#and he's still over here like: i am always correct and never wrong and clearly bringing up emotions is your problem

[cryptidghostgirl]

HOLY SHIT

I just got to reading the request you did for me

Aka Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

And I love it so much???

Like it's so good 😭

Don't wanna bother you with another request but could you do a part 2? I'm just curious on if the reader ever succeeds or if alastor ends up getting their marriage back lmao

A/N i’m so glad you liked it!! a number of people have been asking for a part two actually so of course :) Also this is my reminder that I am not a woman in stem but an enby in classics so I get science things wrong,, i’m very sorry.

Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2 (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Nothing I can think of please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,206

First Part: Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I can still be useful" Alastor told himself as he straightened the lapels on his jacket, "She still needs me."

Alastor leaned into the mirror, slicking his hair back just the slightest bit.

"Yes." he nodded to his reflection.

Taking a deep breath, Alastor stepped out into the hall. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Y/n had never caused anxiety to rule his being before, so why was it happening now?

Since her arrival at the hotel, she had stayed locked in her room. Two whole days had gone by and the demon avoided everyone and everything. It was not unexpected or out of the blue, she had always favored her own company above anyone else's but, Charlie was growing tense. She had asked Alastor to help bring their newest guest out of her shell, hoping their shared past would cause his attempts to be more fruitful than her own had been. For some odd reason, Alastor had agreed.

Fondness was the trouble. He was fond of Charlie, and he had always had a bit of a soft spot for Y/n. She had been his wife for christ's sake, there was no way he couldn't have fostered some sort of affection for the wildly brilliant and creative girl.

Before he really realized it, Alastor was at the door to Y/n's room. She had taped a sheet of loose leaf to the door. Keep Out had been written on it in all caps, in her familiar, messy handwriting. Alastor's smile softened slightly at the sight.

Y/n had not haunted his thoughts, had not been an obsession, since his arrival in Hell. While he had recalled her with warmth and a slight smile, even looked for her in Hell on occasion, she had mostly stayed out of his mind after his death. Alastor had had bigger things to deal with, more important occupations of his time. He had had plans. He still had plans but, everything had seemed to change the second Y/n had appeared and nearly flat out told him she didn't care about him.

Alastor was nothing if not prideful. His image, his sense of self, his power, it all played in to the idea of himself in his head. He had figured that through the years of their arrangement, the strange woman had come to harbor some sort of affection for him as he did her. He had figured she at least cared for him as a friend, that her irritation had been friendly, playful even. Clearly, he had been incorrect.

The door suddenly swung open revealing Y/n. She wore an cross expression, a lab coat, and safety goggles. Peering over her shoulder into the room, Alastor noted the way her hair was still continuing whatever she'd been working on before opening the door. He had never seen a demon with a form like hers before. It was perfectly suited, equally unusual as the soul it housed.

"I could feel you standing out here."

Alastor raised his eyebrows, bravado taking over.

"Really, my dear?" he asked, leaning on his microphone before him as if it were a cane.

"Yeah." Y/n flatly replied, lifting the goggles from their eyes and pushing them onto their forehead, "What do you want?"

"I..."

What did he want? Alastor was a man who always knew his goals, his aims. He was always working towards something, no deed without its purpose. It was only now he realized that he didn't really know what he wanted from Y/n, why he had really agreed to fulfill Charlie's request with nothing given in return. Alastor cleared his throat, banishing the complicated thought to another time.

"Charlie requested I come speak to you about your lack of participation in the hotel's group activities."

Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"And you care what I do with my time because...?"

She tilted her head slightly to the side, her hands still on either side of the doorframe, blocking him from entering the room. Alastor sighed.

"You're not going to make this an easy conversation, are you."

It was a statement, not a question, and a slight smile cracked across Y/n's tired face.

"You know me so well." she joked lightly.

Alastor was ready, preparing himself to have to force his way into the room to have this chat. He saw the way her hand on the door twitched, and prepared himself to have it slammed in his face. Much to his surprise, Y/n let go of her hold on the door and stepped to the side.

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to come in?" she asked after a moment, her head cocked to the side in a genuine curiosity.

Alastor nearly laughed. Always so inquisitive with regards to the world around her, always trying to fill the gaps in her understanding, usually at a loss when it came to what was considered normal interaction. He stepped into the room. Y/n's hair stopped what it was doing with the test tubes in the back and closed the door for her as she turned to face him. After a look of appraisal, she seemed to decide the atmosphere for the conversation and sat down on the bed, patting the empty space beside her at Alastor's continued hesitation. He sat down and she crossed her legs, watching him intently.

"You need to stop avoiding people, and the activities. You are here to be redeemed, aren't you?"

"Oh! I see what the issue is." Y/n smiled brightly, "No, I'm not."

Alastor's brow furrowed. He had thought it odd that Y/n of all people would seek redemption but, had figured the time had simply changed her in ways he had yet to grasp.

"Then why are you here?"

The little beast called hope clawed at the inside of his stomach, gnawed on his ribs. The want was unfamiliar.

"Because I need an angel."

Alastor froze.

"You need..." he watched her in confusion, "you need an angel?"

"Yep." Y/n nodded in earnest.

She smiled up at him, evidently satisfied with herself and her response. She had always been like this. Alastor sighed.

"Why?"

"Because I need to test my virus on one, duh."

"Y/n, what are you planning."

"Same thing as always. Actually, I could use your help. Maybe this isn't all so bad, can you get me an angel? Just at the next extermination or something. I already know it works on demons, I just don't want to actually let my little baby loose without knowing it will work on the angels as well."

"Jesus, Y/n." Alastor laughed lightly, unable to not.

He shook his head in disbelief and Y/n's smile slipped from her face. She was always scheming, always wanting, always doing what it took to ensure she got what she wanted. They were so alike in that way: complete and utter disregard for the world unless it served them.

"What? Did I do something wrong? Did this hotel already work? Have the exterminations stopped?"

"No, I... you really haven't changed."

"Well, I'm taking out the afterlife now instead of the living world, but sure." Y/n crossed her arms, evidently irritated by his remark, "I'm just the same. So are you, by the way. I've heard about what you've been up to since you died."

Alastor was silent in thought for a moment before he spoke again. He looked at Y/n with a determined gaze.

"Are you asking to reinstate our deal?"

Y/n was wrong, Alastor had changed, she just didn't know it yet. The hotel had changed him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He realized the answer to Y/n's initial question, what it was that he wanted, in that moment and there were only three things. The first was the same as it had been for the last seven years, to get rid of this damned contract he was under. The second? The second he had realized earlier, in his room when he'd been getting ready to come to Y/n, he just hadn't liked it and so, he had ignored it. Alastor wanted to be back in her good books. More importantly, for some undefinable reason, Alastor wanted her back at his side. The world, he had realized, had felt empty without her, no matter how irritating and distracting she could be. Though his motivations were muddy, figuring out the reason for the want was never the priority. The end goal was to fulfill by any means necessary. It always had been, for both of them. The third was that Alastor secretly wanted Charlie's crazy plan to work out. He wanted to protect these sinners, to protect this place they had all worked so hard to build.

There was a point of intersection to be found in two of these three things, if Y/n answered his question correctly. Taking out sinners, taking an angel, could let all hell loose on the hotel. Convincing Y/n to make a deal with him, to give Alastor her soul, well, that would be killing two birds with one stone. He would have his imperfect little companion in afterlife and he could stop her from doing any more damage to the hotel and its reputation than necessary to ensure the first thing took place.

"I suppose."

That was exactly what he had been hoping to hear. The first deal had been under her terms. Alastor had been hoodwinked into it, unable to turn it down due to the information on him she had uncovered. Now, the tables had turned. Alastor held his hand out towards her, grinning malevolently.

"How about this, let's make a new one."

"I don't see why not." Y/n shrugged after having thought it over, her hand meeting his, "Things are different, we're both dead. The old one wouldn't really work anymore."

"No, it wouldn't, would it?"

"Yeah so, you get me an angel to test this on. I start participating more in the hotel. Deal?"

"How about this." Alastor's grin widened, his antlers growing as well as his shadows ate away at the room's walls.

Y/n didn't flinch. Nothing in her expression changed save a slight twinge of intrigue as she watched him become more monstrous by the second, more all consuming.

"I help you get an angel. You stick by my side, like the old days. That would include participation in the hotel and all of Charlie's plans as it is where I work for now. A metaphorical taking of a soul rather than a heart, shall we say."

He was counting on her lack of interest in the world outside of science right now, counting on her lack of understanding of how things worked in Hell when an overlord offered a deal like this. He had chosen the words carefully, getting everything right while keeping the truth hidden.

"I'll still have time to work on my project?" she asked skeptically.

"When there is time."

Y/n smiled.

"Deal."

Green smoke wound its way out from the point their palms met. Y/n watched it, eyes wide with intrigue as it curled around them, temporarily filling the room.

"Is that what happens when deals get made in Hell?" Y/n asked as she let go of Alastor's hand.

"Only certain ones."

"Cool."

She got to her feet, snapping her goggles back over her eyes. Turning to the table, she began to fiddle with her test tubes once again. Alastor retook his normal form, watching her with a satisfied smirk. He summoned the chain, feeling the cool shadow of the mellow across his fingers. Y/n seemed not to notice as the collar formed around her neck. Alastor didn't like that, didn't like being ignored. He gave it a tug and she stumbled back a few steps, her hands flying to her throat and her hair catching the glass beaker she had nearly dropped.

Y/n noticed the chain now. It was impossible not to. As her hair set the beaker down, she turned to Alastor, eyes fixed on the glowing metal. Her gaze traced it from where she held it to his hands. Y/n looked up at him.

"What's this?" she asked, eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, "When did this get here? How..."

She trailed off and Alastor's smile grew wider still. He advanced towards her, wrapping the excess chain around the handle of his microphone. It clinked menacingly against itself, spawning a sudden deep seated dread in Y/n.

She held her place, her shoulders thrown back and feet planted firmly. Alastor couldn't tell if it was all a show or if she really was not at all scared of him in that moment. He didn't really care, it didn't matter. She stared intently up at him in defiance as Alastor came to a stop about a half a foot away.

"Well?"

"Oh my sweet, you really have no idea what you've gotten yourself in to, do you?"

It was better than he could have hoped, could have dreamed. She was entirely under his control.

"Welcome to the rest of your afterlife."

----

Next Part → Till Death do us Part pt. 3

A/N I wasn't super sure how to end this off, I hope you liked it!!

@marukun @nanami1chu @i-like-potatoes12533 @boogiemansbitch @apenasandorinha @almond-t0fu @mygoldtears @ahellborn @winterisholding @misty-melody @themetalbabygirl @trash-shoot

[aingeal98]

Something I enjoy a lot about Cass is that with a lot of heroes that don't kill it can easily veer into self righteousness. It happens with Bruce a fair amount and while it can make for a compelling character beat if done well, if done poorly it just kind of makes the reader annoyed lmao. Like why am I supposed to root for this guy when he's saying "If you shoot the man who killed your parents your soul will be forever ruined!" and acting like there's no difference between types of kill?

And the thing about Cass is that while her no kill rule is based on the experience of watching someone die and the horror she felt, and while she does project it into pretty much everyone she meets... It never comes across as unlikeably self righteous to me. Like for Cass every kill is a tragedy and while her no death rule is a moral statement it's also given more importance as an rule that gives us psychological insight into what governs and drives her. Even when she's wrong, even when the villain is so sympathetic and justified that there's no reason to root for her, the narrative always feels very self aware about it. Like when she let that father get arrested despite him just wanting his daughter back. The writer (Puckett of course) wasn't interested in convincing the reader that Cass's judgement was the morally correct choice. He was interested in what it said about her that it was the choice she chose.

And similarly when she approaches people to try and stop them from killing she always lacks the morally righteous air a lot of others carry. She's desperate and earnest and determined to get them to change but it's not because she thinks she's in any way better than them and has the right to pass judgement because of it. It's someone who genuinely believes that she's irredeemable manically trying to save everyone else because if these killers can do the right thing and turn over a new leaf then maybe... Just maybe... there's hope for her?

It's so compelling to me. The desperation and clear projection that happens when she goes out determined to enforce and/or promote her code to as many people possible. Every time she says someone can change she's speaking from experience. Because she views herself as irredeemable and beneath everyone but she's still out here trying to be good so maybe if others make the same choice it's proof that she's not doomed. That none of them are. She doesn't want the hitman to redeem himself by becoming a hero and helping his former victims. She just wants him to walk away, to start a peaceful and quiet new life. And when he fails to do that and they meet again she still won't give up on him. When she stands in front of the victims family she won't declare she knows better. She'll hopefully and uncertainty ask "But maybe... He can change?"

Like there's so much heart behind everything she does and every action she takes. Every time the topic of killing people comes up she's so earnest and clearly projecting her own issues and seeing herself in every murderer and it's so fun. It's so fascinating. I miss Batgirl 2000.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Taking a leaf out of @bcdaily's book, enjoy this random excerpt from a fic I started years ago and will definitely never finish.

When Sirius lead the way back inside the house, which the collective household had spent the better part of a day decorating—a testament to how much they loved Remus, or how much James enjoyed drawing Adipose faces on square balloons—James followed, and split off near the living room, where he found most of the guests, and his mum, who beckoned frantically for him to come over.

"There's a girl waiting for you by the front door," she told him, pointing towards the door that opened into the hallway. "I think she's here to deliver something."

"Probably Beatrice with the cake."

"No, she said her name—wait, no, come here!" cried his mum, as he turned and made to walk away, her hand closing tight around his forearm. For reasons that were utterly beyond him, she began to brush invisible crumbs from his suit jacket—he'd gone full Tennant for the sake of the party, red Converse and all—with such force that he felt as if he was one wrong move away from a violent pummelling.

"What are you—" he began, then cried out in pain as she caught him hard in the chest. "That was a rib, woman!"

"Stop whinging, I'm just trying to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"You'll want to look presentable before you go out there."

"Why?"

"Just trust me, you silly boy," she said, and made as if to grab his tie, but James darted out of the way. "I'm just trying to fix it!"

"Ten always wore his tie tucked in!"

"It's leaning to the left!"

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"A tie should look smart, not—" his mother began, to which James turned and fled at a flat-out run, bursting into the hall with unnecessary speed and startling a girl who, until that point, appeared to have been examining a painting of the Santorini coastline that his parents had mounted on the wall.

Correction. A very beautiful girl examining a painting of the Santorini coastline.

She'd jumped when he came running into the hall, but seemed to recover fast, and bestowed upon him an extraordinarily pretty smile.

"That was some entrance," she said, sounding amused. "Are you training for a marathon?"

He was still wrong. The word 'very' was sufficient for most things, but it fell short in this instance, because this girl, this lovely, pink-cheeked, ivory-skinned miracle, with waves of dark red hair and incomparably stunning eyes, was clearly the most beautiful girl James had ever laid eyes on in his life.

The most beautiful girl in the world was standing in his parents' hallway, for some reason, while he, like an idiot, was fully dressed as the bleeding Doctor and couldn't pretend that he wasn't, because she'd very likely heard him yelling to his mother about the favoured position of Ten's tie, and he had a sonic screwdriver tucked behind his ear.

"Um," he said. Um. That was it. A sound. He'd made a sound. Well done.

Maybe he'd get really lucky, and she'd know nothing about Doctor Who, and he could pretend that the screwdriver was a really fancy pen. Woman liked fancy pens. A fancy pen meant a fancy man.

"Are you dressed as the Doctor?" she said, eyeing his costume curiously.

The fancy pen idea shat a brick and ran for the hills.

"Er, no," he lied, his brain twitching frantically. He wished there was a way to rid himself of the screwdriver in an inconspicuous manner. "This is just how I dress."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally sure."

"Oh," she said, and the tiniest crease appeared between her eyebrows. "It's just, there's a two-foot tall Dalek cake sitting outside in my van right now, and that's telling me a different story."

Were James as pale as her—and it was particularly fortunate at this moment that he wasn't—his face would have been redder than his trainers.

"You're from Lily and Bee," he said, burning with shame. "I mean, from the bakery."

The girl nodded, pointing to her own chest. "I'm Lily, if you hadn't guessed, since you've already met Beatrice—if you're James Potter, that is, which I hope you are. He's the one I'm looking for."

She was looking for him she was looking for him she was looking for him she was—of course she was looking for him, she was delivering the cake he'd bloody commissioned. "I'm him. I'm James."

"Not the Doctor?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, and glanced down at his outfit. "But only on very special occasions."

She smiled politely, an image he wished he could record and play back when he remembered this conversation, so he could let his mind linger on the one thing he'd done right in all this ugly embarrassment. "I'm sorry if there's been any confusion—it's actually me who made the cake. I was on holiday for the week when you consulted with Beatrice and now she's on holiday and it's a whole thing, but it's all finished and ready, so no harm done."

"Ah, okay." He could do better than this. "Nice romantic week away, was it?"

Not like that.

"I was in the Lake District with my parents," she replied, regarding him with some curiosity. "So no, not particularly. Can't really sneak boys back to a Windermere-adjacent cottage with really thin walls, though I got to hear them going at it, which was horrifying." She pulled a face. "Anyway, I assume you're going to need this cake, yeah?"

[fukcnoplease]

Things always go wrong pt5

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

 The man immediately rushed to correct her, tripping over his words as his hands moved wildly, too fast for her to see. Dani knew this wasn't any kind of kidnapping or imprisonment. They couldn't catch her if they tried, not without ghost equipment, but it was kind of fun to mess with this giant of a man. Who clearly had super speed as his hands and words began to go so fast she couldn't understand either. Concerning, sure, but not enough to thwart her thirst for chaos or the urge to poke fun at this seemingly superpowered teddy bear. 

“Am I gonna die here?” She asked, putting on her best scared kitten act. The man froze as he made an interesting set of noises in response to Dani’s question. She wasn't entirely sure they could be made by humans but she wasn't too worried. Her vague understanding of the superheroes around the world did mean she knew at least a few aliens existed in their ranks. She didn't know any of them by name though.

“I hope you understand that no one, no one, on this station would ever try and harm you.” The man said after taking a deep breath. A little rich since Batman had only recently tried to stick them in a lab but it was the thought that counted she supposed. He seemed to get more uncomfortable if she just stared at him silently though, so she kept silent in her scared little kitten act. Honestly it was kind of a riot seeing the man panic over things she knew were unimportant.

“Look! I’ll bring you to Batman and he can explain everything. How about that?” He said and Dani frowned. Batman likely wouldn't be as much of a help as Wonder Woman but if this guy wasn't going to bring her to the lasso lady then might as well go to Batman. Maybe she could even convince him to let her leave. 

Dani nodded, shyly as she could muster, at the big man and he relaxed. He went to pick her up but she stepped away, not even as an act, and he fumbled with his hands before nodding briskly and turning towards a hallway. She followed him a little ways in a big meeting room, extra long dining table with too many chairs and another big, massive computer at the end of the room. It was a little scary how many way too fancy computers Dani had come across in only 24 hours. 

Well, only two, but that was still more than the average person would in their lifetime.

Batman stood at the computer and typed at a raised keyboard. Dani had seen Jazz use a stand up desk, she said it was good for back posture and stress. She always talked about how posture was important and how it could affect you when you were older. Probably didn't mean much with ghost genetics so Dani never cared. 

“BR-” The red caped crusader almost shouted as he walked in but was cut off by something hitting him directly in the forehead. He cried out when it exploded in his face as well. Dani would be lying if she said it didn't make her flinch, which is why she didn't say anything.

“Batman.” The man said again, rubbing his blackened forehead, “I wanted you to explain to- well, this child? That she was not in danger while on the station nor that she was kidnapped or imprisoned.” 

Batman looked at the man then at Dani and scowled. Now that Dani was feeling better, and a little distracted from her brother dying, she started to notice how rude Batman was. He always scowled whenever they interacted and while she wasn't the best person in the world she certainly wasn't that bad. Well, not according to her anyway. “I want to leave.” She said. The caped man, she was really struggling not to just call him Teddy, looked shocked at her sudden firmness but Batman just stared her down. She racked her brain for a way to sound regal and vague when Batman cut her off with a simple answer. “No.” He said. “What?” She and Teddy said in unison. “No. Its been established that you are not safe on earth. We had medical bays if you need them and we have yet to confirm your royal status. There are heroes on the way to help with that. You will stay here.” He said. Dani could feel her ectoplasm churn and her core thrum with anger. “You don't have the right to refuse me passage back to earth. My allies can aid me more than you can and I will force my way to them if I need to.” She growled. Batman’s scowl only deepend. “There is no way we can confirm your allies are safe and until we can confirm your status you are as much of an unknown threat as they are. The Watchtower has all the facilities needed to help you. You will stay here.” Batman said before turning back to the computer. Dani was fuming, if Danny wasnt potentially withering away in another room she would have destroyed this place. “Batman, I know you feel the need to protect them but they are just kids. Can't we at least hear them out?” Teddy said and Dani felt immensely grateful for him. Maybe she would even lighten up on her bullying. Maybe.

“Kids can be more dangerous.” Was all Batman said and Teddy huffed.

“Yours, maybe, but we can't hold every kid to the standard of a robin, can we?” Teddy said and Batman finally looked back at him.

“Not every kid is a meta either.” He said and went back to work. Dani could feel Teddy flex as he grew more agitated.

“Batman.” He said lowly, and Dani instinctively took a step away from him. Batman didn't respond, but he did pause at where he was typing. There was a silence before the clack of keys started up again. Teddy took a deep breath before pressing something on his wrist, a light flashed red and he spoke into it. “Wonder Woman? Can you please come to the main meeting room? There is a young child who wishes to be escorted home.” He said. Dani looked as shocked as Batman did but she recovered faster. “Thank you!” She cried as she launched at Teddy and hugged his neck. He stiffened in shock but relaxed quickly enough to hug her back before she pulled away.

“Superman.” Batman said, he sounded angry but not enough to concern Dani. She did spin to do a double take at Teddy though.

“Wait, Superman? You’re superman?” She asked incredulously as she looked the man up and down. His costume made sense for the name, both the S on the front and the absurdity of it. “Yes?” Superman said, confused by why Dani was so surprised, “Did you not recognize me?” “Well, I guess I just expected Superman to look more… I don't know. Super?” She said. Someone laughed from the entryway and they turned to see Wonder Woman laughing at the doorway. “Praytell, how did you think he would look?” The woman laughed as she entered the room. Batman gave a grunt but was ignored in favor of the child now deep in thought. “I guess like, red skin? Fire hair? Maybe extra arms?” She said, “A cooler outfit?” Superman looked like a wounded puppy at her words and she felt a little bad. Wonder Woman started laughing again and quickly closed the distance between them, which Dani was surprisingly OK with.

“I suppose that truly would have been super,” She chuckled before composing herself, “Now what was this about a child wanting to go home?” Batman stepped forward this time. Dani felt the humor wash out of her as she glared down the man now officially holding her prisoner. “Until royal status can be confirmed both the metas will be staying on the Watchtower until further notice.” He said. Wonder Woman hummed as she looked at him, hip cocked in a friendly but challenging stance.

“And you?” She addressed Dani and Dani fumbled to find the right words. Batman couldnt look more sour if he tried.

“My friends are in Gotham, they can help more than you can but I need to get to them.” Dani managed as Wonder Woman watched her. It didnt feel as challenging or doubtful as it did when she was looking at Batman but it was still intimidating. “I see. And would you let us meet your friends?” She asked. Dani blinked. She hadnt thought of that. If they were in Gotham they would end up on Batmans turf regardless so the chances of him meeting the phantom gang was already pretty high. If they initiated though, maybe it would be easier when they eventually cause problems in the city? Or it would be worse because Batman would already know where to find them. “I can ask.” Dani said as she pulled out her phone from her torso, which shocked the heroes present. As Dani began typing, Wonder Woman turned to Batman. “I appreciate your desire to ensure there wasn't a dimensional war threat but there is an ill royal ambassador. Having an ambassador die under our care would have a similar effect to attacking them directly. Especially if we were denying them what could be life saving treatment.” She said. Batman grunted and stepped away from Dani, creating a small circle of just the heroes. Too far for normal hearing perhaps, but not for Dani’s enhanced hearing. “We have a medical bay on the Watchtower.” He grumbled and Wonder woman sighed. “Yes, but we cannot force them to use it. If they wish to use their own medicine that is their choice. Especially since we know nothing about them.” She scolded. Dani could have sworn Batman almost winced at her words. She sped up typing.

TravelerOfWorlds

Ok so 1) the heroes want to meet you guys

2) I think Wonder Woman is my favorite hero

3) Batman is my least favorite hero

EcoTerrorist

Why do the heroes want to meet us?

TravelerOfWorlds

Unclear. I think its just to establish you are real and not going to kill us.

EcoTerrorist

We are real. Depends on what Danny did to end up more dead.

But I am willing to meet a hero if thats what it takes to get Danny here.

TravelerOfWorlds

As in just one?

EcoTerrorist

As in just one. 

And only if we get Danny first.

Dani squinted at the screen and sighed. She had lost where the heroes conversation was going but that just made it easier to interrupt.

“Excuse me?” Dani waited for Wonder Woman to hold a hand up to silence the arguing men as she turned to Dani and nodded for her to continue. “My… allies decided that they are willing to meet one hero. Just one. And only if my ambassador gets dropped off first.” Batman grunted but it was Wonder Woman who stepped up to talk. “Would you be willing to settle for a hero helping you drop off the ambassador?” she asked and Dani nodded.

“Yeah, I think that will work. They just need to get to the ambassador as soon as possible. I dont think they care about much more than that.” Dani said. Batman shifted behind Wonder Woman and Superman glared at him.

“Thats fine then. Do you know where you need to be dropped off?” Wonder woman asked and Dani sent another quick text asking for the address before nodding. “Somewhere in Gotham. I have the address if that helps.” Dani said. Wonder Woman paused thoughtfully before smiling, a bit too wide. “Well, Batman knows Gotham the best. Im sure he can help you and I think it would be best if he was the one to meet your friends. If your staying in Gotham, its probably best to know the local hero you can call upon.” She said. Dani scrunched her nose and Batman scowled. There was no way Dani was going to be asking Batman for help. Not if she had anything to say about it. 

Except she didnt, because just as she was about to argue a crackling static filled the air around them. It sounded like tv static but layered underneath was the high pitch keen of electricity and a faint scream. Dani would recognize Danny’s ghost speech anywhere and was moving before any of the league had recovered from hearing the eerie sound. 

Batman was first to recover, closely followed by Wonder woman and Superman as they followed the young, alleged monarch through the hallways of the watchtower. Dani didnt struggle to find her way back to the small room, Danny’s call for her being something of a homing beacon.

She slammed her hand on the keypad and the door opened to a tangled-in-sheets Danny who was face planted half off the bed. When he saw her the keen of electricity shifted into the pops and bangs of fuses blowing and he reached a hand for her.

She was quick to grab it and help him back onto the bed, untangling him as her own ghost speech layered on his. Her static overlayed with the sound of bubbles escaping liquid and splashes of something more viscous than water.

Once Danny had her in eyesight and her hand in his he started to calm down. The static dimmed and eventually stopped but he never stopped looking at Dani. It would be disconcerting if Dani wasnt freaking out about Danny using his ghost speech so publicly. 

Some weaker ghosts used ghost speech regularly because it took less energy than projecting feelings core to core, distinct words were even more taxing, but Danny was powerful. He was the King of the Infinite Realms. He hated broadcasting the sounds of his death and he always had the energy to project entire paragraphs into someone's core. 

“We need to get him to Gotham now.” Dani said and she moved to try to pick Danny up but was pulled back by Wonder Woman. She wanted to growl or hiss or something but Batman was already moving to pick up Danny, who was still carefully watching his little sister.

Dani moved quickly to stay with Batman as he made his way to the boom tubes. Behind them she caught the barest whispers between Wonder Woman and Superman.

“He is an impressive warrior. He never let his gaze waver, even in such a state.” Wonder Woman commented. 

“Still worrying. With all the powers she has casually shown, I have to wonder what got him in such a state in the first place.” Superman added. Dani lost the conversation as they moved away and towards the metal cones.

The journey back was moderately better than the journey there, especially now that she knew what to expect. She still made sure to grip Danny’s hand tightly and send comforting thrums to his core as they passed through.

His eyes flashed a brighter green and he shuddered when they exited the swirling vortex but that was all and Dani was going to count that as a win.

The crazy batcar rolled up in front of them before they had even stepped off the boom tube platform and the doors popped open. Batman carefully put Danny in the back and Dani climbed in after him. The doors closed as Batman got situated in the drivers seat and they were off. Down the same path they used to enter, the crazy bat cave shrinking behind them until it was swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel.

Batman didnt pull up any directions for the address, didnt even give it a second look, he just drove in silence, which Dani was grateful for. She didnt have much choice but to go with him since Danny needed help sooner rather than later and arguing with Batman would have taken too much time. Time that Danny desperately needed. It didnt mean Dani had to be happy about it though.

They exited the tunnels into the dingy light of a clouded sky, blinding Dani. Huge gothic buildings towered around them, modern skyscrapers awkwardly built in between the historical stone. It was actually kind of endearing. The mish mosh of styles and buildings and the giant gargoyles on every building. If it was under different circumstances Dani might have loved visiting Gotham.

As it were they pulled into an alley next to a nicer skyscraper, one that was clearly trying to bridge the gap between modern and historic. Batman parked by the dumpsters and went to pick up Danny. “I can carry him.” Dani said, pulling the dazed halfa towards herself. Batman paused, a frown permanently pasted on his face, but stepped back. He moved to the nearby staff entrance and opened the door for Dani. After some cajoling and awkward shifting, she had Danny in a piggyback hold. It wasnt the most comfortable but after a few years Danny had stopped being the small teen and grown into a lanky young adult. Sure he weighed nothing to Dani but his awkward length made him unruly to carry with her smaller body. She still wasnt going to let Batman carry him though so she could suck it up.

The door was clearly a staff entrance so Dani was a little surprised it had been left unlocked but elected to not focus on that. Batman led them through the staff walkways and to the elevators, thankfully no one was around. Dani might have keeled over if someone had seen her getting into a fancy elevator with THE Batman. 

She might keel over just having to be in the fancy elevator with the Batman. It was a long elevator ride to experience in complete silence, excluding Batman’s breathing. Damn, Sam’s parents for getting them a penthouse on the top floors of a skyscraper.

~~~ Hey gang sorry for how long this took, lots of stuff happening hopefully the next bit will be out sooner than later

thanks for waiting and for all the positive feedback this isnt beta read so sorry about the grammar

[gothamite-rambler]

"Yeah I'm not one the lazy cops, I got to be Commissioner for a reason," Jim Gordon said, casually.

Commissioner Gordon knows Batman's true identity and his as a friend. He values the trust between them and has chosen to protect that secret. Gordon understands that Bruce Wayne, in his dual role as Gotham's protector, will always put the city's safety first. He's no fool; he sees through the mask and recognizes the man behind it.

Context: Moreover, Gordon eventually found out that Jason Todd is alive and has taken on the mantle of the Red Hood. In a city like Gotham, reality often blurs with the surreal. The extraordinary scenarios play out so frequently that they almost become mundane—a twisted part of everyday life. While keeping such secrets may contradict the law, Gordon knows that he's seen far worse things in his career. Some secrets are kept for the greater good, and he believes this is one of them. After all, in a city riddled with corruption and chaos, sometimes the lines between right and wrong become all too hazy.

Batman (uneasy): Commissioner Gordon... hey, my... friend. I'm comfortable enough to say that now.

Gordon turned around, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Gordon: Yes?

Batman (exhausted): You're expecting me to say something shocking?

Gordon nodded, leaning against the rooftop ledge.

Gordon: Yes. No worries, I’m the only one up here. Go ahead; I feel like I already have the correct guess.

Batman: Just stay calm. Remember when Jason Todd died and then that guy showed up years later, taking out criminals?

Gordon grinned leaning in slightly as if anticipating the big reveal.

Gordon: Red Hood, yes.

Batman: Yes, um, Red Hood is Jason Todd, and after many, many years of fighting him... we're on good terms. He doesn't live in Gotham... please don't arrest him.

Gordon crossed his arms, his expression one of mock-seriousness.

Gordon: Oh, good for you. I already knew who he was and that he moved out of Gotham.

Batman (upset the man knew already): You freaking didn't!

Gordon (quick answer, smirking): I figured it out when you were debating if he was Jason Todd.

Batman (twitching left eye, exhaling sharply as he leans back): I never said that in front of you! Who told you he might be Jason—Barbara?

Gordon (chuckling to himself, shaking his head in amusement): Yup, when I invited her over for tea two years ago. She said you guys were not on the best of terms and that you hadn't figured it out. I figured that meant you two were arguing back and forth. He tried to kill you; you tried to stop him. Am I wrong?

Batman (annoyed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away): Anyone would've guessed that.

Gordon (smiling because he's about to school this man, gesturing animatedly as he relishes the moment): Then you got kidnapped by Mr. Freeze at the gala.

Batman (not angry, just annoyed again, running a hand through his hair as he rolls his eyes): Can you not word it that way while we're on a public roof?

Gordon (waving a hand dismissively, still grinning): No worries. When Bruce Wayne—who isn't you—got frozen by Mr. Freeze and had to be saved by your Robins—not Bruce Wayne's sons. Was that better?

Gordon laughs, clearly enjoying himself, as he takes a step back, allowing the moment to sink in.

Batman sighed, shaking his head incredulously as he glanced at the sky.

Batman: Oh my God, this is my life. Can you not... arrest him?

Gordon (tilting his head, considering, his tone playful yet serious): Hm, I'm torn. On one hand, his vigilantism did get out of hand, and you know I don't agree with senseless murder. But on the other hand, I do need a donation for this upcoming policemen's ball.

Batman (raising an eyebrow, incredulous as he crosses his arms): You better be joking.

Gordon (smiling, a playful glint in his eye): Yeah, I'm joking. You're fine; I'm not going to arrest him. He doesn't live here, so that takes any suspicion off of him. Plus, Babs told me he changed his suit and is doing better mentally. I'm happy things worked out for you two.

Batman (angry, but beneath it all there's a hint of worry, tapping his foot impatiently): One minute; I have to talk to Oracle.

Batman pressed his communication device, a frown settling on his lips.

Batman: Oracle... Can you stop fucking telling your dad stuff!

Oracle (her voice calm and slightly exasperated, as if used to their banter): He's my dad; I trust him, dude. Get over it.

Batman (sighing, rubbing his temples as he glances at the ground): Yep, yep, yep, freaking yep. Even though I'm glad you’ll be keeping this secret—as you do with many aspects of my life at this point—I will donate something to that commissioner's police ball or whatever, and I can offer some protection if you want.

Gordon (smiling, his expression softening as he considers the offer): Thanks, buddy. It's a slow night tonight, do you want to grab something to eat or some coffee and then do your usual patrol?

Batman (exhausted, a small smile creeping in as he nods): I would like that. I am so freaking tired at this point. I'm getting too old for all of this.

Gordon (chuckling, nodding in agreement as he gestures toward the staircase): Yep, been there.

The two share a moment of camaraderie, gazing out over the city before Batman turns toward the staircase, a weary but grateful expression on his face.

Batman (with a feigned dramatic flair, lightening the mood): Lead the way, Commissioner.

Gordon shakes his head, laughing as they begin to walk down into the city together, ready for whatever the night might bring.

[randomthefox]

No matter how you look at it, there's no way to interpret Lanolin's current portrayal as anything other than a violent dictator or an abusive parent.

Her teammates are scared of getting beat by her. Whisper has been extra mopey ever since Lanolin smacked her onto the ground. Tangle saw Lanolin using a punching bag and then laments how she's scared of the sheep.

She prioritizes bossing people around more than saving people who are about to die. Clutch was revealed as an eco terrorist MERE SECONDS AGO and Lanolin is too busy bitching about Sonic to react to this new information.

She only listens to people that she personally deems as tolerable. There's no reason for Lanolin to trust "duo" more than her teammates and the heroes who've saved the world. She just arbitrarily decided that he's "better" than the others.

She NEVER EVER listens to anyone else's perspective or argument. Lanolin will endlessly move the goalpost so that she can end the discussion by mocking or smacking someone.

Lanolin is a contemptible wretched cunt.

It's so frustrating because it's just another case of this comic gaslighting me because I am tearing my hair out trying to figure out how the comic is trying to portray the character. The comics copium huffing ass fans seem convinced that Lanolin is being written as a flawed and combative presence who has friction with the other characters on purpose, but that doesn't really pan out because as I keep emphasizing: NOBODY EVER CALLS HER OUT FOR HER BEHAVIOR. She just runs roughshot over everybody completely unchallenged, allowed to have the last word in every single conflict she's a part of (and usually instigates) even though she IS (always) objectively wrong.

But that's the thing. She IS objectively wrong. Like, I will never not go back to this page.

Tangle is 100% correct. Lanolin COULD have just said something first. She SHOULD have. Even if it would have been stern and snappy because of her foul mood, shouting at Tangle something like "would you KNOCK that off, I'm trying to THINK here!" would have conveyed the same thing, that Lanolin is feeling high strung and stressed out and is frustrated at Tangle's immature behavior, while still being a completely reasonable way to handle the conflict. And it would have made this follow up actually MAKE SENSE and honestly be funny.

Lanolin seeing Tangle reaching back out for the paddle ball after she firmly told her to knock that shit off earlier and smacking the paddle ball away without verbally acknowledging what happened would have been a perfectly reasonable and amusing escalation of the conflict. Lanolin USED HER WORDS like an ADULT to tell Tangle to stop, Tangle initially acquiesces, but then gives into the devil on her shoulder to try going back to doing it and Lanolin lashes out. It would have been a pretty simple set up and pay off that would have effectively communicated Lanolin is experiencing some growing pains in this leadership role she's taken into but IS trying her best.

But as it is in the comic as written, Lanolin was annoyed by Tangle's paddle balling and IMMEDIATELY RESORTED TO VIOLENCE by SMACKING the toy out of Tangles hand WITHOUT COMMUNICATING THAT IT WAS BOTHERING HER. You could ARGUE that she was making her feelings known nonverbally and Tangle is at fault for not picking up on the social ques of Lanolin's body language, but that's bullshit. Tangle is fucking autistic and everybody knows it. Tangle SINCERELY did not understand that she was doing anything wrong or that Lanolin was upset by it. She couldn't possibly have known, and Lanolin did absolutely nothing to COMMUNICATE that fact to her. Instead Lanolin ROUGHLY SNATCHES THE TOY OUT OF HER HANDS in a way that was clearly very aggressive and distressing for Tangle. And she's left muttering under her breath that Lanolin COULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING.

And yeah. She should have said something. She is OBJECTIVELY being a cunt and nobody in their right mind could possibly think she was anything but in the wrong for that behavior. Frankly if I was Whisper I would have gotten pissed the fuck off and started mad dogging sheep girl for laying hands on my boo, but I guess Whisper is still kinda pissed at Tangle for the "diamond cutters" thing.

Not to mention the whole Duo confrontation where Lanolin immediately starts sucking this fucking random newguy off and treats everyone else like shit for no fucking reason. And this panel.

I don't care what the INTENTION of this panel is. Look at their fucking expressions. There is no other way to interpret this besides that Tangle is AFRAID of Lanolin, who is TRANSPARENTLY threatening violence in retribution against Tangle if she doesn't back up Lanolin's side of things. This is 100% an "abusive parent silently ordering their child to tell the nice police man that the cigarette burns were an accident or else they're gonna get whipped" panel. ESPECIALLY considering the previous interaction as I detailed above where Lanolin has already displayed a history of violent aggression towards Tangle. Tangle is AFRAID of Lanolin, which is only further emphasized in the current storyline.

"I'm scared of what she'll do."

This..... CAN'T be an accident, right? This is not subtext, this is text. Lanolin is abusive towards Tangle, and Tangle has developed a trauma response to Lanolin's aggressive and violent behavior.

If this were any other comic I'd say this is open and shut black and white - Lanolin is a BAD PERSON, and we as the audience are meant to see her as a bully and a tyrant. That the comic wants us as the audience to dislike Lanolin because she's objectively terrible.

But it's impossible to know for sure because like I said: NOBODY EVER CALLS LANOLIN OUT! The video game characters of Sonic Tails and Amy DO NOT UTTER A SINGLE WORD IN THEIR OWN DEFENSE when Lanolin starts reading them the riot act.

Seriously, look at this. Seriously read these panels. SONIC TAILS AND AMY DO NOT SAY A FUCKING WORD. They might as well be UNCONSCIOUS for all the difference it makes.

isn't that COMPLETELY NONSENSICAL? Shouldn't SONIC THE HEDGEHOG be telling Lanolin to blow it out her ass because he's all about freedom? Shouldn't Tails be trying to defend his tech and plead for a chance to have it inspected? Shouldn't Amy be calling Lanolin heartless for not expressing an ounce of concern about her well being or praising Sonic for rescuing her?

And then later at the diner, Sonic Tails and Amy don't have a single negative word to say against Lanolin for DQing them! They're all just spitballing about Clean Sweep! None of them resent Lanolin AT ALL.

And then later when Lanolin is being CLINICALLY FUCKING INSANE and trying to arrest Sonic while the sky is falling down, he just says this

Not "hey, crazy bitch, lay your fucking hands on me when I'm trying to save my friends and watch what happens"? Not "NOW IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME"? Not "why do you even fucking care I didn't even do anything bad anyway"?

No, he treats her umbrage with him as VALID. He is DEESCALATING the confrontation by taking culpability.

THAT'S. DERANGED.

Lanolin is NEVER challenged or confronted BY THE VIDEO GAME CAST (except for Silver, who is beaten down like a dog because Evan Stanley thinks Silver needs to be an uwu soft boy bean instead of depicting him authentically to his video game self as someone who would have absolutely fucking strangled Lanolin to death with his psychic powers for getting in his way when attacking Duo). Lanolin is never CALLED OUT for BEING WRONG by ANYBODY IN THE STORY. Not by her boss Jewel. Not by the people who SHOULD have seniority over her, the games cast. Not by her peers. Only her subordinates (who SHOULDN'T be subordinate to her) Tangle and Whisper grumble and complain about her actions only to be stomped down into compliance and have to resort to hushed behind closed doors schemes against her interest.

I'M FUCKING GOING INSANE, WHICH IS IT YOU STUPID FUCKING COMIC? IS LANOLIN SUPPOSED TO BE A BITCH OR NOT? IF SHE IS, THEN WHY ISN'T ANYBODY TREATING HER LIKE A BITCH? IF SHE'S NOT, THEN WHY IS SHE OBJECTIVELY FUCKING EVIL?

This comic is SO GOD DAMN INCOMPETENT you can't even figure out if you're SUPPOSED to hate a character or not. So instead of hating Lanolin, I just hate the writers instead.

[whimzeee]

Audaciously Yours,

Ramazith tower has ten billion stairs.

At least that’s how it feels to a pair of drunk fools leaning on one another while trying to climb them.

It’s late evening, perhaps a bit too late to be proper. Dinner lasted into the night and was served with one glass too many of the finest wine Dammon had ever tasted. At the hands of the three siblings he had been hosted like royalty that night. After Cal and Lia had called it a night, Rolan and Dammon stayed a bit longer. To have a conversation they could no longer pretend wasn’t needed.

They had both needed a drink or several to get through those nerves. One more so than the other. And the effect shows plainly; Dammon’s fingertips are a bit numb, but the entirety of Rolan’s legs seem to be that way.

He has Rolan’s arm hooked around his shoulders in the dimlit staircase. His warmth slumped against him. Arm around his waist, hand on hip. He’s not sure if the purple blush on Rolan’s face comes from the wine, or from the words they’d exchanged at long last. It’s no less pretty either way.

“Nearly there,” he encourages gently.

Rolan pauses, huffs an annoyed breath. “I am going to figure out portals…if it kills me.”

“Before these stairs do?”

“Mm.” Rolan glowers, but from the way his eyes blink, it seems less a glare of frustration and more just that he’s trying to see clearly. Were Dammon sober, he’d have stifled the snicker that bubbles up. He’s too tipsy to catch it in time.

Rolan’s sharp gaze is blunted and slow as he turns the glare on him. Maybe it would have been scary if he hadn’t started laughing too.

“Alright,” he slurs, gesturing loosely forward. “Laugh at me all you’d like, if you get us up these…damned steps.”

“I’m sorry,” Dammon giggles. “You’re just so...intimidating when you’re sober. It seems silly now.”

“Am I?” Is he…pouting?

“No,” Dammon corrects quickly. “Perhaps not after all.”

Rolan’s arm has begun to slip from his shoulders, so he hefts him higher—closer. Rolan's body curves to fit into his own and Dammon feels his face warming.

“I was the one intimidated,” Rolan mutters quietly. “You won’t believe how nervous I was. Still am, honestly.”

This is a brand new side of him. Rolan’s never been so honest. It’s always pomp and face, lace and ruffle when he talks. Always so concerned with decorum. Never just…real. Real like the friction between them as they lean drunken on each other in the small hours of night.

“No need for that,” he soothes, and pulls him up one more step. “It doesn’t need to be scary.”

Many missed steps and poorly stifled giggles later, they finally pour through the door to Rolan’s room. Dammon looks about with a mix of giddiness and trepidation. It feels like he’s not supposed to be here, somehow. But he is. For the first time.

It’s sparser than he’d expected. Cozy, but minimal. Organized so neatly it barely feels like a bedroom at all. But for a few books and two standing picture frames on the nightstand, one would hardly know whose room it was at all. A standing three-pronged candelabra next to the purple-quilted bed holds three perfectly un-melted lit candles, even though they must have been burning all night. Ah, right: Archmage Rolan. Downstairs he has a chandelier whose crystals lit up in different colors with a wave of his hand.

Dammon hauls the Master of Ramzith Tower's ragdoll body over to the bed and eases him down to sit. He takes this opportunity to get a closer look at the portraits. One is of Rolan and his siblings—gods help them trying to get Cal to sit still for that long. The second is quite older, faded and creased in some places. It depicts an older tiefling woman he doesn’t know, with a baby in her arms and a very young girl at her side, her hand resting on top of the child’s head. He recognizes the girl's horn shape, shared by the woman.

In the state Rolan’s in now, Dammon knows that if he asked he’d easily get an answer. So he doesn’t. It feels wrong. Like cheating at chess.

Rolan’s staring blearily at nothing, his head drooping. Dammon can’t help but smirk, biting his lip to keep from laughing at him any further. “Here,” he says gently, kneeling in front of him. “Let me help.”

Rolan’s eyes focus as he watches the blacksmith take his boots off for him. Unlaces them neatly and slides them off one by one with painstaking gentleness. When he’s finished, he’s a bit startled to see how big Rolan’s eyes have gotten, how he stares at him in…well, shock, really.

“Um… Was that okay?”

“I.” Rolan shivers, breaking the gaze as he feels suddenly self conscious. “Yes.”

No one has ever done something like that for him. So small but…just. Taking his shoes off for him. No one has ever.

“Are you. Sure?”

Rolan covers his face with his hands and falls backward onto the bed, flopping like a limp fish.

Dammon’s eyes peep over the side of the bed before he rises up onto his knees, leaning on the bed with his elbows. He observes Rolan quietly, waiting, but he doesn’t say any more.

"You've gone very quiet very quickly. Are you alright?" His smile fades to the touch of concern. "Not feeling sick are you?"

Rolan stares up at him like a first-time stargazer. His wide, shining eyes striving to focus.

"Rolan?"

"Mm. Mnyes."

"Did you hear the question?"

“Hn. 'F course."

Dammon waits, then huffs a laugh. "Would you care to answer it?"

"...I'm not sure."

"You're not sure what? ...Not sure you're going to answer or not sure if you're sick?"

"Right. Yes. You understand."

Dammon chuckles again, hanging his head. "Ohh, I wish I did."

Rolan catches his laugh, humming a lazy giggle as his sharp teeth flash in a manner he'd never allow sober.

Dammon takes a moment to admire it until it fades, Rolan's eyes slipping closed and his breath falling into rhythm. There is the faintest tug of disappointment in his heart, like when the top edge of the sun dips out of sight. He pulls himself to his feet and reaches down to lift Rolan’s legs, turning him rightways on the bed. He carefully places his head onto a pillow--fine downfeathers. Rolan must have been miserable on the road. While pulling a blanket over him, Dammon has the quite sudden thought that he wouldn’t mind doing this every night for the rest of his life.

For a moment, he waits there, staring at the gentle peace in Rolan's sleeping face. A thousand daydreams float through his buzzing mind. His hand twitches with the impulse to reach out and brush that stray lock of hair out of his face, but he's just sober enough to hold it back.

He'd better leave while he still has that much self control.

Before he can move two steps, he hears a short gasp, and Rolan snatches his wrist with surprising speed.

"W-what—"

"I am, actually," Rolan's voice tumbles over itself; he's more drunk than Dammon thought.

"Am...what?"

"I—yes, I'm. Feeling ill, actually, yes."

Dammon may have been concerned, had he not recently learned that Rolan is a terrible liar. His smile spreads slowly, like a new candle wick that must melt before it lights.

He sinks to his knees by the bedside, leaning on his crossed arms on the mattress. Rolan’s grip moves to his bicep and won’t let go. "Quite stricken, are you?"

Rolan swallows. "Terribly."

Dammon leans closer. His eyes glow in the candlelight. "Then I can hardly leave you all alone, can I?"

He can practically hear the perfectly fitted clockwork gears that power Rolan's mind grind to a halt. He looks for a moment as if he really is ill, the way his face pales and breath quickens.

"St…you must stay with me."

"Mm. Seems I must."

Despite having just insisted on it five seconds ago, Rolan shakes his head and covers his face with his hands. "No, no, of course not. It wouldn't be proper. Not proper at all."

Dammon's mild eyes sweep over Rolan as if he's never held such fondness before.

"Never much cared for what's proper," he smirks, gently prying Rolan's hands away from his face. "Unless you do."

"..."

"Would you like me to stay, Rolan?"

"Well...but. It wouldn't be..."

"But would you like it?"

"...Yes."

He smiles. So bright Rolan's eyes close against it. The hand that grips his is heavy and solid. The heat it stokes in Rolan’s chest going to make cinders of him. Once the fire hits him he’ll change shape—and does he want that? He won’t survive the night. Morning will see him darken again, made brittle by cold water. It’s not going to turn out. He’s sharp and thin and riddled with impurities. No matter how careful the hands that strike him, he will break beneath the hammer.

He jumps at the sound of Dammon’s voice. "Can you sit up a moment?"

Rolan opens his eyes just enough to glare. "Nn. Why."

"So I can take your hair down for you."

Rolan's squinted eyes go wide an soft. How is he going to say no to that? He tries to sit on his own, but because he is never one to miss an opportunity, he begins to roll and tilt toward the edge of the bed.

"Oh--gods, don't fall." Dammon catches him quickly, arm around shoulders. Rolan's entire body freezes. His face is buried in the crook of Dammon's arm, he can smell warm steelsmoke and hearth. And...rosemary. Has he used cologne?

It's too soon that Dammon pulls him back to balance, sitting him up properly. Rolan sways in place, hoping the cover of being drunk is enough to explain the starstruck glaze in his eyes.

Rolan must bite his tongue to stop himself making an absolutely unacceptable sound when he feels Dammon's fingers thread through his hair. Sharp, careful nails scrape the base of his neck and drag upward along his scalp. The violent shiver that overtakes his body is about as controllable as a sudden rainstorm in summer.

"Sorry," Dammon laughs, and begins to pull away.

"Oh don't you dare stop."

A pause, another small breath of laughter. Rolan wishes he was sober, so that he could memorize that beautiful sound in vivid detail, be sure that he could recall it at any moment he chose for the rest of his days.

With a touch so delicate as to belay fear, Dammon carefully pulls his hairtie free and shakes loose the wiry, tangled locks. With no comb nearby, he uses his claws. It's not the touch of a smith, but rather a jeweler, precise and delicate and no more than needed. So gentle. So unbearably delicate. Torture.

He wishes he’d grab a fistful and pull.

Rolan sucks in a breath and even he is surprised at the volume of the smack that comes from his hands against his own face. He's gone mad. He’s out of his godsdamn mind. He's terrible.

Dammon instantly lets go, flinching back. “What!” he pulls on Rolan’s shoulder, trying to get a look to see if he’s hurt himself. “Are you—wh-why—”

Rolan groans and flops back onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow instead. “T-thank you, that’s quite enough!” he panics.

Completely bewildered, Dammon reaches toward him, but hesitates.

He said it didn't need to be scary, but. It is. It’s still so new between them. Fragile and uncertain without structure. A seedling too delicate to bear weight just yet. It's only ten minutes ago they've confessed to feeling something more. Dammon wants this, he’s sure, but he’s painfully aware that he has no idea what he’s doing. How fast to move. And Rolan…deserves the best, after all of it. He deserves joy. Dammon wants to abandon caution and explore this newness, but more than the thrill of it all he wants this—the idea of them—to give Rolan something safe. It needn’t be painful, uncomfortable. It needn’t intimidate either of them.

“Wait here a moment,” Dammon says, his voice calm and soft. He pulls the blanket back to Rolan’s shoulders then steps softly away.

Rolan stays frozen in place, listening over the sound of his own pounding heart as Dammon leaves the room. Once he hears him on the stairs, Rolan sighs, cursing himself under his breath. The mess this man has made of him…shameful. Shameful, the way he’s acting. Drunk. Ridiculous. He’s driven him away now.

No. He said wait. Rolan does. He listens for the creak of the stairs, inexplicably desperate. He's felt this way before, hasn't he. He almost forgot being six. Listening for footsteps on the stairs.

“You won’t come back, will you.”

Out loud, he’s said that. Gods. How pathetic is he going to show himself?

Rolan opens his eyes, staring listlessly at the empty doorway. If he focuses hard enough, he can still feel the ghost of careful hands on his shoulders. If he concentrates, he can remember the warmth and weight of their sides pressed together, that hand gripping his hip ever tighter. Rolan wanted more. Still does. But it wouldn’t be…proper.

Gods. Who cares?

He doesn’t want to care. About appearance. About pretense, impression, fronts. How things are supposed to be done. Dammon doesn’t seem to. He loves that about him, admires it. The most genuine person he’s ever known. Never pretentious, never a liar. Like himself. How can he claim to care for him and yet lie to him—posture in front of him with lavish gifts and braggart peacocking in his big fuckoff tower?

It’s all he’s ever known: display. No one cares for you as you are. No one looks twice at you. No one ever gave one fuck. They struggled for so long. So long. The people most important to him in the world went hungry and abused, all the time, because he wasn't anyone. Couldn't do a damn thing for anyone. He’s better now. He pulled them out of the gutter. He’s worth something now. Isn’t he?

So why isn’t he coming back?

Rolan stares at the photos on his bedside table. He feels his eyes stinging.

“Dammon,” he calls, because he’s drunk, because it’s not fucking fair that he’s alone again. There’s a sob in his voice, anger. No dignity whatsoever. He doesn’t care. “Dammon!”

There are hurried steps in the hall, and Rolan regrets it instantly. Dammon appears in the doorway, alert, a steaming mug in his hand and a small towel draped over his forearm.

“Just here,” he assures, all soft worry and attention. “What’s wrong?” When Rolan doesn’t answer, he comes to sit on the edge of the bed, smiling gently. “Did you think I’d left?”

“No,” he lies. Because that’s all he fucking knows how to do. He groans at himself, shaking his head so that it starts to spin again. “Maybe…”

“I won’t.” He drapes the damp cloth over the back of Rolan’s neck. It’s cool but not cold and feels wonderful. “Not until you want me to.”

Rolan pouts up at him, disgruntled. “Where did you go?”

“To borrow Cal’s kitchen. Apologies to him.” Dammon reaches for the cup, little white steam rising from inside it. “Here.”

He helps Rolan rise, not really sitting up but at least leaning on an elbow so that he can take the cup. Inside is a light amber liquid which he only questions after he’s had a sip. “…Bitter. What issit?”

“Hangover killer. Smiths don’t get the next morning off. Dad set me up with the recipe; never failed him once.”

Rolan takes sleepy sips of the draught, grimacing throughout but refusing to put it aside. In the softness of the scene, Dammon sits by his side with his elbows on his knees and gazes at him.

“What are you smiling at,” grumbles Rolan, his face going darker again.

Dammon laughs softly, his eyes going shy as he turns them downward. “Only thinking.”

“…I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to share what about.”

“I’d answer anything you asked me.”

Rolan’s heartbeat is doing all sorts of wacky little tricks today. Before he can get hold of himself, Dammon continues, “Thinking how I’ve never had someone to make tea for. It’s nice.”

Rolan wants to tell him he’s the same, that there’s never been anyone in his life he’d wanted to care for so tenderly. To take off their shoes for them, carry them up the stairs, sit by their bedside until they feel safe enough to sleep again. He wants to. Instead, he says, “You’ve got a…unique idea of what tea is.”

Dammon smiles. The picture of patience.

“Thank you,” Rolan adds, so low it’s barely audible.

Dammon takes the empty cup from him, leaning across toward the nightstand to do so. It brings him quite close to Rolan. And when he begins to move away, something in him ignites—cold fire, frightened and desperate. He strikes out and snatches a handful of Dammon’s shirt collar.

Dammon’s startled, but his voice is slow, steady. Hardly a whisper. "...I meant it. I won't leave."

He's...not just talking about right now. Is he. Rolan feels himself start to tremble. So does Dammon.

“Are you alright?”

Rolan shakes his head, dismissive. “I’m fine, just. Feel a bit…dizzy, suddenly.”

“Mm…I might know the feeling.”

Their faces are so close together now, he can smell the sweetness of Dammon’s breath washing down over him. Peach and white wine. Moonlight from the window wages quiet war with the candles inside and their graceful clash drapes the room in flowing shadow. Rolan’s head spins trying to make sense of it all. He feels like they’re in another realm. A dream. Where maybe it’s not as frightening to reach out and touch whatever is hidden from light.

He does. His fingers are clumsy as they tilt Dammon’s chin and turn upward his eyes. Bluegold, like the sun breaking through a long winter’s frost.

"Did you mean what you said to me," he murmurs, his eyes flaring brightly with ache. "Would you take it back?"

Dammon holds his stare. "There's still time, you're saying?"

Rolan feels himself about to cry. He’s so afraid. So exposed. It’s here where they cut away the lifeline, or follow it back to safe ground. His voice shakes, only a whisper. "Still time. Should you have doubts."

Slow, gentle, Dammon slides his fingers beneath the palm of Rolan's hand. You'd think it was carved of precious stone, the way he cradles it so carefully. He raises it to his own face, presses it against his cheek and holds it there. Firm enough to impress his feelings, loose enough that Rolan could pull away.

"No there isn't," Dammon says, and turns his face into Rolan's palm. His lips press the softest kiss into it, a fragile thing, a clockwork butterfly that flutters so small and vulnerable inside the cage of his fingers. And then Dammon folds his hand into a fist.

"And no I wouldn't." His gaze is that of a prisoner looking out from between bars. He repeats what he’s said, nails shut his last window of escape. “Rolan. I care for you in a way I’ve never felt before. I don't know what it is exactly, yet. But I'd like to find out. And what I do know...is I want to feel like something special to you. Something you can use. I want to be for you what I’ve never been for anyone. No one has ever known me that way. I want it to be you.”

Rolan’s breath has abandoned him. He’s whimpering to get it back. His every nerve alight and shimmering like the weave. When he strikes out to grab the back of Dammon’s neck, electric tendrils spark out from his fingertips, unbidden. His eyes are glowing with white light. How swiftly, how easily he surrenders the run of himself.

Before reason can stop him, before sanity can intervene, Rolan wrenches Dammon close and crashes their lips together like tide on shore. What’s left of the wavebreak spills from his eyes, shut tight, brows arched and desperate. He feels Dammon tense, hesitate…then curl toward him. His mouth opens to his tongue and his head rocks in rhythm with the sudden seastorm.

Rolan feels as though he may faint. And like he'll never rest again. He feels awful, and ecstatic, and pathetic and happy and free. He could drink the ocean Dry.

Dammon’s hand snakes around his side and rests in the small of his back. Rolan arcs up toward him, his hands curling around the curve of his skull where it meets his work-tensed neck. Rolan lets himself explore the finely chiseled curves borne of every hammerswing he’d ever struck. The muscles so hard, sinew like braided iron cords—and yet the skin above so delicate soft.

Dammon breaks for breath.

“Rolan,” he mutters, keening, urgent. “S…stop.”

It takes a painful few moments, but Rolan does. He rips himself away with a delirious moan and buries his face instead into Dammon’s neck. His breath rasping hot and ragged. "I'm. Ngh. Sorry."

“It’s just…” Dammon sounds just as overcome. “Not that I don’t…but. You’re drunk, is why. I can’t.”

“Yes,” he whispers, teeth grinding together so tightly that they squeak. “I. Forgive me…I-I don’t know what…I.”

“It’s alright.” His hand grips the back of Rolan’s shirt, the other cupped behind his head. “Shh. Nothing’s wrong.” Dammon laughs, incredulous, giddy and tearful. He plants a kiss into Rolan’s hair, just between his horns. “Far, far from it.”

He clings to Rolan while a thousand fireflies buzz inside the hollow of his chest. He’s never been so happy, he thinks, not in all his life. Rolan is shaking, shrinking into him to try and hide. Though he’s more than a little worried, Dammon is nevertheless glad for the chance to be his haven. Honored. And he doesn’t aim to fall short of the role.

He lays the two of them down in the soft quilts, holds him against his chest. Rolan is beyond speech. For long minutes that stretch into hours, Dammon hushes him softly, repeats assurance and affirmation of safety and peace. Whether because of this, or simply from being so overwhelmed, Rolan eventually sinks below the still pond of sleep.

For a long time, Dammon stares at thin air in a wide-eyed daze. He can hardly believe…it plays over and over in his mind. He keeps still, daring not to move a muscle. He fears to wake him. Fears to shatter the wild dream they’ve fallen into. Gods above. All the fucking hardship. All the loneliness. Done. All of it behind them now. Rolan…

Rolan.

He loves him.

…Oh, gods. He needs to process this. Calm down. But his mind is spinning and he’s so emotionally exhausted, but there’s no chance in six hells he’ll get any sleep tonight. Maybe that’ just as well. He'd been invited for dinner. It would be a wild disrespect to sleep off Rolan’s wine, in Rolan’s house, in Rolan’s bed. On his first proper visit to Rolan’s home. A measure of guilt creeps into the bliss. He's always so concerned with appearances. What would his siblings think? …What would he think, more importantly, if he woke and found Dammon beside him?

As much as he'd like to get lost in the pretty dream of waking up at his side every single day to smiles and sleepsoft kisses...perhaps this time, it’ll be kindest to spare him the morning after. The last thing he wants is to imperil this…this miracle he’s just been given. He’ll wait a while longer, make sure Rolan won’t wake in the night and feel abandoned, and be gone by tomorrow. Tomorrow he will rise and run straight to the tabernacle to thank Tymora. Hells, tomorrow he will sing praise to every god he’s ever heard the name of. But tonight belongs only to himself and Rolan. To him…and the one with whom he is fully, irredeemably, fervently in love.

Audaciously.

[dxy-drxxm]

SYNOPSIS: "I feel like you wouldn’t be opposed to me kissing you. Am I correct?"

CW/s: Tooth rotting fluff, established relationship, smooth bastard Kaeya, Diluc is so tired y'all, reader becomes a bastard(tm), navina doesnt know how to write kaeya being a flirty mfer, kaeya is touch starved and I'll die on this hill

NOTE: This is a prompt from this list right here, and it's a bit short but I wanted to get to writing Kaeya. This is also the second part of the touch starvation mini series, so I hope I did this man justice lol.

Kaeya Alberich is a simple man.

He may not look like it, but he's quite satisfied with what he has. He had a good job, he lived somewhere where he can express himself without prejudice...

... And he had his lovely partner: you.

Now, he is someone that doesn't show his partner off to the public eye. Contrary to what people believe, Kaeya likes to keep specific parts of his lifestyle to close friends, if that was possible.

However, if the time called for it, he could show his partner off if he felt the need to do so.

Like now.

With a hand wrapped around your waist, the Cavalry Captain leaned over and placed his chin on top of your shoulder. He never opposed to having to hold you like this, even if you two are different in physique. For him, he enjoyed the difference.

It reminded him that he has quite a catch, and no one else could.

"Seize the day, darling," he whispered, his voice ringing in amusement as you placed a kiss on his cheek in return. "Good morning to you too, playboy," he heard you whisper, a teasing smile on your face. "What's got you so touchy?"

"Hm... I don't know. Maybe it's the fact I get to hold you like this."

To prove a point, he squeezed your body a bit tighter, humming when you sighed wearily.

"Kae, you always held me like that. I'm afraid that you've grown too used to it."

"Is it a bad thing for me to get used to it, [name]?"

"Not when we have our duties to take care of."

Ah, right. He forgot that you aren't the type to proceed with his little games. Exasperated, he sighed and pulled away, as he knew well that you weren't wrong.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, pouting. "But I still want to hold you in my arms just a bit more."

You gave him a sigh.

"After, Kae. I need to make us breakfast, and I'd be damned if you stopped me."

He quirked up a grin as you focused on making the food for the day. He hated to admit it, but he sometimes wondered just how he got you.

The nickname you gave him was amusing. Playboy, hm? Is it because of how he acted with women and men?

...

Hm... Then again, you always called me that when we first met, he mused, watching the pan flip up and down as the pancakes were being cooked. Playboy... Someone who's often seen with women, no matter the physique or age...

He couldn't help but chuckle. He's remembered just how it went.

Truthfully, when he met you, he saw you as another person trying to catch his eye. You weren't different like the traveler, but he could tell there was something you held that stood out from the rest.

He remembered oh so clearly with what he told you back then, during your first date with him.

"I feel like you wouldn't be opposed to me kissing you... Am I correct?"

It was one of the rare pick-up lines he had, but he meant it in a joking manner. Your response, however, did not.

With a brave face and in front of Diluc (who brewed you and him drinks, he recalled), you told him—

"—not until you cut that drinking habit, mister playboy."

Was it callous? Maybe. He was certainly caught off-guard by such a blunt statement, and especially when Diluc looked a tad amused at his loss of words.

But he knew that you were, simply put, one he'd love to spend more time with.

Even when Diluc had given him more to pay (it was for making him sit through a bland date, he had reasoned), he never gave up on his pursuit. He still tried to catch your attention, and dear archons, he tried to get your affection.

The playboy that you knew had long since disappeared after your first few dates with him, and with the promise ring he gave you that he asked to make personally, the Kaeya you're with was more than a simple ladies' man.

He was just a private guy who uses physical touch to show his affection far more than words, like now.

Feeling his hand hold your own, you turned off the stove to see that he held it instinctively. With a chuckle, your fingers weaved and moved to intertwine with his, a smile stretching on your face.

He liked that smile, Kaeya notes. You looked beautiful with it.

"Your touch starvation is showing, Kae," you teased, yet you gave his hand a squeeze. "Do you crave my touch that much?"

"Hm... Maybe," he answered, standing up to take the pan and place it on the counter. Closing his eyes, he reached his right hand to hook your chin, pulling you to a tender kiss.

"But it's nothing that you can't satisfy, my beloved."

@.dxy-drxxm | do not republish, repost, or copy my works anywhere | 2023

[captmickey]

No2 helping Valanice garden (of course no2 is the plant guy, how could I ever think differently for any moment of time).

You thought I wouldn't do this prompt?

Wrong. Horribly wrong.

---

It had been a while since Number Two had company in the garden. 

The last time he tended to the flowers with someone that was not a Royal Guard was during the late King Edward’s reign, specifically with the late Queen. Admittedly, since her passing, he found it difficult to go back into the garden, to mend the vines and water the vegetation without hearing her gentle humming or humorous conversation. But after some time had passed, the garden had become unruly that Number One had even suggested getting another guard to treat it if it was that difficult for his second in command.

Number Two, of course, declined the offer and tended to it himself. He got better with each day at being alone in the garden, but that small flicker of sadness was always there. Always missing that company.

Until now. 

Number Two stood and kept watch over her. Not only because Number One and Graham were busy dealing with a villager going on about three headed something or another, but also because, by all unofficial technicality, the garden was his jurisdiction. Even Number One knew better than to question him when it came to that. 

What Graham was to Daventry, Number Two was the garden.

But humming a soft melody, Valanice sat on her knees as she plucked out the weed from the garden, her gardening gloves covered with dirt and a small smudge of mud wiped on her cheek from where she tried to rub an itch away.

A breather, was what Number One said. Something about learning the ways of yet another new location was overwhelming the new Queen and she needed a breather… and wasn’t that just the thing, he thought. 

He continued watching her go about, his hand resting on the hilt of the blade and lightly tapping at it when Valanice turned around and looked his way.

“How are you feeling, Number…” she paused, then frowned. 

“Two.” He answered for her, a smirk hidden underneath the helmet. “The ‘Syrup Reeking Guard’ as Number Three eloquently said once.”

“I was trying really hard to remember the number and not the smell.” She smiled sheepishly. 

“Heh, no worries or offense, Your Majesty.” He chuckled. “And I’m fine. How about yourself, Your Majesty?” 

She looked at the garden briefly and then back to Number Two. “The fresh air does help immensely. Surely, you would also benefit from taking it in as well.”

Number Two shook his head. “‘Fraid I can’t, Your Majesty. I have a strict order to keep you safe. So you’ll have to enjoy the fresh air for both of us.”

“But it’s lonely.” Valanice frowned. 

“Erm… lonely?” He asked, feeling for once caught off guard.

She nodded. “That’s what the flowers are saying. I’m sure I’m pleasant enough company, but they’re telling me it’s lonely to enjoy something by oneself.”

“A… are you part faery, Your Majesty?” Number slipped, quickly standing upright and proper and clearing his throat. “Erm… s-sorry, didn’t mean to step out of line, Your Majesty.”

Valanice, however, smirked. 

“No.” She answered. “But I am very observant. And I was told that this is, technically, your garden that I’m tending to.”

“Well, technically, it was the late Queen’s. So by all means, it is now yours.” He corrected her. “I was just a temporary in-between caretaker.”

“And look how it blossomed.” Valanice looked around the garden. “They’re thriving and wondrous. I’m just here pulling weed.”

“It’s still something.” He said. “And you clearly have a touch for it and not just uprooting it like Number One once tried.”

“That bad?” She asked.

“A true tragedy… those hydrangeas never saw what was coming.”

Valanice chuckled and turned around properly, giving him a soft smile. “I could use some insight if I were to take care of the garden. And these little darlings are whispering nothing but praises for you.”

“You’re too kind, Your Majesty.” Number Two blushed slightly.

“I’m just being honest.” She countered. “Just look around you. Your work speaks for you.”

Number Two looked around, watching how some of the wisteria blossomed from the make-shift canopy he and the late Queen built, how the rose bushes were so perfectly trimmed and down-right plump… how the gentle occasional whiff of lavender tickled his nose even from underneath his helmet.

Valanice held out her hand. “Join me, please?”

He contemplated, tapping his finger against the hilt of the blade. Number Two sighed and walked closer, letting a startled gasp out when she took his hand and made him kneel. 

“You might see better without the helmet.” Valanice said.

“Number One will kill me.”

“Queen’s Orders.”

Number Two looked at her surprised as she gave a wink.

He was ordered to protect the Queen, and when he was given an order, Number Two stayed close to the book (to the shock of everyone). But the Queen was giving him a new order… a request, really. 

Who was he to deny the Crown?

Chuckling, he took off his helmet and put it to the side, taking in a deep breath of Daventry’s Spring. 

“You’re right, Your Majesty… the fresh air does help.” Number Two smiled. 

“I know.” Valanice smiled back. “So tell me of the hydrangea tragedy. I would not be able to forgive myself if I caused an accidental repeat.”

“You seem to know the garden well enough to pull the weeds though.” He pointed out.

“Yes, but that’s because they’re not close to the flowers.” She pointed to the weeds further into the bushes. “My knowledge is… tragically limited.”

He stared at her and then the garden and took another breath. “Right, well, it’s not that complex once you begin to recognize which is which… but after a few pulls, you’ll catch on quickly, Your Majesty.”

Number Two leaned forward into the bushes, pulling one of the weeds out and showing it to Valanice. “Take this one for example, it looks nice, but it’ll take the nutrients away from the flowers it’s mixing in with. So when you pull the weed, be sure to pat back the dirt to the flowers’ roots and water it… sort of a bandage.”

“Oh, I see.” Valanice looked at the weed she had pulled and frowned. “I haven’t been doing that, have I?”

“No.” He answered, though his attempt to suppress a smirk was failing him now that his helmet was off.

Valanice giggled and moved to place back the dirt, humming as she went. “I made a decision.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Number Two tilted his head.

“Going forward, everytime I come to the garden, I would like your protection. As would all of these florals from me.” Valanice looked at him. “If that is alright.”

“I go by what the Crown orders me, Your Majesty. So if you request my protection, I only need your word.” Number Two said.

“Then it’s settled.” She clasped her hand. “You are to tend the garden with me and teach me the proper etiquette of gardening.”

“That’s a new addition.”

“Queen’s Orders.”

“Such abuse of power.” He laughed, sagging his shoulder as Valanice laughed.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

[howtosingit]

The silver lining to all the fandom bullshit, for me, is that I came out of 4x03 loving both TK and Carlos a whole helluva lot more than I ever have... and also seeing the ways, across 4x01 to 4x03, that they love so fiercely - both each other and others - with their whole fucking hearts... and knowing that loving that hard, that intensely, means that it’s never perfect because it’s so easy for emotions to make things messy and complicated when it consumes you like that... but I’ve always said that I could go through any angst with these two as long as the love is still there... and oh boy is it still there. 

I just really fucking love them both, warts and all.

[More under the cut because I have too many thoughts:]

I've analyzed both of their behaviors and I fully get them and appreciate them. I think what it boils down to is that they just have different priorities in 4x03 that aren't fully working in tandem at the moment and it's causing some tension... but it's actually really good tension because what couple has the same exact priorities every damn moment of their lives?? What are they, clones??

And if I'm thinking of only TK's emotions then I'm upset by Carlos's distance for sure... but I also think TK is a lot more than just upset. He's also feeling guilty (and he was before Carlos even knew about the visit, so that guilt was all his, Carlos did not put that on him initially) and concerned for Carlos because he's seeing Carlos behave erratically and that's new for him. Like, TK sees this change in Carlos and he is scared of it because he knows how far Carlos is willing to go for the people he loves, he’s seen Carlos do that for him before. He knows. So, I am reading TK's reactions as a lot more nuanced than just sad/upset - the man is feeling a lot... GIVE HIM A HUG PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

And as far as Carlos... our tragic, compartmentalizing Carlos... when Iris goes missing he pushes so much down just to focus on her - on finding her, on protecting her, on supporting her. He and TK have one argument and he does his best to not lash out... he buries it and shifts his focus. Full-on focus on finding Iris, finding answers. He gets right to work, he’s in detective/cop mode, just like Ronen said. And we know he has his own guilt driving him towards that, especially since he thinks that maybe coming back into her life like this, with the divorce and with TK, has fucked up her stability. He remains super focused on the s*x doll call because when he comes into the call it is literally in response to the missing person alert - unlike the 126, this call is tied to Iris from minute one for him... and then when he has Iris back he's still just focused on her because she is not doing well. But he's not ignoring TK completely this entire episode as I've seen so many people claim... he literally calls TK to give an update about Iris... he's concerned about Iris and he chooses to talk to TK about it... about whether or not he can believe her like he wants to when all the evidence says he shouldn't. It's the trusting his gut thing all over again... but this time it's trusting his gut to trust Iris... but he still calls TK to talk through that. And it’s not so that he can further blame TK for it either - that blame and guilt is still very much coming from TK himself, and if Carlos is doing anything wrong here it’s that he’s not reassuring TK that he’s blameless... and, like, I get that? Because Carlos also isn’t feeling blameless so maybe he’s thinking it’s both of their faults, that they did this to her. (Not correct, not rational, but understandable, at least to me.)

And then the final call that he makes... I love that the scene starts with his attention on the house... he clearly wants to go right in and get to work... but he pauses and calls TK... and sure he lies to him but that's because he's doing something he knows he shouldn't and he doesn't want to be convinced not to... which is understandable, too, I think. He would’ve lied to anyone in that moment. But he also doesn't want TK to worry when he doesn't come home so he calls and at least gives him a little bit of relief... and yes it's a lie but like... we knew Carlos was gonna be irrational this episode... he doesn't ALWAYS do the right thing. So it's a lie but it at least it gives him time to do what he wants to do AND it - in his mind, though he is wrong - will help settle TK worries.

I don't know... I'm just not mad about all of this. I actually think 4x03 was an incredibly strong episode (the Carlos plot only though). I mean those scenes with Iris... y'all I'm still losing my mind over them. Their friendship is so beautiful and you can clearly see how they were each other’s whole world at one point in time. I love seeing a Carlos that breaks the rules and does the wrong thing because my god I don't know a single person who doesn't fuck up every once in awhile... but he does it out of LOVE, he does it out of his NEED to help, to protect, to be there for the people he loves. Like, how the fuck am I supposed to hate him for that? (Spoiler alert: I’m not gonna and you can’t make me.)

I think if you’re THAT mad at Carlos, it’s because you’re not even trying to understand him in all of this... you’re seeing the POV that the show is giving us (which for the Tarlos of all of this is clearly TK, that’s why we got the talk with Tommy) and you’re not even trying to analyze the rest of the story. And, like, I’m not here to tell you you have to, but I think you’d find this a lot more enjoyable if you at least tried to see where all the characters are coming from. And you might still be frustrated with Carlos - he’s frustrating, hallelujah! - but you’d also realize he’s not the fucking devil. He’s just an imperfect man with a too-big heart stuck between a rock (tunnel) and a hard place (a shovel). And I’m so excited to see the LOVE that he and TK have for each other SAVE him (and them). IT’S. STILL. ALL. ABOUT. THEIR. LOVE.

Anyway... bring on 4x04, I’m so fucking READY.

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

Talking to people who worked on the movie, your assertion that Magnifico was once a prince is wrong. The tapestry shows their lives working as farmers. Theres even a panel showing tiny Magnifico working alongside his father among an orchard. You say only nobility had tapestries but that’s also not true. Only nobility COMMISSIONED tapestries. Peasants made them for themselves. That’s why the castle is so far in the background. Because they’re not part of it. (also ‘greedy thieves’ couldn’t invade a castle made of stone)

Oh yippie! Look what we have here!

How I love it, when I get accused of saying something I actually never did! Or claimed! So first things first.

Anon over there referred to a little convo I had with somebody on Insta, below that (young Magnifico/Prince) post. I explained that this isn't a canon fact but my headcanon!! Yet, they still found the time to misinterpret my comment and then annoy me with it as if I'm committing a crime by posting my headcanons on my social media accounts!

Normally I would ignore and delete such a message, but I cannot help but show off my inner geek now. Anon wants to be so smart, yes? Knowing so much better and the aim of this message is to - what? Make me feel bad? Hurt me? Insult me? .... Hmmm no!

So they talked to people who worked on the movie? Guess what? I couldn't care less.

Look. If someone wants to "correct" me on something, they should make sure that their claim is valid. If it is, and I do make mistakes too, and I see someone is in the right, I'm the last person to then say "no, but I'm right!" I can admit mistakes or faults if I made some. However, if I'm being accused of saying something I didn't, and then am challanged for something I clearly stated as a headcanon ... that's like running around and bashing people for their OC-ships. Do they also go and attack AshaxStar shippers? Being like "Ehmememe, starwasn'tahumanandtherewasnoromanceplannedforashaandstar-memememe"

Do I go around and bash on Amaya-simps and shippers just because I can't stand her guts? NO! I leave them alone! I don't agree with them and I don't care as long as they leave me alone.

They key of communication always lays in the way the sentences are formed!

A simple "Hi, I saw this post of yours where you call Magnifico a prince. But I found that this isn't a canon fact." Would have been enough.

Then, they could have followed up by saying something nice, despite not agreeing with my headcanons. Not straight up coming at me with "You are wrong!" Followed by a pharagraph of facts that aren't even "facts"! There are so many ways to start a message the nice way. But a message such as the one I got will only make me uncomfortable, make me feel attacked and cause me to block and delete it.

But, again, this challanged my nerd side so ...lets analize the woven tapestry closer then!

Starting in the top left corner, we have a sunflower field on a high hill. Right next to it, the palace. Then we see a few houses. The first house shows a couple.

The second shows a mother with her toddler, followed by the third house and a man, two slightly older children, a couple and their toddler, a woman wearing a poncho/scarf and a toddler, a brown cow and two running children.

Hmm, no working people so far.

Then to our right, we have a forest or a apple tree plantation. Not entirely clear. And yet again, we see a woman with a toddler. Back to the left, horsies! Happy horsies and a foal.

And lastly, we have the biggest part, young Magnifico and his parents. Magnifico is elevated here, indicating he's of importance nr 1. Nr. 2 his clothes are slightly different! He has a blue sash/belt and a golden trim on his garnment.

Nr 3. He and his parents are right below the castle. No where else do we see them a second time.

Also, the very first thing we see appear right next to Magnifico at the beginning, is this :

A zoom-in of the palace and the lands in front of it. No people here this time, just Magnifico right next to it. (Not included here, cause I cropped the screenshot) Not to mention, that the sun looks very similar to the star attached to his belt!

All of this doesn't prove 100% that he's a prince yet but it makes it highly likely. I mean, if the castle isn't important, why show it? Why not show fields and regular houses only? But the castle is there. And as far as I know, the producers hardly said "anything" about Magnifico's past, other than that it's very tragic!

Even if one or more of those who worked on the movie claimed that Mags wasn't born royal, I wouldn't care! My headcanons are mine. And I'll keep them.

Moving on to the next claim. I'm not an expert in history but I'd consider myself nerdy enough to at least google a fact or two before I make a statement or I just mention that I'm not too sure! Now, what exactly does history say about woven tapestry then? Was it common for peasants to have them? Let's see!

Before the mediaval ages, woven tapestry has been a widely spread form of art. It was found in many countries. The egyptians and the incas burried their dead in woven tapestry. Later the greek followed, having the walls of very important civil buildings covered with it. But it was only through the french mediaval weavers, that the things became truly popular.

Going back to what anon accused me of claiming. No, I never said "only royals" had woven tapestry. What I said in that one comment was, I quote : "as far as I know-" (mostly royals and important people got portrayed on tapestry, exceptions being scenes of historic events or made up stories for "art sake") I hadn't done an in depth research at this point because I didn't think I needed it, since ... pff I didn't even consider someone getting offended by a headcanon of mine that literally does no harm!

Anyway!

In the 13th and 14th centuries, the churches recognized the value of woven tapestry and used it to display scenes from the bible. After the 100 years war, woven tapestry became a status symbol among aristocracy. They didn't only look nice, they were also a very practical solution, providing insulation in the castle walls, covers for openings or being a source for privacy around the beds.

Kings and nobels ( knights for example) took them with them on travels for comfort and prestige.

By the 15th century, woven tapestry became similar to paintings. Often certain scenes were portrayed : myths, legends, cartoons or copies of existing art pieces. By 1663 a factory was founded, employing more than 800 weavers to create tapestry for the royal court.

By the 1800s woven tapestry had become very expensive. And even before that, it is to be assumed that royals and nobility paid a great deal for a woven tapestry, making weavers more than poor farmers. Actually the more skilled an artist was and the more important their work was for the "rich" people and the society in general, the better off they were. Many craftsmen were considered "middle class".

That was a lot of info dumping here, huh? But pretty interesting, no?

So what else made me lean into my headcanon? Magnifico's very own words! He called the land "our lands." Now, regular peasants didn't "own" any land, let alone the plural! "Lands" They were lucky to have a roof above their heads. Farmers did own a small part of land, which was basically the fields they grew food and wine. But Magnifico specifically spoke of the lands he and his parents owned. And who owned lands? Aristocrats. Royalty.

So, still not a 100%, but for me this is enough to sustain my headcanon. Either you like it or you don't. Either you agree with me or you don't. If you don't, you ignore me and my headcanons and move along! Coming at me and accusing me of spreading false information won't get anyone anything but getting blocked and or reported by me 🤷🏻‍♀️ and no, I do not feel caught, cause I didn't do anything wrong.

Furthermore, the castle being in the background literally is 0 proof that it isn't Magnifico's former home! That is like saying, the big fancy house in the back doesn't belong to the knight because he is shown riding his horse in the fields! So my claims are "wrong" but theirs are valid?

The last argument made me laugh. For real. "Greedy thieves cannot invade a castle because it's made of stone." Oh really? Do I have to enroll several cases during history, how and where exactly castles and fortesses were invaded?

Let me give a few methods used to invade castles!

Fire

Battering Rams

Ladders

Catapults

Mining

Siege

There are hundreds of historical records of such events!

If "greedy thieves" were able to destroy and murder a whole land and it's community, we are not talking about some itty bitty poor criminals roaming the streets stealing food and other things. We are talking armed, barbarians, who throughly planned their attack. And guess what the main reason for attacks and invations were.

Greed.

Just because someone was of higher status and sat in a castle, didn't save their head. Many were killed despite being royal. Many castles and fortesses were destroyed or invaded over the course of time. Wars got held because of "castles". And it didn't matter if they were made of stone. What do you think happens to a stone wall that is bombaded by canons?

Anyways, be nice and I will return kindness, be rude and I will block you and delete your messages. No rocket science.

Never the less, I had fun breaking this down and blabber about history a little 😆

[boonsmoon]

Betrayal

Request: Please more scenarios with Crimson (from ragna crimson), he weighed in one in which y/n was the past love of crimson and for some reason he died because of the dragon god (I don't know maybe a whim or something like that) and then crimson decided to betray him

Not sure I got this right, so correct me if I'm wrong! Fluff to angst? I'm not good at that stuff so pray for me

Request Chungus Masterlist Ragna Crimson Masterlist Crimson x m!reader Genres: Oneshot|Fluff/Angst|Romantic

You weren't sure how long you've been a dragon, let alone been apart of the winged bloodline. It was definitely long enough to forget your past life. The days of being human merged with dragon, sometimes you forgot who you once were, why you were here, how this all happened.

It wasn't hard to remember every time you saw your monarch though. He was as captivating as the day you first met him, what drew you into even willingly accepting to be a dragon.

At first your love could clearly be seen to be unrequited, Crimson held no care for you other than your use as a tool. It's still one sided if you ask anyone, however, you notice the glances he gives you, you notice how he pays slightly more attention to your words than others.

In your eyes, this was Crimson falling for you, no matter the lies told to cover up any emotions it was clear as day to you. The king finally started to love you back, after so many years of one sided admiration and love.

In private, it was almost as if you were a real couple, "what village would you like me to raid tonight, my love?" You would ask him.

"None, you will scout for the village with the densest population and report back to me," Crimson would respond with no change in tone or attitude to your pet name.

Around others was always different, not quite embarrassing, but almost seeming unprofessional. "Honey, there are 3 villages in close proximity to each other," you say to Crimson, "we could raid them all in one night."

"You idiot! I am no 'honey' of yours. Cease with these foolish ideas and focus on being more productive," he responds. The words seem harsh, but you know he doesn't mean them, so it's fine.

That was until the Dragon God started demanding more from your bloodline. Everyone was expected to meet his expectations, so you moved faster, worked harder, fought to become stronger.

Over time it was clear that you were overworking yourself, who knew dragons could get exhausted? Definitely not you this entire time.

Behind closed doors Crimson could easily tell you to rest, to take breaks and regain strength. But when confronted with your responsibilities after going back to reality? It must be forgotten, your life is expendable to him.

You were on your death bed, stuck in the sun and unable to move from the wounds you've been dealt. It was in your last moment you wanted to see Crimson, to have him tell you again to rest while the sun was out.

As a dragon, you couldn't be that lucky. Your sins far outweighed your wants in this cruel world. Your last vision was on a horrendous creature, one so terrifying you would've ran if you could. The aura of this beast was unlike any other you've seen.

It was after that you felt the ground move under you, that you saw it move. And with rougher movements came a deep voice that shook the earth.

"You have failed me, you have brought disgrace to your name and bloodline," your vision nearly went out completely before you heard its last words.

"Now you perish like the dishonorable monster you are."

Everything is dark. Everything is quiet. The rumbling stopped, and there was peace.

...

Your body was nearly gone when Crimson found you. Risking his own safety to bring you to some shade. It was when he finally got you somewhere safe, that he knew you were gone.

This broke the monarch. His resolve destroyed now that the one person he cared for was gone. None of this would've happened if the Dragon God never interfered, none of this would've happened if Crimson made you stay back for the night.

There was no one to blame for your fate than the Dragon God and himself. Crimson vowed that day to kill the 'god' and put an end to all dragons, including himself.

From now on he will never worship another other than himself. He will never love another other than himself. Only he makes the rules, and others will follow. They will know the cost of not heeding his advice if their life.

He will close his heart off to the world to save himself.

i would like to clarify that im bad at angst, but im proud of this

again, tell me if the request was wrong bc im not sure this was what you wanted

[saiyanandproud]

“Hey, Mari—“ Gamma 2 fumbled to correct himself before he let that diminutive slip out; he was already anticipating a cold reception, better not push his luck any further. “—ko.”

“Your new pal, that ‘Atlas’ guy… “ This conversation was already proving even harder than he’d been imagining. All he could think of doing was just blurting it out, but that probably wasn’t going to work. He stood there, hands on his hips, trying and failing to look calm.

That lasted for about a second before he was throwing his hands everywhere, emphatically gesturing.

“He’s OBVIOUSLY a supervillain! He’s got it written all over him- the way he looks, the way he talks, and I’m pretty sure Gamma 1 told me about an old robot just like him that used to go around blowing up power plants like— how long ago did he say he was made?? He could be the same exact guy!!”

He was right expecting a cold welcome; Mari-ko's eyebrows furrowed as soon as Jiro -- no, Gamma 2 approached her. She folded her arms and stared at him, a cold, mute invitation to speak, and maybe she'd listen.

And listening she did and -- oh boy -- before she could even understand what he was speaking about, Gamma 2 began flailing, yelling, gesticulating incoherently while talking about... Nonsense. At least, that was what it sounded like to Mariko's ears. Utter, complete, idiotic nonsense.

She inhaled sharply, arms tightening against her chest as she waiting for Gamma 2 to be done speaking. When he was, her tone was stern and cold. Eerily similar to Hit's tone when he was tired of her tantrums.

"You know, of all the things you might have hidden from me, I never thought shallowness would be one of those. Clearly, I was wrong."

She unfolded her arms and they fell stiff by her side. She lifted her chin, frown deepening.

"I can't believe you're saying all of these horrible things about Atlas just because of what he looks like. I thought you were better than this. But maybe, I was expecting too much from you once again."

There, a sour smile curved her lips ever so slightly. A quick snort, a mock of a laugh, escaped her nose.

"Or maybe-- You know what? I think you're jealous," she said. "What, you were hoping to be my favourite android around? You're missing me gushing about you, being all head-over-heels about whatever you claimed to be and do? You're missing the attention?" And there, her smile stiffened in a bitter grimace.

"Well, let me tell you something: I'm tired of people realising the miss me once it's too late," she said. "You, Takuma, my parents-- Everyone does this to me, all the time! And this is exactly why I like hanging out with Atlas: he knows very well how it feels, being given for granted."

"In fact, I'll tell you more-- he also knows how it feels being constantly told what to do, and how irritating, unfair, enraging it gets!" She went on, voice raising as she clasped her hands in tight fists. "Because that's what I am to you all, am I right? Someone -- no, something that people expect to stay put, to never do anything, to always act according to their expectations and never take any initiative on her own, because god-- what a nuisance would I be if I ever wished to do something with my damn life while I'm stuck here with you all!"

"Atlas is the only one who hasn't treated me like an issue, a ticking bomb, or an idiot who can't take care of herself. And I don't care if your damn hero complex needs to convince me of his bad intentions just so you can feel useful around me once again, so I can make you feel amazing and heroic once more. This is just your problem! Not mine!" She concluded, her breath short. "... Not anymore at least."

And with that, she diverted her eyes from Gamma 2 and walked away, fists still clenched and a thick knot in her throat. She thought she'd feel better after venting out all of that on him. Oddly, whatever had weighted on her chest so far, it only felt as if it had just double in its size.

[kanerallels]

No no please I desperately want to hear your Bode opinions, I crave to know if anyone else has the same geek kind I do

Oh my stars Anon I got this ask and I am VERY pleased by it but also like. prepare for me to have an objectively wrong opinion here. It's not the, generally speaking, correct one, but it's just the one I have

Anyways I'm gonna put this under the cut because it's gonna get long and spoiler-ful but! Here are two posts that I think have amazing takes on the situation as well!

Post one

Post two

Let's start at the very beginning. It took me forever to actually get this game, and due to that fact and my lack of self control, I found out quite a few spoilers about the game. (not everything, but a lot of stuff.) This included Bode's betrayal

At first I was like, oh this random guy is gonna betray me! Guess I gotta prepare to be super ticked off for a little while since I always handle betrayal arcs in fiction like an adult (that's a lie. I do not handle betrayals in fiction well At All. Still getting over the Billy Russo situation in The Punisher and don't even get me started on season one of AOS-- both of which I also saw coming. I digress, but that was relevant)

But then. I started playing Coruscant. And Bode showed up

Logically, I was like "oh random dude who's gonna betray me-- better not get attached."

About ten or fifteen minutes later he was my (or Cal's, technically) new best friend. As you can see, it went really well (he was befriending BD too, okay???)

Okay rabbit trails aside-- I really, really liked Bode as a character. So much so that I kept forgetting that he was going to betray me, and that I shouldn't get too attached. I liked his ridiculous quips and his loyalty to Cal and the fact he kept calling him "brother" and his obvious and fierce love for his daughter and how much he shipped Merrical

So when he did turn evil... it hurt. A lot

Like I said, I don't handle these things well. And in a video game-- where I tend to project onto/pretend that I am the character-- it was just as bad, if not worse

And yet, despite all of that, despite everything he did to Cal and the crew, despite him killing Master Cordova and causing so many terrible things to happen. I couldn't really bring myself to hate him

For two reasons. Number one, if I let myself go down the road of actively hating a character like that, it will not go well. I speak from experience

And number two, Bode seemed to regret what he did. That scene right before the second Merrical kiss, on Jedha? He looked like he wanted to tell Cal, but (in his mind) knew he couldn't because he had to protect Kata above all else

On Nova Garon he called Cal his best friend, and he sounded so sad, like he knew he'd destroyed the relationship beyond repair

(we ain't touching on Bode on Tanalorr. Everything he did there was objectively terrible)

The point is... I get that Bode is supposed to be a bad guy, but I'm never gonna see him that way. I'm gonna see him as consumed by his own fear, so terrified at the idea of losing his family again (after all, the Jedi Order was his family first. Losing them, and then his wife? That's just trauma on top of trauma) that he will do LITERALLY anything and justify it with the fact that he's doing it for Kata

He's just so AFRAID. And fear leads to anger (which is a secondary emotion, as my mom likes to say. Anger never comes from nothing), which leads to the Dark side

And while there's part of me that still thinks that he was being an idiot about this whole situation (sir Tanalorr is a whole hecking planet?? Guarded by a freaking impassable nebula?? That's why you're here in the first place) the other part of me knows that when you're guided by that much fear, you're not thinking clearly

So yes, Bode did terrible things-- he killed Master Cordova. Indirectly, he caused Cere's death (which, unless I'm remembering wrong, which is totally possible, I don't think Cal blamed him for that? He seemed to blame Denvik-- but again, I could be wrong). He manipulated Cal and endangered his daughter with his rage on Tanalorr and nearly killed both Merrin and Cal and KRIFFING HIT MY BELOVED BD 1

But when I look at his motives? At first, I forgive him, because that's what I'm called to do. And at the point where he reaches no return, I just pity him

And honestly I think in the end that's where Cal ended up too? Like, he was obviously angry and hurt and going through a lot, but he did want to give him a second chance. And I think if Bode hadn't be so focused on what could happen and how he could possibly lose more family, he could have accepted that

But he didn't. Instead, he committed atrocities, and I do condemn what he did and how he handled the situation. It was wrong. But I'll always be more inclined to imagine the world where he did trust Cal, and got a second chance

But yeah, there are some of my extensive thoughts on Bode Akuna! There are a few more small things, that I may post about in the future-- but I'd LOVE to hear what your take on him is, Anon! Even if we disagree, I'm still very curious. Thank you very much for the ask, if you got this far, I appreciate you reading!

(TL;DR-- Bode Akuna did so many bad things but I do think he regretted them, no matter how much he justified them in his mind and to others. And I personally am forgiving him and imagining worlds where he made the right choice)

[vampirehizzies]

what're your thoughts on julian vs lucas as far as brookes romantic partners go?

i love this question because i could talk about either forever, and brooke davis is one of my favorite characters of all time. she has such a special place in my heart because often i feel the same way she does about a lot of things and approach the world with her attitude. i even experienced a lucas-like romantic partner once, but that's neither here nor there. this is going to be a long rant so buckle up!

brooke acts like a party girl but secretly craves connection and someone to value her/love her for all her flaws, not despite them. her attraction to lucas and their initial relationship in s1 was actually rushed and somewhat superficial, based more on chemistry and looking for fun than anything else - which there is nothing wrong with, but clearly they weren't ready to be together and lucas still had unresolved feelings for peyton, and also clearly he didn't really... respect brooke as a person and see her for how amazing she was? s1 brucas was hot, don't get me wrong, but as haley herself said it clearly wasn't serious and lucas didn't take brooke as a woman, or her feelings, seriously.

and after him going behind her back, the wise decision would have been for them to never go to that place again - buuut for the sake of suspending disbelief and how well they were written in s2, i am willing to ignore that. in s1 they jumped the gun too fast - however s2 was so amazing because they built such a deep and genuine friendship, bonding and discussing their problems and finding comfort in quality time without any sexual/romantic connotations.

i'm of the firm belief that this is where brucas should have first gotten together, because its such a good slow burn friends to lovers moment for them, and this was where lucas showed that he cared for, admired, and respected brooke beyond her sex appeal in a way that he didn't in s1. it would have been a much better relationship if the writers had left unresolved sexual tension and chemistry from s1 go ignored and develop into something more meaningful in s2 and then finally get together, but of course the contrived love triangle situation and pitting female characters against each other was more important? *eye roll*

and then they fell apart in a way that i appreciated for the sake of the realism and character development. lucas is loyal to one person only - peyton - and unfortunately has tunnel vision when it comes to her and has an inability to see beyond anything else, or value other relationships. it isn't a coincidence that the writers had to render leyton interactions nonexistent in s2 for brucas to flourish. after s1 he genuinely began to care for brooke as a person and see how incredible she was, and love certainly wasn't the problem: he truly adored brooke!

but as a male lead conditioned by the narrative to believe that everything he says/does is Correct with no need to grow, who has a predestined adoring leading female counterpart who will worship the ground he walks on (i do love leyton but they don't really push or challenge each other the way they did in s1 and she became such a doormat for his sake), he was never going to remain brooke's one and only because he was subconsciously always on the lookout for something better. he continued to admire her after their split, wholeheartedly telling her she was going to change the world - but because the writers had an agenda and he is defined by Leyton's Story, he and brooke would never last.

however, julian stepped in and became everything that lucas could not. he respected and was fascinated her from the start, and he remained consistently focused throughout his time on the show on only brooke's happiness. he never strayed - especially never towards peyton, unlike lucas, because he was clearly long over her - and her happiness was always his number one priority. the reason he was her forever also has to do with the stage in life where they met - brooke and lucas acted like the immature teens that they were, chasing chemistry and comfort and love that was genuine but not meant to last. brooke was wracked by insecurities while she was with lucas, and lucas was unable to use his common sense and realize what was right in front of him.

brulian, on the other hand, met as developed, successful adults who were, at the least, able to appropriately communicate what they wanted without pretense. julian was always upfront about the intensity of his feelings, never forcing her to doubt whether he truly wanted her. and the way he didn't give up when she was afraid to truly put herself out there for him... like regardless of your feelings about him as a "last minute boring addition character" (which is bogus imo because he's actually such an authentic gentleman and his romance with brooke flourished so organically) he was truly her match, compatible emotionally and physically, meeting her wholeheartedly on everything she wanted from a partner, and never forcing her to second guess him once!!

brucas were a sweet first high school love type of romance, but julian was her true love, best friend, and endgame!!