she's been caught doing something she shouldn't.

One of the first rules Bruce gave her was 'no costumed criminals'. She's not supposed to be fighting supervillains or metahumans or any other weirdos with special abilities or gimmicks that might invalidate her body-reading ability, which we've already established is her primary and near only defensive skill. At least, that's the in universe justification for why this book mostly avoids big scenery chewing bad guys who would otherwise distract from the intended tone and core themes.

Now, Bruce would have intended that as "don't fight them, but absolutely study them so you know what you're dealing with if you have do", but Cass is very much the sort of kid who would have heard that as 'supervillains are entirely off limits, I don't want you to fight them, or look at them, or even think about them', like the whole subject is a taboo - one she'll absolutely break, but that she'll feel guilty about breaking and try to hide from authority figures, because that's how she deals with guilt in general, lying (poorly) about it, trying to hide it. Because she doesn't think she deserves to be Batgirl, so she's completely insecure about it and sure she's going to be fired the moment anyone sees through her.

And that's especially the case given the reason she's been so carefully studying the particular supervillains she has - super powered martial artists. The same reason she's been training so hard that she's destroying her cave, missing calls from Barbara, and nearly killing unexpected guests who wander into her sessions, but that's a subject the comic comes back to later.

This habit / character flaw / broken coping mechanism of lying to hide guilt (misplaced or otherwise) is just so compelling to me. The way the lies taint every relationship, distancing the character from anyone they should be able to rely on, the way the they inevitably build up as the character feels guilty about the lies themselves and makes up more lies to hide that, like a matryoshka doll, or a tower of cards waiting to fall, the way that by the time other characters start pulling on the strings thinking they know what's going on there's a usually a cascade of revelations each more shocking than the last. Alphys in Undertale is a prime example of this.

The disaster when everything falls apart is usually the best part of this dynamic, and sadly Batgirl (2000) will choose to subvert that part (again, fantastic set up, but never quite following through), but we aren't there yet.

Anyway, it's just a couple short lines of dialog across as many panels sharing space with a blunt info-dump, but it's a really good character beat speaking to both Cass's flaws - the whole lying and hiding anything she feels guilty about - and Barbara's - assuming she already knows what's going on and not digging any further or following up (which only enables Cass's lying and hiding) because the reason she assumes makes her annoyed and angry (which Cass of course picks up on, reinforcing her feelings of guilt and insecurity).

It's a complicated and unhealthy dynamic between two people that otherwise genuinely love each other, and the tension and angst that comes from that is also fantastic.

The original Cass Cain Batgirl run was full of this drama that comes from making these variously maladjusted characters care about each other and exploring the fraught relationship dynamics that result. That more than anything else is what made Batgirl (2000) great and that post-flashpoint Cass has been lacking (the parts I've read anyway, still need to get around to that Outsiders run). Even my constant complaints about the flanderization of latter day David Cain basically boil down to this, because original Cass's relationship with Cain was overflowing with this sort of tension.

Anyway, that's a ton of talk about two panels, lets see if I can rush through the rest of the issue a bit more quickly...

...

So Babs gives a reason why Cass and Steph aren't wanted in this otherwise all-hands-on-deck emergency situation, a reason that's a little bit dumb, but way less dumb than the reason we'll get next time, and Cass says she's fine with it, which takes Babs by surprise. You can see the fight she was ready to have about it, you can see how confused she is when Cass just says OK, because again Scott is just so good at these facial expressions. Babs, or at least this version of her, is susceptible to making inaccurate assumptions about people, about Cass in particular, but she's a smart enough cookie to notice when Cass acts outside of those assumptions and start questioning whether something else is going on.

So Cass goes to train in Bab's star trek holodeck (I admit that thing was a bit too sci fi for a gotham book for my tastes), and refuses to let Steph sit in, which calls back the scene earlier to reinforce it in the readers memory before what happens later.

The power goes out, and Cass comes out sheepishly, this miserable look on her face (again! So good!), because she thinks she broke the holo room, and there's no way to hide & lie her way around that, but the problem isn't Cass...

It's this guy, Shadow Thief (jokerized), a villain I know nothing about and have never seen or read outside of this comic. He's got some weird tech that, I think, drains electricity from nearby devices to make himself (but not his weapons) intangible?

Scott draws him in an extra exaggerated, cartoony, and rubbery style, which works here to emphasize his weird powers and/or jokerization, but does kind of foreshadow how all of his comic art starts to look more like that over time - which again isn't bad (as you can see in the panel here it actually looks pretty cool), but I still prefer the earlier style.

Anyway, Shadow Thief also a notable supervillain martial artist, so Cass actually has been studying his files, and knows exactly how to deal with him -

Catching the throwing stars he throws at them with her fingers (look at her smile! She's loving this!)

Throwing out some cocky banter to play on his ego

Grabbing his very tangible sword to draw him to the roof so Babs and Steph aren't caught in their fight.

All great stuff.

And yeah, Barbara has absolutely picked up that somethings going on with Cass. Eventually it will be revealed that she just already knows about the fight with Shiva, and I don't think we ever see how she found out, but this is pretty clearly where she started to suspect something and it's not too much of a stretch to jump from that initial suspicion to just knowing everything, at least not with this character.

Even without his sword, Shadow Thief has special martial arts techniques that somehow let him sort of hit things despite his Shadow Field making him intangible....

And now Cass does, too.

One of the usual principles of early Batgirl (2000) - no supervillains - serves to keep the focus tight on the more emotional themes of the book. Cass is so far out of the league of any of the typical criminals she runs up against that fights are always over in a flash, keeping action scenes short and punchy and leaving more space in the book for other things. But it is nice, every once in a while, to make an exception for a more drawn out and elaborate fight scene like this, where Cass can really show her skills.

But the real drama of this issue happens when Babs finds a way to remotely deactivate Shadow Thief's intangibility field mid battle. That 'oh, shit' face is so good.

All Cass's joy gone in an instant. She was having so much fun. She was so happy to have a real opponent she could cut loose on instead of inanimate dummies or holograms. Someone good enough to keep up with her, and with a defensive ability effective enough that she could put her full skills to use without having to worry about actually hurting them. Yeah, Shadow Thief's a villain, but they were playing with each other, trading banter. Having fun. Despite Shadow Thief's murderous intent, this was almost more of a friendly sparring match than a real fight.

But once again she gets a stark reminder of what her skills were originally meant for, what she was originally meant for. Earlier in the issue Cass was throwing up at the thought that she even could have hurt Stephanie, and now she probably killed this guy. And there won't be any hiding this - forget what might happen if Bruce finds out about the guy she murdered as a child, he 100% is going to find out about this man that she murdered, on the roof of Barbara's safe house, while wearing his symbol. Her entire life is falling apart, here.

But Stephanie is here. And helps Cass save him. Helps her save herself.

And of course Cass wants to hide what happened from Barbara. And of course Stephanie, being a good friend, keeps her secret, even if it probably would have been better to talk to Barbara about what happened and what Cass is feeling about it. Then again, if Babs knew it might have gotten back around to Bruce, and that ~wouldn't~ have been a healing conversation.

And the issue ends with a Flashback to Cass agreeing to fight Shiva, a real fight, to the death, using all of their killing skills. An bargain struck many issues back, so this is the reminder to readers that the fight is coming up soon, only a few issues away now. The final page is this panel of Cass back in her cave, with Shiva's file open, a video recording of her fighting on loop, as Cass sits with her face in shadow. She isn't going to fight to kill Shiva. She can't. So Shiva is absolutely going to kill her.

So yeah, a strong issue to come back to, catching us up on the overal serial plot of the book at the time, but also strongly grounded in original Cass's core emotional themes and the intricate dynamics of some of her core relationships, including now to Stephanie, with this being a huge early moment of vulnerability from Cass and support from Steph pushing them from like work friends who pal around some times to real friends who rely on each other.

And despite making exceptions to include a super villain and extended fight scene and callback to an ongoing serial narrative arc, this issue still mostly adheres to the core early Batgirl (2000) playbook.

It tells a complete story in a single issue; tightly focused on Cass's core character themes, motivations, and frought, layered relationships; expressed mostly through the artwork with relatively minimal reliance on dialog and even less on narration, with an overall sombre or even tragic tone punctuated with moments of levity or heartfelt human connection.

I'm writing this before having a chance to read the first issue of Cass's new ongoing, but more than anything else, more than reverting her canon to the pre-flashpoint history (which I don't even want, post-flashpoint Cass is a new character and I'm sure she has fans who care about her as much as I cared about original Cass), even more than restoring the original version of David Cain, what I hope for most from the new book is a return to this kind of storytelling.

#batgirl #cassandra cain #sception reads cassandra cain #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #shadow thief

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a-devious-route · 1 year ago

Note

Thank you so much for answering my question. The animations like the ones you have in your Ben Barnes gallery catch my eye (that would be the third avatar). The animations of Lee Dong Wook's avatars too. The first one above is beautiful. Have an excellent day <3

Hello again dear anonymous person!

Well, it's nothing fancy, but I made a short video. I recorded the steps to make this kind of animation! I hope it helps you! Unfortunately, my Photoshop is in French. But here are the steps will be available bellow the video :

1) You have to open your avatar (jpg or png) in Photoshop. > I like to use one that is already styled. I just need to add the animation.

2) Create a folder (I named it ANIM) in your layers panel. > This step is optional, but I like to do it to keep everything clean and easy to find.

3) Create your first empty layer in the folder, name it clearly. > I choose 1 because it'll be my animation's first frame.

4) Draw the elements you want in your animation with the pen tool in the color of your choice. > Here I choose the rough shapes of the flowers

5) Create a new layer in your anim folder and draw the second frame of your animation. > In this step I like to keep the old layer visible so I can see where I put my first animation layer. This is optional.

6) Repeat step 5 and create a third layer for the animation. > I like to do 3 to 5 layers, depending on the animation I decided to do, but nothing more to make them really light.

7) When all your layers are done with drawing, hide them all with the little eye in the layer panel.

8) Open the Timeline window. > If it's not already open, you can find it in the "Window" menu of your Photoshop) and make sure you have the "Frames" selected (if you see a timeline, you're not in the right mode, you can easily change it by selecting the 3 little squares at the bottom of the window).

9) You should have an existing frame once you are in the timeline mode. If not, click on "create frame animation".

10) Then click on the little [+] button at the bottom to add a frame near the trash. If you have 3 layers, make sure you have 3 frames

11) Select all 3, then click on the 0s and choose 0.1s (this will control the duration of the frame animation)

12) Select your first frame > then make your layer 1 visible. // Select your second frame > then hide your layer 1 and make your layer 2 visible. // Select your third frame > then hide your layer 2 and make your layer 3 visible.

13) Then you can "save for web" and play your gif to see if you like it!

Again I hope this helps! Enjoy your creation time! May you make a lot of nice things that makes you happy!

#tutorial #short tutorial #animation diy #avatar #gif avatar #a devious route explain #ressources #rpg ressources #a devious route

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ghost-whump · 1 year ago

Text

For Your Own Good

Second part to my first post!

CW: Institutionalized whump, (mental) hospital setting, vaguely creepy whumper, doctor whumper/patient whumpee, [discussed] shock therapy/ECT, restraints, implied future electricity/shock whump. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

Whumpee didn’t struggle. Couldn’t struggle.

“Come on,” Whumper held on tight to the front of the straitjacket, hand wrapped around the belt, “We shouldn’t waste time, should we?” A vicious smile tugged their lips.

Whumpee remained silent, biting at the skin of their lip. Their feet dragged slowly forward, a death march into the dark, dark room. The fear that shot down their spine at every step couldn’t hold a candle to the fire that lit under their heels, pressing them forward still.

Then, kck! shhhh… whoomph. Door closed.

No more escape. Even without the jacket, even if Whumper couldn’t catch them, the air-locked door wouldn’t budge for anything. Only illuminated by the glow of the various screens and panels and buttons and keypads, the room is a void.

A single cold slab of a “bed” stands menacingly in the center. Adorned with worn leather straps that rubbed skin raw, scuff marks from banging and scratching at the surface, all topped off with a tasteful spatter of blood near the middle.

Though, large hands undid each buckle on their person, leaving the jacket to fall to the floor. Whumpee immediately wrapped their arms around their torso, trying to cover as much bare skin as possible. Not that it would help, but it made them feel better.

“Well?” Whumper, who had pulled away by now, “You know what to do.” They gesture vaguely to the table and turn around to play with the buttons and screens.

And the doctor isn’t wrong. Whumpee does know what to do. Lay down, head forward, legs together, stare up and up and up at the ceiling.

“You’re getting quite good at this, Whumpee.” Whumper’s face came into light above them, a wicked grin twisting their face into one even scarier than usual.

Whumpee closed their eyes. They couldn’t look anymore. If they didn’t look, maybe it would stop. Maybe they’d wake up in their cell (…or their home, if they dared dream that far) and would behave this time. Never have to—

“Ah!” A thick strip of leather tightened suddenly around their wrist. Whumpee yelped and their eyes flew open.

Whumper shook their head, “Tsk, Whumpee. You were doing so well,” They buckled the strap, far too fast and tight than anytime before. They tilted Whumpee’s head, doing the same to their other wrist. “You know, I was even considering letting you off easy with some solitary. Yet you had to go and look away from me. You’re usually so good at eye contact.”

“That—agh, that hurts!” Whumpee pulled at the restraints, though they knew it was futile. “P-Please, I’m sorry, I—mmpf!”

The final strap of leather struck their face, its specialised rubber gag worming between their teeth. Protests now barely audible, Whumper smiled and pulled away. “There you go, Whumpee. That’s better now.”

Phantom pains shot through their veins, preparing for what’s to come. Each sticky node placed under their shirt wracked another sob from their chest. No matter how much it happened, it never got easier. Feeling their body seize with each passing second, flashing colors and lights that didn’t really come, nightmarish terror that never stopped.

“It’s alright,” Whumper flashed their teeth, placing the final two nodes on Whumpee’s temples, “The ECT is for your own good. Don’t you feel better after it’s done?”

They tried to shake their head, No! It feels bad! Bad bad bad! It hurt! But it didn’t stop Whumper. The doctor turned around, taking their time in approaching the large lever on the wall.

Whumper’s hand gripped the lever tight, throwing one last glance to their writhing patient. Readjusting their grip, they get ready to finally pull down. “Don’t worry, Whumpee, you’ll feel much better after we’re done.”

really not sure how happy i am with this one, but i figured it be best to post it! enjoy :]

#whump #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump community #whump tropes #whumpblr #asylum whump #medical whump #electricity whump #shock whump #anticipation whump #?? is that a thing #let’s hope so #creepy whumper #my stuff

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 10 days ago

Text

The Plan | Sebastian Sallow x OC #64

my dear friends, we are nearing the end, only two chapters to go after this...

Summary: Ominis and Anne arrive to Muldoon Manor; a plan is devised.

Words: ~6,900

Tags: Fluff, Pureblood Politics, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance

Timeline: Mid September

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The warm glow of the fire cast dancing shadows on the polished wood paneling of the grand sitting room. The atmosphere was relaxed, the soft clinking of teacups and occasional bursts of laughter filling the space. Sebastian sat beside Evangeline on the plush sofa, his arm draped casually along the back behind her. Though he was at ease, his proximity spoke of quiet protectiveness, a steady reassurance he hadn’t wavered since they’d arrived.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips as he recounted a tale. “Ah, Rowena at fifteen… Those were chaotic times. You see, ancient magic has always run in our family, but its manifestation is unpredictable at best. Nobody had seen it in generations. When it first surfaced in Rowena, no one knew what to do with her."

Cassian’s gaze softened as he looked at Evangeline. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, ancient magic doesn’t come with instructions. Rowena was lucky that our family has a wealth of information in our library—books, scrolls, even journals from ancestors who wielded it. But none of it can replace a proper mentor. Learning to control it is… difficult.”

Benedict chuckled, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. “I was in my seventh year at Durmstrang when it first manifested in Rowena, and I was her reluctant protector by default. And, well, let’s just say the west wing of Durmstrang paid the price for our collective ignorance.”

Percival, seated across from them, grinned as he leaned forward. “I was just a second-year at the time, but I remember it vividly. One minute everything was fine, and the next—” he gestured dramatically, his grin widening—“the whole wing was frozen solid. Icicles hanging from the chandeliers, frost creeping up the walls. It looked like a blizzard had swept through.”

“What happened?” Evangeline asked, leaning forward slightly, her curiosity piqued.

Cassian’s smile turned wistful. “Ancient magic is powerful, yes, but it’s tied so closely to the wielder’s emotions. Rowena’s boyfriend at the time—well, ex-boyfriend, as of that day—had broken up with her. It hit her hard, and she lost control. The entire wing became a frozen wasteland before anyone realized what was happening.”

Benedict nodded, his expression softening. “She didn’t mean to, of course. She was mortified afterward. Kept apologizing to anyone who would listen, even as the headmaster wrapped her in a blanket and ordered the rest of us to evacuate.”

Sebastian smirked, glancing at Evangeline. “Sounds familiar,” he quipped, his tone teasing but affectionate. “You should tell them about the time you confronted Lysander Clearwater. Turned the Great Hall into a bloody thunderstorm."

Evangeline chuckled awkwardly, her cheeks coloring as she sank back against the cushions. "Yes, thank you for the reminder, Sebastian."

Sebastian glanced at her uncles with a grin. "I'd gotten into a fight that day with Evangeline's ex during a game of Quidditch. Evie came bursting into the Great Hall at dinner time and summoned a bolt of lightning from the ceiling while telling him off. Destroyed the entire Ravenclaw table."

Benedict laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking as he reached for his teacup. “Destroyed the entire Ravenclaw table, you say? I knew I liked her.”

Evangeline’s blush intensified as she sunk further into the sofa, but Sebastian grinned, clearly enjoying her uncles’ reactions. “Not even the professors wanted to mess with her after that,” he added, his voice tinged with pride. “Even Sharp gave her a wide berth for a while.”

Cassian chuckled, his deep voice carrying an edge of amusement. “Sounds just like Rowena to me. By her seventh year, she had learned to control her magic well enough to perform feats just as impressive. But she was never one to use her power recklessly. She was full of heart and fiercely protective of those she cared about.”

Benedict hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “Rowena certainly had a way of commanding respect—or fear—when it mattered most. But what we all loved about her was that, underneath all that power, she was just... Rowena. Brave, loyal, full of life.”

Percival smirked, glancing at Evangeline with a teasing glint in his eye. “She was named after Rowena Ravenclaw, you know. That's where Muldoons were sorted, back when our family attended Hogwarts, long before Durmstrang opened. And yet,” he added with a dramatic pause, “there’s not a doubt in my mind she would’ve been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Sebastian let out a bark of laughter, slapping his knee. “That’s exactly where Evangeline ended up!” he said, glancing at her with a grin. “No hesitation. The hat barely touched her head before it shouted Gryffindor.”

Evangeline groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed.”

“Flattered,” Cassian said with a wink. “Absolutely flattered.”

Their shared laughter echoed through the room, a warmth filling the space that was unfamiliar yet comforting. These were the kinds of stories Evangeline had always dreamed of hearing—tales of her mother, her family, and the legacy she’d never known she was a part of.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the easy conversation was interrupted by the sudden flare of emerald flames in the hearth. The fire roared to life, its intensity drawing all eyes to the fireplace as two figures stepped through.

Ominis and Anne.

Their wands were drawn, their expressions tense and wary. Ominis’s movements were precise, his wand trained on the room as he positioned himself protectively in front of Anne. Her eyes darted around the space, scanning for danger, her wand trembling slightly in her grip.

Ominis’s voice was sharp and steady, cutting through the silence. “Evangeline, Sebastian—are you alright?”

Evangeline quickly rose from the sofa, her hands raised in a calming gesture. “We’re fine! Ominis, Anne, it’s alright. We're safe here.”

Sebastian was already on his feet as well, his protective instincts kicking in as he stepped forward. “Put your wands down,” he said firmly, though his voice carried a note of reassurance. “No one’s in danger.”

Anne’s voice wavered, her wand lowering slightly but not fully at ease. “You’re… you’re okay?”

Ominis, however, remained on edge, his wand steady and his posture rigid. "We... thought you'd been forced to write the letter to lure us here. You really expect us to believe that this isn’t a trap?”

Evangeline took a cautious step forward, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “It’s not a trap, I swear. The letter was real, but we’re not in any danger—not from them.” She gestured to the Muldoons, who remained seated, watching the scene unfold with quiet patience.

Sebastian moved to his sister's side. “Look around,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Does this look like the kind of place where we’re being held hostage?”

Anne hesitated, her gaze drifting from the Muldoons calm expressions to the steaming teapot on the table and the untouched plate of biscuits beside it. The room was warm and inviting, the crackling of the fire doing its best to soften her panic. Slowly, she lowered her wand, though her grip remained tight. “I… I don’t understand."

Ominis’s wand remained raised, his head tilting slightly as he listened to every shift and rustle in the room. “How do we know you’re not under some kind of enchantment?” he pressed, his voice sharp.

Cassian, who had been quietly observing from his chair, finally spoke, his tone measured. “I assure you, Mr. Gaunt, no one here is under any enchantment. You’re both welcome to verify it for yourselves if it puts your minds at ease.”

“And if there’s anything else we can do to prove we mean no harm," Benedict added softly, his expression kind but serious. “Just ask.”

Ominis flicked his wand with practiced precision, the faint shimmer of a wordless charm weaving through the air. A subtle pulse emanated outward, brushing over Sebastian and Evangeline before dissipating into the warm glow of the sitting room. His expression remained guarded as he carefully interpreted the results, searching for any signs of enchantments or potions. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“They’re clear,” Ominis murmured in Anne's direction, his wand lowering at last. “No enchantments, no potions.”

Anne sagged slightly beside him, relief softening her features. “Then… why did you ask us to come?” she asked Sebastian, her voice quieter now but still tinged with confusion.

Her brother exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly now that Ominis was no longer poised for battle. He gestured toward a couple empty chairs. “It’s a long story, but we need your help. Please, sit.”

Anne and Ominis exchanged a glance, their unease lingering but less pronounced. Reluctantly, Anne lowered herself into one of the chairs, her fingers still twitching against her wand as if reluctant to let it go completely. Ominis followed suit, his movements deliberate as he settled into the chair beside her.

Cassian leaned forward, pouring fresh cups of tea and sliding them across the low table toward Ominis and Anne. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if trying to convey that there was no rush, no threat to be wary of. “We understand this is a lot to take in,” he began gently. “But I assure you, you’re among friends here.”

Ominis’s jaw tightened as he turned his head slightly toward Evangeline. “Friends?” he repeated, his tone sharp. “You’ll forgive me if I’m struggling to see how that fits with… everything.”

“They’re not behind what’s been happening, Ominis,” Evangeline said softly, taking her seat again beside Sebastian. “And they’ve been helping us figure out who is... and what to do about it.”

Anne frowned, her hands clutching the steaming teacup as if for comfort. “If it's not the Muldoons... then who is it?” she asked quietly, her gaze darting between Evangeline and Sebastian.

Evangeline exhaled, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Ominis, it’s your father,” she said softly.

The room fell into a thick silence, the weight of her words crashing down like a stone into still water. Ominis froze, his head tilting slightly as if trying to process the statement.

“I wish it weren’t,” Evangeline continued gently. “But everything we’ve uncovered points back to him—the letters, the poison, leaking my heritage, creating the rumors in the Prophet.”

Ominis’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair, his knuckles turning white. His face was expressionless, his pale eyes staring blankly ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained. “You’re certain?”

Percival leaned forward slightly, his expression calm but firm. “Everything we’ve pieced together confirms it,” he said. “Your father’s actions have been deliberate, calculated to disrupt and control. His motives are clear: he’s trying to manipulate the situation for his own ends, using Evangeline—and you—as pawns.”

Evangeline reached out hesitantly, placing her hand gently over Ominis’s. “This isn’t your fault,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the swirl of emotions in her chest. “None of it is. Whatever he’s done, it doesn’t reflect on you.”

Ominis flinched slightly at her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the revelation. “I should have seen it coming,” he murmured, his tone thick with regret. “I should have known he wouldn’t just let things be.”

“This is on Noctivus, not you.” Sebastian interjected, his voice firm.

“But that's why we asked you both to come," Evangeline explained. "We need to work together to put an end to this.”

Ominis tilted his head toward her, his expression shifting into one of cautious resolve. “What’s the plan, then?”

Cassian leaned forward, his expression calm but intent. “Traditionally, our family has remained absent from British pure-blood circles and politics. Frankly, we’ve always found them too… power-hungry for our taste."

Benedict nodded, adding, “Muldoons have always been scholars, not politicians or socialites. We’re more interested in protecting knowledge than in playing the power games so many pure-blood families engage in.”

"But… but your family sends its children to attend Durmstrang," Anne countered quietly. "And they only accept pure-bloods."

Cassian’s lips quirked slightly at Anne’s observation, his expression thoughtful. “That’s true,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you might think. Durmstrang’s pure-blood policies were never the draw for our family. Our reasons were academic.”

Benedict leaned back, nodding in agreement. “Durmstrang allows for the study of magic in its raw, unrestricted forms—things other schools might consider too dangerous or controversial to teach."

Anne absorbed their words carefully, her brow furrowing. “So... your family has stayed out of British magical society to avoid its pure-blood politics. But now you’re saying you’re willing to involve yourselves?”

Cassian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “With Evangeline active in the Ministry and already making a name for herself in British magical circles, it’s time we made our presence known. Not only to support her but to defend our shared family name and values.”

Percival’s expression hardened slightly, his voice steady and resolute. "Indeed. And in doing so, we will show that we cannot, and will not, be manipulated. Noctivus Gaunt’s attempts to drag us into his schemes—using our name to further his agenda—cannot go unchallenged. And we have no problem making a very public statement to that effect.”

Ominis’s voice was tight as he finally spoke, his tone laced with guilt. “If it weren’t for me, Noctivus wouldn’t be involved at all. He wouldn’t have had a reason to target Evangeline.”

Evangeline shook her head firmly. “Ominis, he’s the one choosing to manipulate, to control. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

Ominis closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to absorb her words, though his brow remained furrowed. “It’s hard not to feel that way,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Everything he’s done has been to maintain his control over me, and now it’s bleeding into your lives.”

Evangeline tightened her grip on Ominis’s hand briefly, a silent gesture of support. “And that’s why we need to confront him together. Not just to stop him but to make it clear that his games won’t work anymore.”

Ominis lifted his head, tilting it slightly toward her. “How?” he asked, his tone carrying both curiosity and caution.

Percival exchanged a glance with his brothers before speaking. “We believe his obsession with controlling you is the key, Ominis… and if we exploit it carefully, it will force his hand.”

Ominis’s brow furrowed. “You think he’ll make a move if I bait him?”

“Exactly,” Benedict said, his voice calm but resolute. “If you appear to be slipping further from his grasp—asserting your independence, moving forward with your life—he won’t be able to resist intervening.”

Anne’s grip tightened on her teacup, her knuckles whitening. “You’re asking him to provoke his father. That’s dangerous.”

“Not without safeguards,” Percival interjected, his tone steady. “The key is to ensure all of you are protected at every step while creating a scenario where Noctivus exposes himself.”

Ominis, who had been quietly listening, crossed his arms. “But how exactly do we do that? He’s not going to just walk into a trap.”

Cassian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “No, but he’ll walk into an opportunity to reassert his control.”

Evangeline leaned forward, her brow furrowed in thought. “So we give him that opportunity. A setting where he can’t resist trying to assert himself.”

Annalise, who had been quietly listening from her seat by the fire, leaned forward, her sharp hazel eyes glinting with intrigue. “What about a social event?” she asked, her voice thoughtful but carrying an edge of excitement. “Surely there’s something coming up that Noctivus and his wife can’t avoid attending.”

Evangeline glanced at Sebastian, who nodded slightly in agreement, before turning back to Annalise. “That… could work,” he agreed.

“The High Season Ball is coming up,” Ominis said, his voice measured but hesitant. His pale eyes gazed into the distance as if picturing the grandeur of the event. “It’s one of the most significant social events of the year. My parents never miss it.”

Anne, still clutching her teacup, glanced at him nervously. “Everyone important will be there. It’s practically designed for prominent pure-blood families to flaunt their influence.”

Cassian leaned forward, his gaze sharp and calculating. “A perfect setting, then. He won’t be able to resist showing face.”

Evangeline frowned, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair. “But what exactly is the plan once we're there? He’s not just going to walk up to me in the middle of a crowded ballroom.”

“Of course not,” Benedict said, his tone calm. “He’ll send someone. Likely that false representative of our family again. We expose them, and by extension, Noctivus.”

Sebastian leaned back, his arms crossed as he absorbed their words. “You make it sound simple, but Noctivus isn’t stupid. If he suspects a setup, he’ll disappear before we can get close.”

“We’ll need Ominis to misdirect him,” Percival said, his voice steady and confident as he fixed his gaze on Ominis. “Perhaps... you make your father believe that you might be proposing to Miss Sallow. He’ll feel there’s no choice but to intervene.”

The room went still as the weight of Percival’s suggestion sank in. Ominis’s pale eyes widened slightly, his head tilting toward him as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

Benedict leaned forward, his tone reassuring. “Simply... plant the idea in his mind—let him believe that you’re about to formalize your relationship. It would almost certainly provoke him."

“...And what happens when Noctivus takes the bait?” Anne asked quietly, gaze flitting between the Muldoons.

“When his representative approaches Evangeline," Cassian said, gesturing between his family. "We’ll be there to intervene. Force their hand publicly.”

“Publicly,” Ominis repeated, his tone wary. “You mean making a scene at the ball.”

“Yes,” Cassian said simply. "We'll all be in attendance, ready to make a statement nobody can ignore."

Percival leaned forward, his expression serious. “Your father won’t be able to recover from the humiliation. Not with us there to confirm the false representative was acting on his behalf.”

Anne frowned, her gaze fixed on Ominis. “And you’re sure your father will act? That this will be enough to draw him out?”

“...It will,” Ominis said after a long pause, his voice quiet but certain. He straightened slightly, his resolve hardening. “My father has spent my entire life ensuring I toe the line. If he thinks I’m stepping out of his control, he won’t be able to resist.”

“And when Noctivus steps in, we’ll be ready,” Evangeline said firmly.

Annalise hummed. "I've always wanted to attend a British wizarding event," she shot a glance at her father. "Too bad it has to be under such dramatic circumstances."

“At least it’ll be memorable, Annalise," Percival shrugged, exchanging an amused glance with his wife.

Evangeline couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though her thoughts were already racing ahead. She turned to Ominis. “But are you sure about this?” she asked gently. “It’s a lot to ask, especially knowing how he might react. If you’re uncomfortable…”

Ominis exhaled deeply, his pale eyes fixed on nothing as he nodded. “If this is what it takes to end his games and protect everyone, then yes. I’ll do it.”

Anne, still visibly uneasy, reached over and squeezed his hand. “We’ll do it,” she corrected.

Cassian straightened, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Then it’s settled. We’ll work out the finer details over the next few days. It’s going to take precision, but if we play our cards right, this will end with Noctivus exposed and powerless over you four.”

Annalise smirked. “Then I’d say it’s time for a toast!" She reached for her teacup, raising it with a flourish and a sly grin. “To dramatic entrances, scandalous revelations, and bringing down self-righteous schemers. I’d say we have our work cut out for us.”

Percival chuckled, raising his own cup in return. “And to family—new alliances, shared goals, and proving that no one manipulates a Muldoon without consequence.”

Evangeline smiled faintly, reaching for her cup, her fingers brushing against Sebastian’s as he grabbed his own.

The group exchanged looks, the moment imbued with an unexpected yet welcome sense of unity. For all their differences, their backgrounds, and the challenges ahead, they were a team now.

As the conversation and camaraderie faded into a comfortable quiet, Freya, Cassian’s wife, leaned forward in her chair. Her warm smile was accompanied by a glance toward the clock above the mantel. “It’s getting late,” she said gently, her voice tinged with concern. “I know there’s still much to discuss, but it would be better to continue in the morning when we’re all rested.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement, the weight of the evening beginning to settle into his shoulders. Evangeline’s hand rested lightly on his knee, and he could feel her exhaustion as much as his own. Ominis, too, looked pale and drained, and Anne’s fingers had never quite left her teacup, her tension evident even now.

Freya rose gracefully, smoothing her robes as she did so. “You four are not going anywhere tonight,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument. “Cassian and I have more than enough space here, and it would put my mind at ease knowing you’re all safe under our roof.”

Evangeline's mouth opened and closed. “We wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense,” Freya interjected, waving a dismissive hand. “Our elves will see to it that you’re comfortable. Besides,” she added, her tone softening, “we’re family, aren’t we?”

Evangeline felt a sudden warmth bloom in her chest at the words. The Muldoons might have been a mystery for nearly her entire life, but in this moment, they felt like the family she’d always yearned for.

Freya clapped her hands lightly, summoning two house-elves who appeared with faint pops. “Fetch some pajamas and anything else our guests might need,” she instructed them with practiced ease. “Bring them to the fourth floor guest rooms, please."

The elves bowed deeply before vanishing as swiftly as they’d come. Freya turned to the group, gesturing toward the door. “Come along. I’ll show you to the rooms myself.”

Evangeline rose, her movement mirrored by Sebastian, who lingered close at her side. Ominis and Anne followed suit, their earlier unease replaced with quiet exhaustion. After saying goodnight to the rest of the Muldoons, the four of them they trailed after Freya as she led them up the grand staircase, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets as she led them through the grand halls of the manor.

The fourth floor was quiet and tastefully decorated, the warm hues of the wood and soft candlelight creating an inviting atmosphere. Freya paused outside a pair of large, intricately carved doors.

“These will be your rooms,” she said, opening one door and gesturing for Anne and Ominis to step inside. The room was spacious yet cozy, with a large four-poster bed draped in rich, dark green linens and an elegant sitting area by the window.

Anne glanced around, her eyes widening slightly. “This is… beautiful,” she said softly.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his hand brushing against the doorframe as he stepped inside. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Freya smiled warmly. “Of course. If you need anything, just summon one of the house elves using the bell. They’ll be happy to assist.”

She turned to Evangeline and Sebastian, leading them a few doors down to another room. This one was similarly appointed, though the linens were a deep crimson, the warm color lending the room a different kind of charm. The bed was large, and the sitting area by the hearth looked just as inviting.

“I thought you might prefer this room, seeing as you're a Gryffindor” Freya said with a smile. “I’ll leave you two to settle in. The elves will bring up your things shortly.”

“Thank you, Lady Muldoon,” Evangeline said sincerely, her hazel eyes meeting the woman’s.

Freya’s smile softened. “Please, call me Freya. And don't mention it. You’re family, Evangeline.” She inclined her head slightly before retreating down the hall, leaving them to their rest.

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on Evangeline. “Well, this is... certainly not what I expected."

Evangeline hummed softly, shaking her head as she moved toward the sitting area, sinking into one of the chairs. “I... can’t believe how much has happened tonight.”

Sebastian crossed the room, his steps deliberate and quiet as he reached her side. He didn’t sit immediately, instead standing over her for a moment. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the concern etched into his features.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “This... I can't imagine how much it is for you to take in.”

Evangeline leaned back in the chair, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stared at the fire for a long moment before meeting his gaze. “It is,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "I spent most of my life thinking I’d never know anything about my family. And now, in one night, I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible.”

Sebastian crouched down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. His proximity was grounding, his brown eyes steady and unflinching as they searched hers. “And how does that feel?” he asked gently. “Scary? Good? Both?”

Evangeline gave a soft laugh, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Both,” she said honestly. “It’s overwhelming. So much has changed in just the past week. Suddenly I’ve got this family, their support. And…” Her words faltered, but her eyes didn’t leave his. “You.”

Sebastian’s expression softened. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before his hand settled gently against her cheek. “You’ve always had me, Evie,” he murmured, his smile warm and full of quiet pride. “But now you’ve got them, too. And I’m so damn happy for you. They’re finally stepping up to be the kind of family you’ve always deserved.”

His thumb traced a soft line along her cheekbone as he continued, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “And, Merlin, I’m so proud of you. The way you’ve handled all of this—learning about them, piecing everything together, even planning to face Noctivus head-on—you’re handling it better than most people would. Honestly, I’m... I'm amazed at how calm you’ve been.”

Evangeline laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and amusement. “Calm? I don’t feel calm, Sebastian. I feel like my head is spinning. One moment, I’m finding out that my mother’s family has a library full of ancient magic secrets, and the next, we’re planning to expose Noctivus Gaunt at one of the biggest social events of the year.”

Sebastian shook his head, his smile returning, laced with quiet affection. “You say that, but you’ve been steady through all of it—asking the right questions, holding your ground, even when it couldn’t have been easy. That’s no small thing.”

Evangeline leaned into his touch, her hand lifting to rest lightly over his where it cupped her cheek. “It’s certainly easier with you here,” she said softly.

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, his gaze softening even further, but before he could speak, a gentle knock at the door interrupted the moment. Evangeline blinked, her focus shifting toward the sound, though her hand remained on his.

“Come in,” Sebastian called.

The door creaked open to reveal a small house-elf, their oversized ears twitching nervously as they stepped inside. In their arms, they carried two neatly folded sets of pajamas, the fabrics clearly of fine quality, though understated.

“Begging your pardon,” the elf squeaked, bowing low, “but Lady Freya asked us to bring these for your comfort.”

Sebastian pushed himself to his feet and offered the elf a nod of gratitude. “Thank you, that's very kind."

The elf shuffled forward, setting the pajamas on a nearby table with great care before straightening again. “If you need anything else, Mr. Sallow, Miss Sterling, just ring the bell by your bed. We’ll come right away,” they said, their voice earnest.

Evangeline smiled warmly, her earlier tension easing slightly. “Thank you. Truly.”

The house-elf gave another low bow before scurrying out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. For a moment, silence lingered, the interruption breaking the weight of their earlier conversation but not entirely unwelcome.

Sebastian glanced at the folded pajamas, then back at Evangeline, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Well, at least they’re considerate hosts,” he quipped, his teasing tone light but warm.

Evangeline chuckled softly, rising from the chair to inspect the pajamas. She ran her fingers over the fabric, her smile widening. “These are nicer than anything I own,” she said, the humor in her voice tinged with disbelief.

Sebastian’s smirk softened as he stepped closer, his hand lightly brushing down the curve of Evangeline’s back. He leaned in, his lips hovering near her ear as he murmured, “Let's see you in them, then.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, though the faint blush rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “Subtle,” she muttered, her tone wry, though she didn't move away.

Sebastian’s hands slipped to rest on her waist. “Subtlety has never been my strong suit,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now, turn around.”

Evangeline hesitated for only a moment before complying, turning her back to him and letting out a small sigh of relief as his hands began to work at the laces of her corset. His touch was deft but unhurried, his movements steady and careful.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble as he worked. “I’ve got you.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly as his words settled over her, and she allowed herself to lean back just a fraction, trusting his steady hands.

With everything loosened, Sebastian's focus shifted to sliding the corset vest off her shoulders. He folded it carefully, setting it aside before his hands returned to her waist, his touch grounding and unhurried.

"Lift your arms." He instructed gently.

Evangeline obliged, raising her arms slowly as Sebastian's hands slid to the hem of her blouse. With deliberate care, he began to pull it upward. The fabric rustled softly as he lifted it over her head, exposing the smooth curve of her shoulders and the pale expanse of her skin.

Sebastian's gaze roamed her figure briefly with quiet admiration, the flickering firelight casting a soft glow over her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said simply, the words falling from his lips as if they were the most natural thing in the world. His voice carried no pretense, no tease, no expectation—just a sincerity that made Evangeline’s cheeks flush anew.

She ducked her head slightly, a soft laugh escaping her. "Thanks," she mumbled, averting her eyes as Sebastian turned her back around to face him, his hands now moving to the button of her green trousers.

With the waistband loosened, he tugged the fabric down over her hips and legs then crouched slightly, helping her step out of them. His hands brushed lightly against her ankles before Sebastian straightened, setting the trousers aside with the same care he’d shown her blouse and corset.

Evangeline stood before him now, clad in her bra and underwear, the firelight casting warm shadows across her skin. His gaze swept over her, his pupils wide, then he stepped closer, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was soft and lingering.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he murmured against her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Evangeline gave him a faint smile, her blush deepening as Sebastian’s hands moved to the clasp of her bra, his fingers deftly undoing it with a precision that made her chuckle softly.

The garment slipped from her shoulders, and she caught it in her hands, discarding it to the side before feeling the soft brush of the pajama shirt as Sebastian held it out for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and he carefully did up the buttons, the rich fabric settling comfortably against her skin.

“There,” he said, his voice low and satisfied as he adjusted the collar gently. “Now for the bottoms..."

He reached for the matching pajama pants then kneeled down, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Step in,” he said softly, holding them open for her.

Evangeline steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, stepping one foot, then the other into the soft fabric. Sebastian eased the garment up her legs, his hands brushing lightly against her skin as he pulled the waistband into place.

“Now,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands as if to mark the task complete. “You’re officially ready for bed."

Evangeline chuckled and she reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

Sebastian tilted his head, his grin softening into something more earnest. “I like looking after you. Not that you make it easy, mind.”

Evangeline stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly against his chest as her eyes searched his. "I’m lucky."

Sebastian chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Likewise." He let his hand linger on her back for a moment before gently nudging her toward the en suite bathroom. “Now, off you go. Brush your teeth. We need sleep—we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Evangeline turned to look at him, her lips curving into a playful pout. “Only if you wait to change,” she teased, her tone light but daring. “I want a show.”

Sebastian froze for a heartbeat, blinking at her bluntness, before a surprised laugh escaped him. “A show?"

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Fair’s fair.”

Still laughing, Sebastian held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You win. We'll brush our teeth, then I'll be ready for my grand performance.”

Evangeline grinned and turned toward the bathroom, throwing him a sly look over her shoulder as he followed her inside.

They stood side by side, their reflections framed in the mirror as they brushed their teeth with the fresh toothbrushes they found on the counter, the comfortable silence punctuated only by the rustling of their movements.

Evangeline rinsed her mouth and leaned against the counter, watching him as he finished. Sebastian raised a brow, spitting into the sink before rinsing his own mouth. “Can I help you?"

“Oh, just waiting for the performance to start,” she teased, her tone light but with a hint of challenge.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he dried his hands on a nearby towel. "Alright, let’s see if I can live up to expectations.” He motioned toward the main room with a flourish. “Shall we?”

Evangeline followed him back out, her grin widening as he turned to face her. Sebastian paused, his eyes narrowing as if sizing her up, then tugged off his shirt with deliberate slowness, the motion revealing the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. He tossed the shirt to the side, smirking as he caught her wide-eyed gaze.

“Living up to expectations so far?”

Evangeline tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm, I don’t know,” she said, though the blush rising to her cheeks betrayed her enjoyment. “I think you’ll have to keep going for me to decide.”

Sebastian laughed, a deep, genuine sound, and moved to the waistband of his trousers. He kept his movements slow, exaggeratedly so, as he unbuttoned them and slid them down his legs. When he straightened, clad only in his boxers, he spread his arms in mock presentation. “Well?”

Evangeline leaned back against the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping over him with no attempt to hide her appreciation. “Not bad,” she admitted with a small smirk. “Though I think I’d need an encore to be absolutely sure.”

Sebastian stepped out of his pants fully, kicking them aside before closing the distance between them with a slow, deliberate stride. The playful smirk on his lips grew as he leaned down slightly, his face just inches from hers.

“If you want to see me naked, Evie,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, “you could just say so.”

Evangeline’s lips parted, but no words came out. She blinked up at him, the blush on her cheeks deepening to a vibrant crimson. Sebastian chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich as he tilted her chin up gently with his fingers. His gaze lingered on her lips for a heartbeat before he leaned in, brushing a brief but firm kiss against them.

The press of his lips left her breathless, her mind reeling as he pulled back, his smirk firmly intact. Sebastian straightened, grabbing the folded pajamas from the table with an air of nonchalance. “But,” he said casually, unfolding the pajama pants and shaking them out, “you’ll have to wait for that.”

Evangeline blinked, her flustered state giving way to a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian shot her a knowing grin as he slid into the pajama pants, the loose fabric settling comfortably around his hips. “We need to sleep, Evie,” he said, his tone light but resolute.

Evangeline balked, her mouth falling open slightly as she stared at him. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

Sebastian reveled in her reaction, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “What?” he asked innocently, slipping his arms into the pajama shirt. “I thought I delivered quite the show.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully and took a step closer, reaching out to stop his hands. “The least you can do,” she said, her voice firm but tinged with teasing, “is leave the shirt off. After all, you already made a spectacle of yourself.”

Sebastian raised a brow, his grin widening. “Oh, so you admit it was a spectacle?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though the corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile.

With a theatrical sigh, Sebastian let the shirt drop back onto the table. “Fine. But only because I’m such a generous person.” He smirked as he stepped closer, taking her hand and gently pulling her back toward the bed. “Now, come on. You’ve had your fun.”

Evangeline allowed herself to be guided, her earlier flustered state replaced by a warm sense of contentment as he pulled back the covers for her. She slid in, the soft sheets cool against her skin, and watched as Sebastian joined her, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

He settled beside her, one arm draped over her waist as he pulled her close.

“Goodnight, Evie,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft and steady as his hand gently brushed over her hip. “I love you.”

Evangeline smiled, her fingers curling lightly around his. “Goodnight,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

As the room fell into silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing eventually syncing, Evangeline felt the weight of the day finally lift. For all the chaos and uncertainty ahead, in this moment, she was safe, secure, and deeply loved.

And with that thought, she drifted off to sleep in Sebastian’s arms.

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