#i don’t think he’s even in that realm

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So Danny is older, and lives in Gotham as a mechanic (he could be a We mechanic, a JLA mechanic, whatever) and eventually, he starts dating Bruce Wayne.

Now, Danny knows the Wayne at the bats, it’s kinda hard to hide your vigilantism from a former vigilante. But Danny doesn’t mention it, he knows the dangerous of telling your loved ones.

Jazz is alive and a therapist is Coast City (Jazz x Hal? Could that work? Idk too much about the green lanterns). Dan is undercover to investigate pools of corrupted ectoplasm that’s guarded by an assassin cult, and Dani is still traveling the world, not for pleasure, but for the Realms.

Dani doesn’t age. It’s a side effect of being a clone. She destabilized one to many times and now her ghost half won’t let her age so she won’t die.

Dani can’t exactly settle down in a city likes the others. She looks 12. And while her siblings would take care of her in a heartbeat, she needs to fill her obsession of history and adventure.

So, she starts hunting for old artifacts, especially the magic ones. It’s a great way to learn about history and get a sense of adventure.

She’s been doing this for a couple years, building a name for herself and she gotten very good. (Keep in mind she only looks 12, but she’s actually like 33 mentally and intellectually)

Eventually, she crosses paths with a bat while searching for an artifact. (Even better if its Duke. We need more Duke. Probably won’t work with Cass, we’ll use Duke for the prompt, but can be switched out)

Obviously, Duke is kinda confused as to why a 12 yo is going after a dangerous magic artifact in the middle of but-fuck nowhere and offers to take her to Gotham and drops her off there after taking the artifact.

Dani knows better, she was going to refuse, but the realized she could take this as a free ride. So she agrees.

The reach Githam and go their separate ways, and Dike goes joke immediately, didn’t even take the time to tell anyone about the girl. but when Duke is at home hanging with their civilian stepdad, Danny gets a call and says he’s inviting his younger sister over

Bruce: Jazz? Jazz is older that you

Danny: nope! I have another sister!

Everyone: ???

Bruce: how comes we never meet her?

Danny: you have! She was at the wedding! But you’ll see her again don’t worry! She doesn’t visit often so I’m excited!

They arrives, the bat opens the door and Dani walks in.

Danny: Dani!!

Dani: Danny!!

So people are confused, Duke is like omg my aunt is an artifact hunter?? while everyone else is like omg my aunt is younger than me??

Eventually, Danny opens her backpack and goes:

Dani: so I was in *insert random place in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere* and found this! *pulls out artifact* I thought you would like so I brought it for you!

Danny: aww, thanks Dani, you shouldn’t have

Duke, who put that artifact in the cave for study: 👁️👄👁️

And Dani gives them a wink.

Duke isn’t going to take that lying down and attempts to find out Dani’s secrets while shes thwarting him at every turn.

Dani stays at the manor for a while, but nobody believe Duke when he tries warning them of Dani, because Duke didn’t tell anyone about the artifact

Things become even more alarming when Danny also start thwarting him, despite not know the family secret. (Danny thinks that Duke is onto the family secret.)

Cue crack, angst, fluff, whatever your heart desires.

[notlongtolove]

the fox and her hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“I’m a fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.” 

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time.

Because the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you. 

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it. 

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. You show him how the edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive. 

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters. Spencer thinks the fox is lying.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you. 

And then winter comes. Now, your walls feel too big for just a lone fox.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes. 

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to. 

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

For the first time, in the quiet of your den, the fox feels the cold.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone. 

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the clouds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. ​​He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away. 

A flower. 

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the other flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes even beautiful flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature to flee. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. The fox doesn’t know if she can find flowers quite as beautiful as the ones Spencer has given her.

You don’t need the flowers, you tell yourself. You’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, rebuild your mantle from scratch, carve new notches in your walls once more. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you. 

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her flowers.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. 

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now. 

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker to the mantle.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, and this time her voice is soft, her tail brushing lightly against his side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[milktiicup]

HEH I SAW YOU ASKING FOR REQUESTS SO.,,

How about a scenario where in an alternate universe, maybe, reader is a complete hikikomori and HATES to leave the house and that results in them always staying together and developing some kind of separation anxiety? Maybe reader gets money by doing some job on their computer or something, and that’s how they can afford it!

(Feel free to ignore if you don’t wanna do it/feel uncomfortable with it!)

-🦁 anon!!!!!

a world apart, together!

It was like a dream come true that he couldn’t exactly go outside. It meant he was yours, here and only here, where nothing could hurt him. Nothing could take him from you. 

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ wow as much as i loved this idea, for the life of me i just genuinely couldn't think of anything to write until i had to go to the store and it was like a eureka! moment. sry for the wait my fav little anon <3

warnings. aaaaaabsolutely none!

You didn’t like going outside. You mean, why would you? There’s nasty people out there, there’s nothing for you to even do out there- everything you ever needed was right here, in this little apartment of yours- work, comfort, food. Naturally, the first time you step outside in a while transports you into some whole other realm. 

Thankfully for your own sanity, you couldn’t communicate with most of the monsters, and whatever words you did pick up were relatively simple and repetitive. Monsters that towered over you, landscapes that defied logic, and the pervasive, bone-deep fear that you’d never find your way back. The one thread of hope that kept you moving, like a lifeline in the dark, was the thought of home.

Home meant safety. Home meant control. It meant not having to face the unknown.

Of course, under no circumstances, could you ever find  romance with your lifestyle. You didn’t like going outside. You didn’t have any dating apps. The only way for you to ever somehow magically get a partner, was if it was shoved onto you. 

And now you have a live-in monster-ghost-roommate-boyfriend-thing that’s totally into you and you’re totally into him. You weren’t complaining, though- he fit into your quiet little life perfectly, a ray of sunshine in a pitch black room, a kiss in the morning and someone to watch TV with a gasp and ‘ohhh’ and ‘ahh’ at all the exciting moments. 

It was like a dream come true that he couldn’t exactly go outside. It meant he was yours, here and only here, where nothing could hurt him. Nothing could take him from you. 

But it’s not like you can stay inside forever. Appointments, errands, obligations- it’s a part of life, that sometimes, you’re just required to go outside.

You hated it. You felt sick. You felt the nervous bundle up in your stomach, twisting and turning at all angles, never relenting. Your mind races with all the possibilities of things going wrong- you could trip and fall and embarrass yourself in front of everyone, you could miss your train to your appointment and be late, or you could lose your phone, house keys, sanity…

“You not okay.”

You pause, pacing halted, and thumb with teeth marks. Your gaze shifts to Mr. Crawling, hands on the floor in front of him, head tilting and hair dangling with worry. A frown tugs at your lips, mirroring his, and you take a breath, sitting on the sofa. This would never get any easier.

“You walk around. What wrong?” Mr. Crawling asks, pulling himself up beside you. Immediately, his long arms encase you in a cold hug. It grounds you.

Sighing through your nose, you lean your head against his shoulder. You breathe in- he smells of something otherworldly; a mix of ozone and yet of the damp earth as if it had just freshly rained, but the hint of death was noticeable. “I have to go outside.”

His frown deepens, arms wrapping tighter around you, as if shielding you from the world. Mr. Crawling wasn’t stupid- he could tell you weren’t fond of the world outside of your apartment, not that he was complaining. “Outside bad?” he puzzles, but you can tell he already knows the answer.

“I don’t like it,” you swallow, body burning, “It’s loud and busy, and… I just don’t like it. I hate it.”

“Hate?”

“Big dislike.”

“Big dislike outside…” Mr. Crawling ponders. “No want you sad,” he peppers kisses to the top of your head, hands rubbing at your shoulders and back, “Me worry you. Me go with you, come. Me go together you.”

Warmth blooms through you like a flower in the fresh spring. The idea was comforting. A small smile tugs at your lips- it’s a sweet gesture, but impractical. “You’d come with me?” You cup his face, dragging your thumbs over his grey cheeks. “People might notice. Or… freak out.”

Mr. Crawling grasps onto your wrists gently, nuzzling his face into your palm. “Someone else not important.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s not that simple. I don’t want you to get hurt. Or worse, you know… discovered.”

He takes a moment to process your words, your language catching onto him. He tilts his head, his bottom lip pouting out. You can see he was deep in thought. Mr. Crawling’s sharp giggle cuts through the silence, and he darts away to your bedroom. You furrow your brows. You watch, bemused, as he rummages through the few jackets you own before settling on a loose hoodie. He throws it on, the oversized garment hanging awkwardly off his frame, the hood nearly swallowing his hair.

“See? Me hide,” he announces proudly, the sleeves flopping as he stretches his arms out for emphasis. 

You press your lips together in a thin line in a futile attempt to stifle your laugh. Mr. Crawling looks ridiculously- adorably ridiculous. “I don’t think it works like that,” you say, words soft. He’s pulling at the strings of your heart so harshly it’s hard to not throw yourself at him.

“Me go together you!” he insists, crawling back over to you and plopping himself on the floor at your feet. “Me with you. Me come, afraid, not here. You mine, me yours. Protect.” His long arms wrap around your legs, and he rests his chin on your knee, the oversized hood drooping over his face.

You lay a hand on his head, the hoodie fabric soft under your touch. The hood drooped over his face, but you could still see the hopefulness in his grin. Your face falls, sighing, and you resolve crumbles. 

“Alright, you can come. But you have to stick close to me. And no scaring people, okay?”

“Okay!” His grin is instant, and he nuzzles his head against your knee like an oversized cat.

You hadn’t even stepped out the door, and already, you couldn’t wait to come home. To pull him back into your arms, where he belonged. Where he was safe. Where he was yours. And the thought of leaving him behind, even for a moment, made your heart ache in a way you weren’t sure you could bear.

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 9/?)

Your Pov

I'm guided down to Balerion's skull where Papa said he wished to see me. I lower my head at the sight of him. Partly because he doesn't seem to like when he sees my face, and partly because he sent Kepus away for good. 

“There you are, Darling. Tell me when you look at this skull, what do you see?” He asks and I'm very confused.

I try looking at the giant skull for anything that would give me a different answer but there is nothing. 

“a skull.” I answer trying to decide if I need to get Maester Mellos because my father is going daft.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Right, no physiological questions.” He says seeming to confused on how to continue.

Papa doesn't talk to me much, Mama said it was because I'm young and he's busy being King. But he seems to always have time for Rhaenyra and her weird questions, but why not mine?

“Why did you ask for me?” I ask playing with the necklace Kepus gave me.

Papa seems to think for a bit, he does for so long I about turn and leave. 

“The idea we control the dragons is a lie.” He says, staring at me seemingly waiting for something. 

“Alright.” I say even more confused as to what is happening.

He sighs annoyed and I worry what I did to upset him.

“I need an heir.” He says finally and it feels like a punch to the gut. 

Mama died so he'd have an heir, and he's still not happy? I think with a frown.

“And you'll be it.” He says looking me in the eyes for the first time in moons. 

I'm even more confused now, why me? Why not Rhaenyra or have another wife so he can have a son?

And so I ask him very that.

“Rhaenyra is too reckless, can't see that the passionate route isn't always the right one. But you, your gentle, kind, and are young enough I can still teach you the right ways.” He says kneeling down so he can be eye to eye with me.

“So you won't remarry? Ali said you were.” I ask curiously.

He frowns before shaking his head. “No, I must remarry. The realm needs a Queen, might need a Queen more than a King at times.” 

“Then why not leave Kepus as your heir?” I ask and this seems to upset him as he recoils with a scowl and wide eyes.

“He is not made to sit the throne, his ambitions are too high. But you were born to sit the throne, you will untie the realm. I know you can, I know you will.” He says gripping the back of my head forcing me to look at him.

I feel my breath catch in my throat, feel the blood drain from my face. I don’t want this, who would want this? I want to play with Laena and Nymeria and fly on Stormchaser’s back, not rule, not be the heir.

“I son’t want this, I don’t want to be your heir.” I say trying to step back but the grip he has on my hair gibves a unpleasant pinching feeling to my scalp so I decide to stay put.

He sighs and looks down seeming to think about something. It’s this that spurs my next statement.

“Ask Nyra to be your heir, she wants it, she says so all the time.” I say hoping he’d pick her and not me. But this only leads him to shake his head and smile at me sadly.

“The ones who deserve power, are always the ones who don't want it. That is why you are the best choice, why you are my heir.” He says firmly before kissing the ctow of my head and leaving the chamber.

It’s the day of my coronation, the day the lords will see me as the heir to the throne and swear fealty to me. I’m standing in front of my floor-length mirror as Laena and Nymeria help me dress in the outfit Papa picked for me. It's a deep red dress that has long sleeves that reach the floor, and golden embroidery along the neckline and hem. He also gave me a golden cape and this big clunky golden necklace with all the liege lord's house sigils on it. Laena suggests I wear my gold and ruby tiara instead of the black one Papa gave and I couldn’t agree more.

Once I’m all dress Laena hugs me from behind and smiles at me through the mirror. “How does it feel, to be heir?” She asks curiously.

I stop to think about it, I never wanted this, never even dreamed of it so in a sense it feels wrong like I’m taking something from someone who is more deserving. And so that is what I tell Laena.

She hums before smoothing out the cape again, it seems to be a very temperamental fabric. “I can see why you feel that way, I would feel the same if I was heir over my brother Laenor.” She says deep in thought. Probably imagining that situation. 

Her bringing up her brother brings my mind to my sister’s betrothal to him. “How is he feeling about being betrothed to Nyra?” I ask curiously.

She sighs rolling her eyes. “One moment he’s in hysterics, the next he acts like everything is fine and he could’t ask for a better match. He’s acting like a pregnant Lady to say the least.” She says obviously annoyed by her brother’s dramaitcs and mood swings. 

I can’t help but giggle which soon bring Laena into giggles as well which leads us to laughing till our stomachs hurt. It isn’t ladylike, but it’s what I needed after losing not only Mama but also Kepus. I remember him comig to my chambers tellig me he had to go, that Papa exiled him which means he isn’t aloud to be at the Keep anymore. 

I’m playing with my Stormchaser and Caraxes plushes next to the fire when I hear the door to my chambers creak open. When I turn to see who it is I find a very angry Kepus standing there looking around my chambers, but not me, anywhere but me. 

“Kepus, are you alright?” 

He only sighs and turns towards me which is when I notice the way he blinks as if trying to fight tears. But that’s crazy, Kepus never cries. I think as he moves towards me kneeling down so he can hold my face in his hands as he stares at me. 

“I need to leave, ñuha ri��a, I said something I shouldn’t have and your father won’t, no can’t forgive me for it.” He says before kissing my brow with shaky breaths.

When he stands to leave I try and chase after him but he turns to Orchid telling her to hold me, I fought against her fought with all my might as I watched him leave and close my chamber door. I screamed after him as he left and after. “YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD NEVER LEAVE ME! DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE MAMA!” 

But no matter how much I begged or screamed he still left and I knew he wasn’t coming back when I hear Caraxes sad cries as he flew away.

I still feel how it shattered my heart, how I sobbed in Orchid’s arms as she rocked me back and forth until I cried my little heart out and had fallen asleep. She must ahe carried me to my bed after I fell asleep in her arms because when the sun shone in mh chambers I was in my bed covered in my thick quilts. 

As I’m lost in thought I’m lead to the court room by one of Papa’s guards. I stand before all of the lords watching one by one as they kneel before me making their oaths. I hear Papa declare before all I am his heir, I am the future Queen to the iro thorne. 

But what none noticed was the cloaked figure hiding in the dark corner of the throne room bowing to me as well. “I swear fealty to you, ñuha riña.” It whispers before sneaking out to find his dragon upon a far off hill, hidden from his brother or guards.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I would be lost without you!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl

[pincushionx]

Imagine an AU where Belos is imprisoned after Titan Luz defeats him rather than killed.

Then one day Hunter comes to visit him in his prison and he asks if Belos ever thought he could have been happy with him.

And (and I know this would be OOC for him) Belos can't bring himself to answer. He would gladly say no just to make Hunter feel bad, or maybe even say yes to manipulate him, but he actually finds himself lost for words.

Hmmm, this is outside of what you asked but I wonder if Belos did have any sort of love for Hunter.

It’s already stated that Belos created Hunter as a toddler. It’s still unconfirmed if he made any other baby grimwalkers. I’m also pretty sure it was confirmed that he experimented on grimwalkers too, so not every grimwalker was a Golden Guard. So I’m going to assume all the previous Golden Guards where older teens to adults. I wonder if he had any attachment to Hunter, I mean he was around since he was basically a baby. It’s hard to imagine not having some fondness for something like that but again this is Belos.

I see different thoughts on why Belos created the grimwalkers, some say it was Belos way of justifying himself and reliving the betrayal over and over, it was genuinely to get an ideal version of Caleb, to have a new brother to take care of him, ect. I genuinely wonder if Belos ever loved a grimwalker, maybe the early ones but that was hundreds of years ago and that’s still a maybe.

He hallucinates Caleb looking down on him, disappointed. He knows subconsciously that what he doing is wrong but he’s too far deep into his delusion that he’s saving mankind from these sinful witches.

In the end they are just tools, an uncanny replacement for the brother he murdered and never got over.

But at the same time he did express disappointment at Hunter not lasting, the collector also question why he didn’t kill Hunter when he had the chance to after eclipse lake which is odd if Hunter is so replaceable. That he genuinely believed that Hunter would stay in line and be his most loyal one.

Actually now that I think about it, Hunter never betrayed Belos explicitly. He only rebelled in small ways like studying wild magic, making friends and having a palismen which Lilith also had. Hunter only nearly got killed because he found out the truth but Belos never gave him the chance to plead for mercy or the option to come back. Who knows if Hunter would have gone back if he was given the chance, Belos could have at least attempted to manipulate him to believing what he saw was fake or something.

He says their betrayals hurt but never shows it. While I do think the grimwalkers are set for failure since the start, he might have had hope that Hunter would have lasted since this one he actually raised this one and the fact that Hunter was actually loyal and devoted to him. It hurts how much this kid loves him.

Idk if the other grimwalkers were tricked to believing Belos was their family or something but Hunter loved him like a father figure and wanted his approval so badly and Belos knew this.

To your hypothetical, imprisoned Belos Au are interesting but something you don’t see often. I think he would spend a lot of time pondering, praying and wondering what if’s. Considering there’s not much to do when you’re locked up. He allowed himself to live in ignorance and hate for so long, was it even worth it? Could have he been happy in a place like the boiling isles? What if he never killed Caleb? What if he never left the human realm? What if he never made a daring spell? Why did he make coven again? What if he gave which kind a chance…? What if he never abused his grimwalkers? It all too crazy and he’s spiraling.

Hunter visits one day despite being told it not a good idea. But how could he not? Despite being abused and hurt in unfathomable ways by him, he still loves him in sick way. He was his only family for so long, that man who kept him isolated. He still fantasizes about being fussed over and loved by Belos, still has ‘fond’ memories of him. So to Belos surprise, the Grimwalker he once killed and abused is now sitting in front of him, ready to chat.

They talk for a bit, Hunter tells him a bit about the outside word and the changes made. He isn’t aggressive or confrontational, he couldn’t be even if he wanted to. Belos stays silent, unsure of what to say. Most grimwalkers expressed hatred before death, yet this one who he actually once killed was chatting with him like it was a normal day. Hunter is terrified but he keeps chatting, pretending this is fine. Belos tries to make his own comments and redirect the conversations but can’t. He lost for words because he’s in a situation not even he foresaw. He expected rage, ridicule or even tears but not this. Hunter was talking to him like he was still family.

I imagine Hunter, in his ill mind, still thinking of Belos as family. Still someone he wants to love despite everything. That he often thinks of him even on good days.

Soon Hunter asks that question if Belos could have ever been happy with him, if he ever loved him. Hunter believes that answer is no, he was already marked for the slaughter with that sigil, a dead man walking. Even if he wants that answer so badly to be yes.

And Belos can’t answer because he’s already thought of this. Could he have been happy with Hunter? Was he fond of Hunter? Was Hunter just a replacement? Was he a good replacement? Could he have loved him outside of being a replacement? Was there any love for the child he raised?

He could say no and hurt Hunter, the ‘love’ was always conditional, he was just a tool, was meant to be dead, ect. (But that might drive Hunter away and Belos is lonely)

He could say yes and give Hunter false hope, manipulate him, make him take pity, revive that old loyalty, ect. (He could get caught in this monitored state and get his only loyal companion ripped away)

But he can’t answer because he doesn’t know. It’s been so long since he had loved. He hated for far too long, he got rid of any chance to love. Was it possible to be happy with Hunter? Just him being Hunter and not some tool or replacement?

Idk this concept is good, I genuinely wonder what would have happened if Belos did actually love Hunter. I don’t think he does or ever did, he was just upset that his tools broke faster than he thought it would but it’s an interesting thought. I think if Belos and Hunter did start to bond in this Au, everything would be bittersweet in the worse ways.

[spottedenchants]

WIP Wednesday 11/27/24

Still plugging away at the first time fic and chapter 4 is coming along, so here is a fun bit from chapter 1 :3

cw: mild miscommunication, discussion of sex from a sex-averse POV

~

Even with his sticking tongue, Essek trudges through, repeats.

“I want this”-

He squeezes Caleb, comfort momentarily made man, and siphons his boundless hearth-heat.

“All of this—to be good for you.”

Caleb’s hands slip back to his back.

“This isn’t escape, Essek. It is for fun.”

Fun, yes. Inconvenient term in Common here, but Essek had dug his own grave weeks ago by botching his phrasing in the first place.

Despite his indifference presently hovering somewhere in the realm of ambivalence thinking on notions of sensitive physicality, they may as well pick apart this topic since for the moment it has Caleb stuck.

Lecture memory drones through dust: as with any partnered touch, deliberate titillation is yet another thing bodies tend to be able to do; there is no inherent significance to their actions save for that which they may create between themselves; nothing is sacred nor even special beyond that which they may deem so, if anything at all.

Then, what does this mean for them two?

After having spent so long with the world held at arm’s length, every intimacy with the Nein carries a revelatory weight to Essek. Silently sharing space whilst independently occupied—reading, writing, sketching, cooking, gardening, dining, sight-seeing, on and on—it is often perfectly satisfactory an amount of interaction, striking enough to sting his throat and prickle his eyes should he think on it too long. Resting alongside them in close quarters is similar if woven tighter, a denser ply of vulnerability: unconscious trust. But distraction indulged to an intermediary degree? So awkward and involved? He’s little metric for arousing encounters when steeped only in affection, without definitive goals or a game to steal.

But he’s already thought this through for the kissing with Caleb. Another two-body problem, perhaps Caleb’s own measure is a fair place to start here, too.

Essek presses his nose to Caleb’s neck, careful of his bruise.

“Frivolous, you think?”

“With you? Hardly.”

Oh.

Caleb’s voice gentles another degree.

“Though, I don’t mind so much. If you would care for that instead.”

So… such involvement isn’t a passing interest to Caleb, at least within this convoluted circumstance they’ve fostered thus far. Maybe it can have depth, too.

Candle in a coal mine, Essek focuses on further fleeting reflection as he’s done so well in solitude—pressure built and let, the stutter of his lungs, of heat in his ears and two pulses rocking intertwined; his own ache, accompanied- caressed, maybe even gratified—before the glare grows too bright in Caleb’s presence and snuffs itself dry.

But why? Essek rattles the concept for a futile respark. What exactly might it mean?

The lantern stays snapped shut, repulsed.

Fine. Thoughts for another time.

Regardless, that nagging notion rearing its head now, as it does- it is far broader than any sort of vague worry about concupiscent satiation; his own nose held, Essek is fairly confident he could leave Caleb an exerted mess. This present dread as he has come to know it… it is of being unfit to take care of Caleb as an entire living being. Again: a person, breathing and complete.

And it is not so much harmlessness Essek seeks, no. No, for imperfectly met souls, sharp and shorn and bound up best they can, that is impossible and he won’t delude himself otherwise despite how much he may wish it to be the case when it comes to his friends. But perhaps being of benefit is feasible. He is still trying to be kind.

They have spoken through this before. Essek can brave doing so again.

He shudders in a breath to present this jagged sliver of his heart.

“I care for you, Caleb Widogast. I would like to.”

Coasting over tender bruise and threading the last of a tremble through downsoft hair, Essek shields the back of Caleb’s neck.

“I’m unconvinced I can bear it all.”

[lewis-just-lewis]

Hello Viktor enjoyers I make my return..I have thoughts about this latest season. Before getting into full criticism, huge props to the artistic talent that worked on this show. Fortiche as a whole has genuinely changed tv animation, the combination of 2D and watercolor sequences-the super stylized music and fight scenes, absolutely thee best animation I think I’ve ever witnessed. The music, the art, the animation-even the character designs. While I don’t care for certain choices, the designs have so much artistic talent put into them. I adore cosmic horror, and to see that utilized was very cool!

To see the character it was used for, I have thoughts on. But I enjoyed the design as it was-the writing on the other hand..I’m upset with.

Admittedly, the first watch through I had was pure adrenaline. I went into this season with two things I wanted. I wanted to see Viktor evolve closer to his league self, and I wanted to see what route Sevika and Jinx would take-whether that path be together or as individuals, I wanted to see how they helped Zaun. And technically, in a way, I got what a wanted..for a moment.

There was a rumor in circulation, that arcane was meant to be five season long. I genuinely believe this wasn’t a rumor now. There was so much missing, there were so many interactions that were needed to feel this story the way it was felt in season 1. With everyone, but primarily with Viktor and Jayce. There’s that rebuttal old as season one that goes: “Arcane is meant to be about the sisters!”

Okay, how did the sisters mend their connection? Did they ever talk about it-the fact that Vi made Jinx-or how Vi committed chemical warfare on people-HER people?? Additionally, if Viktor was meant to always be the big bad we absolutely needed more time with him!! We needed to see the wedge driven between him and Jayce, to see when that good intent took a turn to the extreme. We needed to see him have more interactions with different characters-or expand further upon his already existing relationships!

There were seeds planted that the writers completely forgot about and let decay in dried up soil. In act 3 of season 1, Viktor starts getting snippy-and then outright mad at the people around him. Someone on here did address that, Viktor does have a temper. One that we were shown, when he snaps at Jayce on the bridge-literally smacking his hand away when he tries to help him up after being outright discriminative. When Mel even alludes to hextech weaponry, he gets upset-and then outright angry-teeth bared angry at the fact she would bloody their work-HIS work with Jayce in war. He and Jayce linger on it-he begins experimenting on himself because he realizes Mel has gotten to Jayce in a way he can’t pull back. The promise to destroy the hexcore, the thing he MADE Jayce promise his last wish was violated.

He stumbles out of this upright chrysalis entirely changed, amalgamation of flesh and organic looking metal-braces permanently encased to his body. He sees the blueprints for hextech weaponry, he SEES the schematics for Catelyin’s rifle. And he just..leaves, just “I must say goodbye to this place.”

I’ve seen the argument made: “the hexcore is controlling him!”

Then why does he show clear emotion in episode six? Why then and there can he express fear, concern, gratitude, outwardly. Not in the astral realm! Outwardly-his sass is even shown to be intact when Jinx thinks she has jokes! So why the hell did he never once get angry about his agency being robbed, about his life literally being left in someone else’s hands when that was something season 1 was alluding too?

And what about sky? I’m still so throughly confused on what her purpose of being back was about. Writers have had to clarify what she’s meant to do because of the lack of context! It feels like we have four, forty-five minute episodes missing. And not just of context and story for Viktor but of Sevika-of Jinx-The underground-Zaun’s conflict with piltover! The crux of what season 1 was, these two sisters and the two cities. A Zaunite and Piltovian, we had Cait and Vi, Jinx and Silco, Jayce and Viktor-dynamics that were mapped out. That needed to be explored, how did the undercity come to forgive Jinx after her father exploited most of the residents with Shimmer?

There was an entire lead up to Cait’s role as a dictator and we see..none of it? And the aim changes to finding Warwick and then to Viktor and there is so-so so much happening. It really does feel like three seasons compressed into one, but to the worst extent that the characters don’t feel like themselves. Viktor’s confidence he exudes in season one, that defiance, that determination, the anger we see him hone later. It’s gone, we he does fight Jayce there is not a HINT of anger or resentment-just: “Oh well-I was trying to be peaceful-I am going to kill you now though.”

Sevika’s urgency to make topside pay, is still there-she’s rallying people together, but then we just don’t see her until the big fight. Sure Scar is with her there-but that doesn’t say anything about it she’s leading whole different factions of Zaun after the prison break!

The finale left more questions than things answered, and I extremely dislike the usage of a time loop. Jayce’s line to Viktor of about his disability and his disease made my blood boil on my first watch through. There are so many others ways to say humanity’s imperfections are what make us perfectly human. Use emotions for example-scientifically we as humans have the highest range of emotions, but they don’t make us weak. Our ability to feel things vastly is what drives us to do certain things, art, writing, music, creation as a whole is driven by emotion. Creation can be good or bad, enlightening or destructive, but as humans we have that innate urge to do it because of emotion. Especially those who are artists, by far my favorite part of season two is how many artists looked at what was given and went:…so. I’m going to take this, and make it my own because you clearly cannot be trusted.

In conclusion, when writing fanfic or making art it will be of season one Viktor and the Machine Herald, not the Herald of the Arcane. Shoutout to The Boy Savior though, Ekko also has issues but man did he get the best end of the deal. Viktor enjoyers take care of yourselves, canon isn’t the end all be all. Have fun with making your Au’s or fixitfics, have fun drawing versions of characters you enjoy. And if it helps, season one does end on a very bleak point, but it could be seen as the ending.

[obeymefanfiction]

Beel: I Miss You

Obey Me! Fanfiction (Aug 2020) Masterlist Featuring: Beelzebub x Reader Word Count: 900 Disclaimer: Obey Me! Characters are the rightful property of Solemare. Warnings: Fluff/Angst, with allusions to depression.

The knock at the door pulled you back to reality. Your eyes were still stinging and sore from crying and you were tempted to put on sunglasses before you answered. What if it was just some poor delivery person who had the wrong door? You hadn’t ordered anything recently anyway… you’d only been back in the human realm for about a week and the things you brought with you were more than sufficient for your needs. Also, it was hard to… well want to.

It was hard to do anything really. This aching loneliness in your chest just wouldn’t leave you alone. It felt like your heart was starving to death and it didn’t make any sense because technically you were “home” now. This was where you belonged… but it wasn’t. Not anymore. You sighed and ran a hand through your hair blinking a few times in hopes of clearing some of the redness from your eyes. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that your time in the devildom had changed so much about you. It changed your favorite music, your favorite food, your favorite games… all the things you once loved just seemed to pale in comparison. Especially when it came to… You opened the door before you could fall into the endless pit that always engulfed you when you were thinking about him. The brightness of the light from outside—so unlike the devildom—made you squint uncertainly at the person standing at the door. When your tired eyes focused, however, and you saw that vibrant hair—those amethyst eyes—and his uncertain smile? You forgot to breath. “I brought you your favorite.” The tall broad-shouldered demon held out the bag to you. A familiar blush made his cheeks appear especially ruddy in the sunlight. “I know I’m not supposed to come see you, but… I couldn’t bring myself to eat it without you because it made me miss you too much.” You managed to take an unsteady breath but when you tried to speak nothing came out. Beelzebub was here? He came… here? “I’m sorry it just… hurts to be away from you like this _. I’ll let Lucifer string me up or whatever as a consequence. I just couldn’t keep missing you! So, I brought you dinner.” He looked like a puppy that expected to be scolded, so when you threw your arms around his neck and held on with all your strength it took him a moment before he hugged you back. “I missed you too Beel.” When the bag of food hit the ground by your feet you looked up in surprise. You barely registered his expression before his mouth crashed into yours. One large hand mover to cradle the back of your head with a familiar gentleness. His kiss was so hungry, however, that it felt as though you would become his next meal. The intensity of his affection had always been slightly restrained before now. As though he was holding back for fear of hurting you. At times it made you wonder if he felt as strongly toward you as you felt toward him. The sweet tender kisses he had always given you before now—even the gentle caress of his hand on you face—they were always so careful. Yet this separation seemed to have broken through Beel’s control. He kissed you so hard it almost hurt. Held you so close it was difficult to breathe. Yet, you simply kissed him back. Unleashing the intensity of your own feelings. You held him back as though he were your only lifeline. Your anchor to safety and happiness and anything else you could dream of wanting. When he pulled back to let you catch your breath you almost panicked. “Don’t let go!” The words came out before you could even think what they’d sound like. Still, the way he looked at you made your embarrassment obsolete. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He admitted, kissing you gently on the forehead. “Do you mind if I come inside your… what is this place? It’s so tiny?” He asked scrutinizing your doorway as though it were some kind of cave. You laughed a little and couldn’t resist hugging him again. “It’s certainly not home is it? But yes, we can eat inside.” You smiled up at him. “Thank you for bringing me dinner.” “It might be a little more tossed than usual now.” He blushed reaching down to pick up the bag he dropped on the ground. “I promise I don’t mind.” “Then you’d better lead the way before I start kissing you again.” He sighed. “Because tossed and cold isn’t the kind of food I wanted to bring you.”

[starlooove]

Omg i finally found the words for it thanks to that post; I was wondering about how miles was facing a weird type of treatment from people and at the time it felt like he was…dodging the racism.

And a part of me was kind of happy but it still felt off and after that I realized he wasn’t dodging racism, it was just that the people acknowledging him at all were ignoring his character in general.

They were making him the straight man in comparison to the rest of the cast, which y’all do with damn near every black character u can’t racially stereotype (Sam Wilson, Duke Thomas, any black woman ever). Y’all also ignore that he’s afro latino and use the B in Spanish to say he’s not connected with his culture at all which is so so so far from the truth it’s sick. I think y’all need to rewatch the first movie bc ur forgetting that he wasn’t fucking with visions and still had connections to his old community, and the song “what’s up danger” is about and FOR him

[blue-mood-blue]

I have been thinking about the blackening (as one does)…

…and it’s so interesting to me, the penalty Shen Qingqiu is faced with should he not decide to yeet his disciple into hell.

Account termination. Instant death. Sent directly home to his already-long-dead body, and that’s it for the villain of the piece who outright refuses his villainy. The protagonist needs a blackening for the story to continue, and Shen Qingqiu is going to provide it or get written out of the narrative. Either way, Luo Binghe is going to lose him. Either way, this is a turning point.

I wouldn’t claim that this is the intent of the penalty, but it fascinates me that the System has, potentially, backed the plotline into a corner - because Binghe still stands to be blackened even if Shen Qingqiu took the other choice.

Think about what that would look like, to him. He’s at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and everything is going wrong. He’s been outed as a demon, and not just a demon - the top tier of demon, as bad as it gets from the perspective of a righteous cultivator. His beloved teacher, the person who has been kindest to him and opened his home and heart to him, is standing there with his sword in hand, deciding what he’s going to do about what must look, to him, like a horrific betrayal. Binghe is apologizing. Binghe is begging for his life.

Shen Qingqiu hears him. Maybe it shows on his face, or in his voice, that he already knew; maybe there’s no hint at all, but Shen Qingqiu is suddenly talking quickly with an abrupt sense of urgency that Luo Binghe is having a hard time keeping up with. Telling him he’ll be wonderful - telling him he’s the best. Telling him the world will be his, with emotions cracking through that aloof mask that Binghe has never seen on Shizun’s face before, and it’s terrifying for reasons that Binghe cannot identify.

(He will, later. When he has time to think, he’ll realize it sounded like a goodbye.)

And then Shen Qingqiu is bleeding. And then Shen Qingqiu is on the ground. And then Shen Qingqiu is dead. There’s no countdown for Binghe - there’s no System, there’s no warning, there’s no answers.

Luo Binghe is a heavenly demon in the middle of a conference sabotaged by demons. Luo Binghe is alone. His fellow competing disciples are scattered, some dead or injured. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the second in command of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, maybe the only person he loved and who loved him back, is dead at his feet. No one will believe him if he says it isn’t his fault.

(He can’t believe it isn’t his fault.)

What choice does he have but to run? The last heavenly demon the cultivation world went up against has been sealed under a mountain for years, and one of the people responsible for that is probably looking for Shen Qingqiu already. They’ll be looking for him, too. There isn’t anywhere to hide; there isn’t any time to mourn.

There isn’t even enough time to ask why. Why again.

There is no closure waiting for him, because there is nothing to explain what happened. It just is.

It would be a different kind of blackening, certainly - less intense, probably, less of a warping, desperate thing. But how many times can one person have all the love and safety in their world torn out from under them before it starts to show? Before they just don’t allow things like love and safety to touch them, because that’s the better option?

Interesting to consider that, simply by offering the choices it did, the System rigged the story to guarantee that Luo Binghe would end up in hell (deliberate or not).

Interesting to consider that, even if Shen Qingqiu made what might have seemed like a kinder choice, there was every chance it wouldn’t have been.

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[dilf-phoenix-rights]

Something I do think is kinda worse (but definitely less prevalent) than “fandom religiously treating fanon as canon” is when someone convinces themselves that something that is canon actually isn’t, and that everyone else is stupid when in actuality most people are just like… picking up on the very obvious and purposeful implications presented in the story that you have just refused to accept mean anything if it isn’t literally spelled out for you.

[yourqueenb]

Reading the new lore tablet really just confirmed my theory from chapter 2, but I think I have it a bit more fleshed out now. I think the creation of The Watcher was what split the realms in two. And if they ever become whole again, The Watcher will die or cease to exist. He even says that he’s pretty much existed since the realms came into being himself.

But the realms are constantly trying to get back to their natural state and have been since their initial separation. It might not have been noticeable at first, but as time went on, the “rifts” got bigger because the realms were moving closer and closer together. And this happens every time The Watcher resets them.

How does he reset them though? By using realm-walkers. I don’t think he can leave the space between the realms. So he needs someone who can travel freely to close the rifts. He probably gave all of the past realm-walkers the same little spiel he gave MC. And once they close all the rifts, the realms are pushed farther apart, The Watcher can live a few hundred years more, and the realm-walker dies — maybe because closing the rifts has some sort of negative effect on them or it just eats up too much of their light — which explains all of their mysterious disappearances.

The “Old gods” thought they were doing the people of Morella a favor by separating Light and Shadow since they considered magic to be inherently dangerous. But in doing so, they caused everyone to have to pay a terrible price every time they use their “pure” Light magic and most likely exacerbated, if not created, the strife that exists between Light and Shadow

[wayward-sherlock]

thinking abt how someone’s gonna die next season but all of the characters have such complex relationships with each other that no matter what it’s going to hurt real fucking bad.

[tariah23]

This dude is awesome… but also, I haven’t seen Bamboozled since middle school, oh my god. I’d almost forgotten about it-

[no1ryomafan]

In Armageddon almost every getter ryoma pilots dies gruesomely. Like everyone remembers the first one because how can you forget the imagery of what's basically a headless bloody corpse limping towards ryoma, the black getter ends up spurting oil from everywhere in a way that's eerily reminiscent of someone spewing blood from every orifice and sure the shin getter doesn't die on screen but it looses both its arms before the shine spark. Like this man wrecks anything getter related.

Ryoma is the kind of guy to embody “I am not scared of death because death has to FIGHT me” but also generally pours his all into the Getter because he understands the machine more than anyone. (Who isn’t Saotome or Go anyways) He moves in perfect synchronization with Shin Getter near the end, he literally matches the movements of the levers to the movements the robot makes-he’s that fucking extra which I love him for-he has YEARS of experience piloting the robot that even being in jail for 3 years didn’t throw him off as he was able to go through a army of getter dragons, and he made his OWN GETTER out of spare parts. His getters do fail apart easily out of the fact he does over do it a bit yes, but Ryoma also KNOWS what he’s doing and situation he’s in are so dire that the getter is the one to cost it’s life so he can see another day. (Though arguably not with the last instance) Either way, I think them dying gruesome is more so a reflection of how much of a glass cannon the Getter is and how pushing it will lead to damage, even if the trade off tends to be the damage done was worth it. Especially in the finales context with Ryoma juicing up Shin Getter with so much energy from Shin Dragon that his team almost died, but it worked to stop the Invaders once and for all. Ryoma brings out the Getters full potential and while the machine can’t keep up with it, the work he does is always in favor of the greater good in the end as his heart is in the right place despite how violent he is.