#amanda should be writing

[solo-walker]

Eventually, of course, Anthony realises he just doesn't have the means to adopt the sheer number of kids who'd been freed from the Silver Line. And it gets increasingly harder to explain the sudden influx of children (all in the garb of various periods of history) in a home previously occupied by only three people.

Clarissa too gets adopted. And as much as Anthony, Jennifer and Benjamin hate to see her go, it has to be done. Clarissa feels... mixed. She will forever be indebted to the family who pulled her out of the vortex of her own nightmare, and oh she will miss them terribly, but it's hard to move on from the gaping and now silent hole in Benjamin's wall. It's hard to ignore how Benjamin sometimes struggles to remember his own name and it's hard to not instinctively check for her own worn out ticket, bought ages ago when time still had meaning.

She gets the fresh start she wanted, somewhere far away overseas, with a home in New Jersey and a mother with a kind smile who marks this chapter of her life by letting her pick out a new name. Clarissa Suzanne has a nice ring to it, she thinks. She stays in touch with Benjamin of course, he's the only one who understands. In fact, despite the distance, he grows to be one of her closest friends.

That's only because the title of 'best friend' is taken by Amanda. Dear, supportive Amanda, always ready for a game of hide-and-seek, always ready to listen and offer advice, always ready to go along with whatever scheme Clarissa came up with. When Clarissa seeks her help in winning Mark back, Amanda agrees despite her splintering heart. She says nothing. But then again, she'd always been good at hiding.

Benjamin had heard loads about Amanda over the years, and had waited eagerly for the day he'd get to meet Clarissa's best friend. When he arrives with his parents to attend the proper wedding of Clarissa and Mark, he expects to be introduced to a bustling and cheery young woman. He certainly doesn't expect to spend the latter half of the evening comforting a bereft Amanda as she sobs into her hands. She begs him not to tell Clarissa anything. He doesn't know what he could possibly say.

[rmbunnie]

Another little inconsequential red hood thing and I'll admit that I'm decently biased but it irks me to see the whole "Jason can't shut up about his death/he makes his death everyone else's problem" take really frequently because he simply does not do that enough for it to be a thing in like any actual Red Hood story.

It's a thing you see sometimes in modern annuals/comics with large casts, particularly if a writer doesn't seem super confident with writing all of the characters that they're working with or if he's just a background character in this one, because with comics it's quicker to reduce a character to recognizable landmarks than to try and work out a whole new complex voice if you don't really need to, so it's tire iron, Jane Austen, Joker, and death, and it's all written out in dialogue because every character in a group event can't have their own internal monologue, but like. That's pretty much it. UTRH is the establishing event for Jason Todd post death so of course a lot of it is about his death, although it's arguably about the lack of response to his death more than his death itself, and he certainly makes it Bruce's issue but one beef doesn't make a trend. Plus if his death is anyone's issue beyond his own Bruce and Joker are like the number one guys whose issue it is. He THINKS about his death a ton in Lost Days, but it doesn't really reflect externally on any of his interactions besides with Joker, which again, that's justified and relevant beef. Teen Titans 29 is more about his place in the hero community/feeling like he was an outsider even before the bomb/Tim being the new robin than about his death, and side note, that being counted as an attempt on Tim's life also bugs me. He beat him up and then left of his own volition. That's not an assassination attempt its called a fight, albeit a sneaky and unfair one. But anyways. I can't speak on Battle for the Cowl because i haven't read it, both that and Batman and Robin 2009 don't really compel me, but it's entirely possible that's an outlier to my point seeing as I kinda sorta haven't read it and don't care to lmao. Even New 52 (although HIGHLY unpopular) and Rebirth/Dawn of DC/Whatever we're doing now Red Hood content don't really have him talking to people about it besides the occasional little quips. He might make stances that were developed because of his death other people's problem, like in the Mia Dearden Green Arrow situation with the "getting involved in other people's business" issue, but acting like he makes specifically his death everyone else's problem is ignoring all of the perfectly valid actually canon things he makes other people's problem. Most of the unpleasant traits he brings to the table are a result of his death and the sense of abandonment and betrayal that came with it, but that doesn't mean he's bringing his death into it when he acts unpleasantly any more than he's bringing his birth into it when he shows up in the first place. The consequences do not equal the event. All this to say it's irritating when people say the character is grating because he doesn't stop whining about his death when that kinda just indicates to me that they're working off fanon based on fanon based on kinda mid batman annual.

[motherdanger]

besties having the worst days of their lives

[starangela]

ARASHAAA PLEASE

[halfadeckofcards]

Find My Sanctuary

Your fingers twitched around the cup cradled between your hands. You pressed the pads of your fingers into its warmth and imagined it was someone’s neck. Her father’s, Jigsaw’s. Whoever it needed to be.

Rating: Mature Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x GN!Reader Word count: 3.2K Content warnings: Angst, trauma, violent intrusive thoughts, mentioned gore, implied/referenced abuse, emotional breakdowns, panic attacks, implied/referenced self-harm, kissing, non-explicit sex, sex as a coping mechanism. There’s some cutesy shit too but it goes downhill fast, so savor it. Some weird prose, tangential rambling, and unnecessary symbolism as the author tries to be poetic. Saw is its own warning. AO3 Link: Here

Author’s Note: So this was inspired by a self-indulgent piece I wrote back in December! I wanted to expand upon it, but in the process it became.... much less cute than the original. In fact it became quite angsty. But this is the second installment in a series of Amanda Young x Reader fics, the first of which is Too Late I'm Dead. It’s not necessary to read first, but it might provide context. I had a lot of fun with this, and I’m super excited for this series! I hope you enjoy <3

You tapped a fingernail against the glass, breath leaving a puff of condensation on the pane from how cold it was outside. “I don’t think this is gonna let up anytime soon,” you admitted. You’d already waited at the diner for an hour longer than you’d expected, and the rain had only gotten more intense, pounding against the window as if determined to force its way inside.

Amanda made a noncommittal sound of agreement. She looked tiny on the other side of the table, the faded red vinyl of the booth threatening to swallow her up. But she looked at ease with the thought of that. At ease sitting here, drinking endless amounts of coffee and talking about nothing, talking about everything. As if the world didn’t exist outside the preciously unremarkable 24 hour diner.

She looked.... happy. She had a fist planted against her cheek and a soft, barely-there smile. Fuck, you wanted to capture that image forever. Wished you had a camera to snap a picture of her, of the tender curve of her lips, the choppy hair that reached just past her chin, the lack of tension that seemed to take residence in her shoulders as if she was permanently braced for a blow that never came.

The thought settled in your stomach and left a bitter taste in your throat. All the things she’d experienced at the hands of her father, the cards she’d been dealt in life, and then Jigsaw.... Your fingers twitched around the cup cradled between your hands. You pressed the pads of your fingers into its warmth and imagined it was someone’s neck. Her father’s, Jigsaw’s. Whoever it needed to be. Before this, the thought might’ve given you pause. The overwhelming desire to lash out and unleash furious, boiling, poisonous hatred and take someone by the neck, so intense you could almost feel it. You would’ve stopped, maybe been a little concerned. Where did that come from? you would wonder to yourself.

You knew exactly where it had come from. It had come from the same part of you that ripped yourself free of the nails Jigsaw had hammered through your palms. It had come from the same part of you that was holding onto Amanda like a lifeline, like the last thing in this damned world keeping you afloat. You would kill for her, would kill to protect the life you had escaped with despite all odds. You would kill to preserve the soft smile and the tender gaze that had settled against you. After all this, you would’ve done anything.

“Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. Most take for granted the fragility of their lives and how numbered their days are. How easily good things can slip between their fingers. But not you. Not anymore.”

Not anymore.

Now you kept a death grip on every good thing that showed up in your life. And Amanda was at the top of that list.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered. You shook your head and grinned sheepishly. You’d been mid-reverie, hadn’t meant to stare. Although you gladly would’ve spent hours memorizing every line, every curve and angle and detail of her face. The rest of her, too.

“Nothing.” You shifted your gaze out the window again. Her own gaze remained on you, heavy like a physical touch, like a possessive caress. It drew you back to her. As it always did. When it came to her, you were little more than a moth drawn to the flame. “Just happy to be here, I guess. With you.”

The words might’ve been cheesy under any other circumstance, but not with you two. Not when you’d both fought and killed and maimed to see another day.

And that wasn’t lost on Amanda. She looked at you with such raw, open adoration that it made your heart hurt. And then she came round to your side of the table and kissed the hurt away.

Someone muttered something nasty and only half-audible. The image of crushing the column of a throat flashed through your mind again. You tightened your grip on Amanda instead. When she finally pulled away, her lips were soft and wet and her crimson-red lipstick was just slightly smeared. The desire to wrap yourself around her, to press her to your chest and hold her there until your skin and bones melded together, pulsed through your body with breath-stealing intensity.

“Do you want to head back to my place?” you asked quietly. “Or yours.”

“Yours,” she said immediately. “But not yet. Just a little longer.”

You nodded and pulled away, ignoring the pang of disappointment at her words. Not at her desire to stay here longer. You found yourself hesitant to leave, as well. You could’ve spent the rest of your life trapped in this mediocre diner with her, just to see her smile and laugh and never worry again. Just the two of you, isolated from all the shit that had happened outside. No, the disappointment was from the first part. “Yours.” She had answered so quickly. She always wanted to go back to your place. She always wanted to talk about you, your job, your hobbies, what you were up to. She never wanted to go back to her place, never wanted to tell you about her job, her hobbies, what she was up to. She evaded any question that was too deep, that required anything more than a vague hand-waving answer. It was like she was determined to keep the conversation away from herself. You weren’t sure why. It would’ve made you uneasy if not for everything she’d been through, and that’s why you didn’t press. Because she had been through so much, been burned so many times. Even with your disappointment, you couldn’t find it in you to be too upset about it. God knows how long it took you to open up about your own shit, after Jigsaw. And she’d been trapped by him twice. You couldn’t blame her.

Instead, you just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed you cheek against her hair, inhaling the faint smell of sweat and cheap shampoo. It was comforting. You uncoiled as she leaned into you.

The two of you watched in silence as the diner’s staff changed, trading out one group for another. The rain still hammered against the glass, almost religious in its determination. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled like a slow-approaching omen. Of what? You weren’t quite sure, at first.

But the answer came soon enough.

You’d only distantly registered the sound of the diner’s door opening, the little bell pinging. It wasn’t until Amanda went rigid in your grasp that you looked up. Her face was frozen in an expression that you could only call “deer in headlights” – brown eyes wide, face pale, something startled and unpleasant and indecipherable written across her features. Your mouth was already starting to form the words, “What’s wrong?” when you followed her line of sight.

A man had entered the diner and approached the counter, one arm propped against the edge, the other resting against his hip and strategically brushing the edge of his jacket back to reveal a police badge hooked to his belt. Dark wavy hair, lips fixed halfway between a grimace and a pout, and a build like a brick shithouse. You didn’t recognize him. But Amanda most certainly did – she’d gone dead still in your grasp. You could hear her teeth grinding.

Who the fuck was this guy?

He ordered something from the cute girl with a nose piercing who was manning the counter, then cast a glance around the diner. He looked so deeply unimpressed that his expression bordered on disgust. And then his gaze snagged on Amanda. Surprise and recognition flitted across his face, lighting those blue eyes as his mouth pressed into a flat line. You could feel the tension bleeding into the air, from both him and Amanda, like blood from a wound bleeding into water. That rigid tightness had returned to Amanda’s shoulders, coiled even tighter than usual, so tight you thought she was going to spring out of the booth and throw herself at him with bared teeth and brandished claws.

And then his gaze landed on you.

Questioning, roving, examining you like a butterfly’s corpse pinned to a board. Like sticky, careless hands pawing through your organs. Your skin crawled. You didn’t even know why. You curled your hands into fists and dug your nails into your palms, into the scars there. It took everything not to cringe under the intensity of that look. The intensity of Amanda’s gaze was warm like the sun, inviting and alluring – his burned like ice.

After what felt like an eternity, he turned away. Discarded the both of you to turn his attention back to the girl behind the counter, who was offering him the coffee he’d ordered. She looked just about ready to offer herself, too.

You remembered to breathe. And then you remembered Amanda in your arms, and the fact that she’d stopped breathing.

You squeezed the solid muscle of her bicep. It broke whatever spell she was under. She snapped her gaze away from the man to your face, eyes wild and furious and with that element of something you still couldn’t put a name to. You let your concern show on your face. “Are you okay?”

“We’re leaving.” Amanda was on her feet and shrugging on her jacket before you could blink. Her movements were sharp and aggressive, like she was barely restraining herself from exploding. You scrambled for your own jacket. Amanda threw a wad of cash onto the table, and you hoped it was enough to cover the obscene amount of coffee you’d both consumed while there. She was already halfway to the door while you were struggling to get your arms through your jacket sleeves. You almost pointed out that it was still pouring.

You doubted she cared.

Amanda shoved through the door, and you felt the man’s eyes on both of you as you followed her. Neither of your jackets were waterproof. You were soaked and shivering in seconds, teeth chattering so hard you could feel your skull vibrating. The angry, quick walking pace Amanda set wasn’t enough to warm you up, so you just crossed your arms and hunched your shoulders and grit your teeth as your mind whirled.

Who the fuck was that guy, and why had Amanda reacted like that? He was evidently some sort of cop. You raked over everything Amanda had told you about her past. Former drug dealer wasn’t likely. Neither was an ex – he was hardly her type. He couldn’t have been the cop who’d framed and arrested her, because Amanda had told you that he was dead. Was he someone she’d run into while she was in jail, when she’d first started using? A cop who’d been particularly cruel? Maybe a cop who’d interviewed her after her Jigsaw traps, who’d dismissed and belittled her? Or maybe it had nothing to do with his badge. You mulled over the other possibilities. There were several, and each of them had your stomach roiling with unease.

By the time you got back to your tiny apartment, your hands were trembling so badly you struggled to get the key into the lock. Amanda huffed in frustration and grabbed them from you. She stabbed the key in as if imagining the lock was the cop from the diner.

“I had to cut him open to get the key. It was in his intestines. And I thought he was dead at first, but he wasn’t. Just drugged. Just... asleep. He woke up right as I started cutting into him....”

The door’s lock clicked open and Amanda shoved through. You followed her with less fervor. The sounds of squeaking boots filled the apartment as she paced angrily. You listening to her as you clicked the five different locks on your apartment door into place – you’d had them installed after you’d been discharged from the hospital.

She was muttering to herself under her breath. You couldn’t parse the actual words being said, but the acrid fury was clear. Tension locked around your vertebrae.

“Fuck!”

You whirled, alarm spiking through you. Amanda had stopped in the middle of the space, the palms of her hands smacked against her forehead, fingers gripping her hair and eyes screwed shut and face contorted as if she was in physical pain. She looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She looked like she was on the verge of bursting apart.

The image of digging your fingers into that cop’s neck tore through you, visceral and hot and angry. This time, you held onto the image. Pictured your nails breaking his skin and your palms crushing his windpipe as he stared up at you with wide blue eyes. Whoever the fuck he was, you’d make him regret whatever the hell he’d done to send Amanda spiraling.

A ragged breath sawed out of Amanda. You tucked the image away for now and rushed to her side. “Hey, honey, sweetheart. Look at me.” You kept your touch as soft as your voice when you placed your hands against her arms. Enough to let her know you were there, but not enough to force her into anything. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re home now. You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Amanda’s breath rattled in and out, too rapid and too shallow, as if she was struggling not to burst into tears.

You had no idea what was happening. It was so surreal to see Amanda – strong, capable, beautiful Amanda, who’d been your lifeline ever since you met her – on the verge of a breakdown. It was as if your roles had been flipped, like Amanda had rushed out of that Jigsaw survivor’s meeting instead of you, tears in her eyes, and like you’d calmly turned around from your seat on the steps instead of her. It made anxiety gnaw at your insides and your throat ache. It made you feel woefully ill-prepared to deal with this. But fuck, you had to do something. You had to try.

“Mandy,” you pleaded with her. You moved your hands to her wrists and gently tried to pull them away. You were afraid she was going to rip her hair out. “Sweetheart, please.”

She stared at you with wild eyes. She no longer looked like a deer in headlights. She looked like a cornered animal, hackles raised and ready to shed blood to survive, even as fear pumped through her veins like a half-blinding drug. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs.

“Here. Put your hand here.” You moved one of her hands to your neck, pressing her ice-cold fingers against your pulse. “Feel my heartbeat. Pay attention to it, yeah? Don’t focus on anything else, just focus on that. Focus on me.” It was a shot in the dark. You’d done something similar for yourself a thousand times before when you were in the worst of your post-trap paranoia, when you thrashed awake in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and unable to breathe. In a moment of desperation, half out of your mind with sleep-deprivation and fear, you’d bought yourself one of those stuffed animals with a heartbeat. You’d listen to it when you woke up already barreling head-first into a panic attack, focused on the metronome ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum instead of your own rebelling body. It had helped you. Grounded you. You had no idea if it would help her. Or if your own pulse was too frantic to be effective.

And at first it seemed like it didn’t. She was trembling and cold and teary-eyed. Her grasp on your throat was just a hair too tight, just shy of comfortable.

But after what seemed like hours in limbo, her breathing slowed. Deepened. It was unsteady, but it was something. Her eyes lost some of their panic and focused on you.

You offered her a soft, cautious smile. “Hey. Hey, honey. I’m here. You’re okay.”

She stared at you for a silent moment, then her hand moved from the column of your throat to cup the back of your neck and she was pulling you into a bruising kiss. A fierce press of lips and teeth, a possessive gnashing that didn’t give you a chance to draw breath until she pulled away. She cupped your face between her hands. Dark eyes glimmered with desperation.

“Please don’t leave,” she whispered.

“Whu–”

“Please promise me.” She choked back tears. “Promise me that you won’t leave. You’ll stay. You won’t leave me.” She shook her head at some unspoken question. “Not after everything, not after all this. Everything I’ve done, I–” A small, broken noise that made you feel ill. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay.”

You stared at her in bewilderment. You’d been plummeted into unknown waters, had no idea where this was coming from, only half an idea of what she was talking about. The traps? The things she’d done to survive? Of course you couldn’t blame her for that, of course you wouldn’t leave her –

“I promise. I promise.” You brushed your thumbs against her cheeks, sweeping away the spilt tears. You kissed them away and tasted salt. “I promise.”

She kissed you again with the same fervor as before. As if she was scared you’d slip out from between her fingers, like mist in the sun, like blood in water. As if she was trying to memorize you, to convince you to stay with the movements of her mouth and her hands. As if she might just consume you to keep you. And there was nothing you could do but kiss her back and desperately try to communicate in that same language that you didn’t need convinced. You were here, you were with her, you weren’t leaving, and you never would, no matter what. No matter what she thought she’d done, no matter your scarred bodies and your bent souls.

At some point you ended up in your bedroom, and Amanda begged you to distract her, to ground her, to keep her from destroying herself piece by piece. And so you did. You worshipped every part of her. You pressed kisses to her scars, whispered promises and sweet nothings into her skin. You wrung out sweet pleasure from her until the tears of fear and desperation turned into tears of ecstasy and she was sweetly moaning your name like you were the only thing keeping her from shattering.

She fell asleep curled in your arms. It was almost unnerving how fragile she suddenly looked, how small and brittle. You gently traced a line up her arm and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. She buried herself further in your embrace. She looked so much calmer, now. At ease. A total contrast to just a few hours ago.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at your own mind, you stayed awake a while longer. Kept watch for whatever mental demons might come, held her close, and imagined wringing that cop’s throat with your bare hands.

[baflegacy]

Maybe a hot take but fuckboy amanda is the best thing smosh has given me, and I want more of fuckboy amanda flirting with angela for a video

edwin o’brien truly was a menace….really felt that youtube comment that said “why is amanda’s rizz working on me” in the baf legacy video

[carnivallsarchive]

want to bring her into the mutual circle so bad

[robinsversion]

I was rewatching hbomb’s video for the millionth time yesterday and the line “I don’t know why anyone would make video essays like this unless they were strictly in it for the money” stood out to me because if you replace “make video essays” with “write poetry” that perfectly describes my thoughts about Rupi Kaur.

[pintsofguinnesmakeyoustrong]

had a dream that jigsaw made a trap that was a fucked up dentist chair holding the victims arms down and their head tilted back and just preparing a plate of nachos with guacamole, sour cream, salsa, cheese and jalapenos on the victims face and they had to eat the whole thing before they suffocated in. The nachos.

[amandayetagain]

good god I could never admit this on my main blog in fear of being crucified but your kotlc smut is >>>>> and as a bottom fitz truther *ahem* thank you for the meal.

feel free to answer this privately if you do at all I just had to give my undying gratitude for that fedsex fic I truly feel like I am experiencing the wisdom of aristotle in the form of toxic yaoi

this genuinely made my day! Your url made me giggle btw. Ch 1 was going to live in my docs forever because I have this irrational fear around being canceled on kotlcblr but bc of the hype boost from discord buddies I posted it! So I feel that fear.

this makes me so glad I did post it! I hope kotlcblr gets freakier with each passing day peace and love on planet earth

He is!! But it’s also about trust and Dex needing to be in control. It’ll be a sign of trust and growth in their relationship when they switch.

if you’re wondering how it’s been going chapter 2 is 1/3 of the way written! Dex just needs to get his shit together

thank you so much!!

[jazzyjj]

I missed the stream when it was live but seeing that it was the painting crew plus spencer building Legos for an hour and a half!!?

LET'S GOOOO

[sillyguy-supreme]

🥺🌹🙏

“If he had to choose between saving either you or me, he would save you.”

“No,” said Keefe. “I would never give him the option.”

“You’re right. You would sacrifice yourself, and he would blame me for your death my whole life.”

[thecollectionsof]

Can I have 11 and 19 please 😊

11. What work took you the longest to write?

this year?? i mean soulmate au has been a wip since early september so i think that one takes the cake, but as-of-yet unreleased postcards fic was conceptualized in may and is looking to be my longest fic yet so that one might beat it. for posted fics it was scam likely, which i think i started in march 2022??

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i think i wanna do more lemyanka maybe? and i would like to actually write for s16 ships when people are into them because i missed that for s15 :p who knows if i will, because i'm not really the type to write ships i'm not into myself, but i'm hoping i'll find one that i enjoy!!!! :)

[stabbyapologist]

Do I write a chapter in my Bellatrix/OFC fanfic or start a new wip between Amanda/OFC/Hoffman?

*internally screaming in indecision*

[have-some-heals]

Ardent-2 & Nova on the future

⚠️ Spoilers ⚠️

A ring of light circled the small ghost as it flexed in and out adjusting to the new shell the titan had found for them.

“This feels a bit plain” Nova said after a moment. The ghost’s titan was laid out on the ground surrounded by old magazines that had been collected. A large sheet of paper laid in front of them. Gently the titan flipped through pages and every now and again ripped one out.

“The idea is to blend in while standing out… it’s called peacocking” the titan pointed at an article in the magazine. “You said you want Veles to notice you so maybe this new shell will do the trick” ripping another page out of the old magazine Ardent-2 added it to a pile of other photos.

“And what is it you are doing again” the ghost asked after expanding in anger but biting back the argument and instead changing the subject to the odd behavior of the titan.

“After the mask incident last week I went to Eris to talk and she said something about this being one of the methods her therapist recommended for trauma… it’s called a seeing sheet.” The titan sat up a bit and looked at the ghost. “ I’m supposed to take pictures from these old printings and cut them out. Then I stick them in this bigger paper and I hang it somewhere to remind me what I’m aiming for…”

“Isn’t that why you guardians have that Bray site where you press the little add button and things get added to a digital folder?” The ghost moved over to the computer and pulled the screen up navigating to the built in app. The message icon in the corner flashed as the ghost looked through what the titan had already added. “Are you planning a togetherness ceremony?” The ghost asked as the images were mostly stills of other events. Every few adds there would be some image of a dress or suit, or a food arrangement, a table setting, and even some rings”

“No, that’s just in case one day they ever do get to talking” the titan said standing up after a few moments. He moved to the screen and skimmed the messages deleting a few from a particular warlock.

One message caught his eye though and he quickly opened it.

Ardent-2,

Come see me when you can,

Crow

The message was short but had been sent recently. Ardent-2 waived his hand sending the screen away and set course for the helm. “Wonder what he could want with us”

———

The Helm looked the same as ever as Ardent-2 made his way to where he had been told crow was. The newer guardian rarely called on him so he figured it must be important.

Crow was standing in the hall where he normally stood, only Ardent was noticing some odd details. More books, more furniture… more stuff. ‘I wonder if they moved him into the hall’ the titan thought as he looked around.

“Guardian, thank you for joining me” Crow spoke softly and steadily as ever. “I hope I didn’t panic you with my message but glint insisted we see you in person to get a report on the headless ones.” Crow gestured to a small bench and indicted the titan to sit.

“Oh I’m not much of a researcher” The titan sat on the bench cautiously- Not putting all his weight on it. “And to be honest I’ve been out of sorts recently…” he looked over the other guardian a pang of guilt washing over him. Who was he to miss Amanda and pity himself when Amanda and Crow had- his thoughts were cut off.

“I understand. I know what it feels like to learn something shocking about yourself.” Crow offered the titan a smile and sat next to him. “When I found out I had caused, no had planned Caydes death…” Crow took a breath and then rested a hand in the titans back. “If you find you can’t keep looking back then I suggest you find something to look forward to.” He stood slowly and gave a nod to the titan before moving to a bookshelf to straighten a few of the books. “If you learn anything Glint would love to know… and here this was in Amanda’s things” Crow handed a photo of the titan and pilot working on his ship. The expo was covered in oil and Amanda was clearly laughing at him.

Ardent-2 took a moment to look over the photo before pocketing it. He then nodded at Crow as he stood. “I know it’s not my place but Amanda would give me a lashing if I didn’t say anything to ya while I was here… she’d be okay with you falling again. In fact, the Amanda I knew would be pretty upset with us both…” The titan didn’t hang about to talk more about the sensitive matter.

Crow waited till he was sure he was alone before opening the book where the photo had been inside there were a few other photos. The one in top now that of Amanda and a hunter who had taken over Caydes ship. The pair were working on the inside and it seemed like both were unaware of the photo being taken. He flipped the card over and traced the names with a finger.

Amanda & Ace, finally fixing Caydes comms

Crow closed the book and slid it back into its place. He hesitated a moment before pulling up his messages and entering the hunters information. He typed on word.

Ramen?

His finger hovered over the send button, his hand trembling slightly as he looked over the one word message. The words the titan had spoke rang true and Crow knew that like his dark past he had to move forward with this loss as well.

With a breath he pulled his hand back having sent the message before he could chicken out. Behind him the sound of sliding doors echoed down the hall. Soon the sound of Eris talking reached his ear.

“Don’t make me call yours”

[urtrickster]

finally making an amanda bot specifically set in dbd so !! twas only a matter of time