#i keep getting in my head about this fic

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan tries to find Dagna's delivery.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,457. Rating: all audiences, except for a swear.)

Chapter 12: Unloading Baggage

Trevelyan cascaded through the bowels of Skyhold, sent with special purpose by Dagna. There was a delivery arriving this afternoon, and by the Ancestors, her order had better be there!

Trevelyan had optimistically come this way because she thought—incorrectly—that it might be quicker. Absolutely not. Beneath the main hall, Skyhold wound itself in circles, a grand labyrinth of servants’ quarters, kitchens, larders, and washrooms.

A kind laundress pointed her out of one such room, along a better-suited corridor. It was down this route that Trevelyan finally found her way into the particular kitchen that she had been promised had an external door.

She had hoped to confirm this with the staff working there—but when she wandered into the room, it was remarkably empty. All except for one elven woman, hunched over two jars.

“Excuse me,” Trevelyan said, pointing to the door across the room, “is that the way out?”

The woman looked up. She had funnily-chopped blond hair, incorrectly-laced clothes that did not look like a worker’s wear, and a grin that could only be described as wicked.

Her eyes flicked to the door, then back. “Yeah?”

“Thank you, I will—”

Maintaining eye contact, the woman picked up one of the jars—labelled ‘salt’—and poured its entire contents into the other—labelled ‘sugar’. Trevelyan blinked, mouth hanging open.

“Um…”

“You didn’t see nothing, yeah?” the woman said, a mischeivous glint in her eye.

Trevelyan smiled. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

With a cackle, the woman slipped into the shadows. It was this that made Trevelyan realise she’d seen her before—up on the mezzanine, during the gala. She was suddenly very glad she hadn’t eaten anything that night.

Regardless, she had her answer for the door. Trevelyan pushed it open, to the welcome sight of gleaming sunlight, shining down on Skyhold’s courtyard.

Specifically, the stable area, which the kitchen connected to via a small flight of stairs. Trevelyan hesitated to journey down them; their height gave a good vantage of the storeroom entrance below—and the caravan of carts encircling it.

The quietness of the kitchens was at once explained. It seemed that all hands were on deck, scurrying to and fro like industrious insects, helping to unload barrels and crates and sacks. Skyhold had many mouths to feed, and large stores to fill. Finding a small shipment for the Arcanist in the midst of this commotion was no easy task.

But Trevelyan endeavoured to find it anyway. She squeezed her way through the crowd, to arrive at the foot of one of the carts.

A human man stood atop it, well-built, no doubt from many years at this craft—for he slung boxes and barrels into waiting hands like it were an art form.

“Serah!” Trevelyan called, to catch his occupied attention. “Do you know if any of these are for the Arcanist, Dagna?”

The man slid a crate toward a servant with pinpoint accuracy, and puffed out air. “Sorry, miss, not seen that name”—he passed off another box—“and you’re not likely to find it here. Better off asking your quartermaster once all this is unloaded.”

“I suspected as much. Thank you, regardless!”

Trevelyan retreated as he prepared another sack, yet noted when she did that no one came to claim it. Though as many of Skyhold’s staff as could be spared were aiding the delivery, there were about a dozen carts, all piled high. Only so much was possible.

“Would you like me to take that?” she asked.

The man shrugged. “You’re not busy?”

“Finding that shipment, yes—and it seems the quickest way to do so is by helping things along!”

The man chuckled, and hefted the sack towards her. “Can always use more willing hands! How much you carry?”

Very little, since leaving the Circle. Trevelyan certainly hoped her old strength would still remain, but acknowledged privately that she might need a little… assistance.

A week ago she’d never have dared to cast anything in such a public setting, but her work with the Arcanist had somewhat relaxed her attitude. And so she snuck a hand behind her back, and traced a rune against her spine. The energy of the Fade found her little opening, and trickled on through.

The old strength returned, and more. Trevelyan clapped her hands around the sack, and with ease, lifted it onto her shoulders.

“Take it to the storerooms,” the man instructed her, “should be someone down there to say where to drop it.”

Simple enough task. The confluence of other servants would guide her where she needed to go. Weaving betwixt them, Trevelyan exchanged a smile with every passing face. Maker, it felt good to shed the tedium of idle nobility!

Except one of those faces, she recognised. Trevelyan dropped her sack, and turned.

“Lady Samient?” she sputtered. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting the Commander?”

Lady Samient smiled. “We just parted. I saw you from afar. Lady Trevelyan, what are you doing here?”

“Oh!” Trevelyan patted her hands against her smock, to wipe off the dust. “Well, there’s a shipment I’m hoping to locate, but it doesn’t get found until the entire delivery is stored and catalogued, it seems. So, I thought I might help.”

She tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Like it was actually common for noblewomen to randomly muck in.

But Lady Samient appeared unfazed: “Do you need help?”

She couldn’t seriously be offering..?

“No, no, it’s quite all right,” Trevelyan tried to say—but Samient was already loosening her cuffs, and rolling up her sleeves. “You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble,” said Samient, untying a leather strap from her wrist, to pull her hair into some kind of rudimentary ponytail—though cleverly without unveiling her ears. She positioned herself by the sack. “Lift on trois.”

Shaking off her bewilderment, Trevelyan accepted that she was not to win this argument, and thus, on three, did lift.

Truly, she could have carried it alone, but she did not wish to reject Lady Samient’s offer—especially as the Lady turned out to be quite the capable worker. The descent into the stores was made with ease, despite how narrow and dimly-lit the steps were. Endless, too—they journeyed far further down than Trevelyan had even for the Undercroft. How deep into its mountain plateau did Skyhold burrow?

Eventually, they reached the bottom. No sunlight here—it was a large, torch-lit hall, of which Trevelyan could barely see the other side—if not due to the distance, then due to the amount of containers already consuming the place. Skyhold was stocked floor-to-ceiling. Even the stores at the Circle hadn’t been this well-equipped.

Following directions given by waiting pantlers, they found where they were to deposit their load. Job done, they braved the lengthy climb.

“Did you do this sort of thing, at the Circle?” Samient asked, to pass the time. “You said you worked in their storerooms.”

“Not this, per se,” Trevelyan admitted. “Well, sometimes I moved things—but I was more involved with taking stock and keeping ledgers.”

“Like the quartermaster.”

“Like the quartermaster’s assistant.”

Samient chuckled. “You seem to do a trade in being an assistant.”

Trevelyan smiled. “Stick to what you know.”

Emerging onto the surface, she found herself particularly empathetic towards the reluctance of dwarves in Orzammar—what ought to be gentle sunlight burned into her retinas, glaring and harsh. Blinking it back, she turned to Lady Samient:

“Thank you for your help. I won’t intrude upon your time any further,” she said, despite Samient being the one to have offered it in the first place.

Lady Samient glanced at the carts, still plenty full. “I am not so pathetic that one measly sack would put me at rest,” she replied. “Come, allons-y.”

In a feat of industriousness that put Trevelyan to shame, Samient strode up to a cart, and awaited her next assignment. Trevelyan hurried after her.

She could not help but wonder (for the Baroness had put her in mind) what could be the reason for Lady Samient’s willingness toward such manual labour. Her sheer comfort with such a menial task, and the lack of concern over how it might reflect upon her social image, was all terribly curious.

They were the sort of traits that, perhaps—were the rumours true—might belong to a woman born of a servant; who did not have that haughtiness of high breeding that saw them think themselves better than lifting a barrel. Perhaps that was why, instead of the title that ought to be her birthright—Duchess—she went by the lesser Lady.

But Trevelyan hardly cared from who or what or where Lady Samient originated. Because, regardless of the cause, Trevelyan quite liked this side of her.

“Ey up, you’ve got a recruit!” the deliveryman called, upon their arrival. “Maker’s breath, you ought to be here every week, if you can multiply like that. Here.” He rolled a barrel towards them, and stopped it with his foot. “This do ya?”

“Thank you,” said Samient. She directed Trevelyan to, “take that end.”

Un, deux, trois—up. With scarce strain or struggle, they hauled the barrel to the stores. And the next, and the next. Indeed, they proved quite the formidable pair—a modicum of practice under their metaphorical belts meant that each subsequent task was completed faster than the last.

They were able, even, to loosen their focus, and communicate not about what steps to take or when to drop, but of people and scandal and gossip:

“Is he a mage as well?” Lady Samient asked, upon hearing of Trevelyan’s acquaintance with Dorian.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed.

Samient hummed. “And where have I heard the name Pavus before?”

“Noble house in Tevinter,” Trevelyan said, “part of the magisterium.”

Samient’s eyebrows flicked upward. “Well, if you’re not quite interested in the Commander, you could do far worse than that.”

“Oh, no,” Trevelyan laughed, “I’m certain he’d be quite flattered, but I’m afraid he doesn’t like women.”

“Oh. How rude!”

“No, no—I mean, he likes men.”

“Oh.” Samient rolled her eyes at herself. “Of course. I see how that would be something of an obstacle.”

Trevelyan quite agreed. “Yes—call me an optimist, but I would prefer my future husband to actually want to marry me.”

Lady Samient did not, as Trevelyan had expected (and hoped), titter at this comment. Instead, her vision trailed across the courtyard, to somewhere behind Trevelyan.

Following it, the curious Trevelyan found a rather disappointing sight. No wonder Samient’s face had soured—there was a group of soldiers loitering near the carts, whispering and laughing about something they apparently found uproariously funny.

That would be innocent enough, if not for the fact their eyes kept flicking in the Ladies’ direction, accompanied by what Trevelyan could only assume were supposed to be subtle points.

“How childish,” Lady Samient scoffed.

Trevelyan rolled her eyes. “Pay them no mind—it must be a good sign! Thedas must be saved, if they have the time to be doing this.”

The remark put a smirk back on Samient’s face, and they returned to their cart—which, thanks to their labour and others’, was nearly bare.

“Are those louts even helping?” Lady Samient asked the deliverer, as he skittered a small crate towards her.

He glanced at the soldiers, and clicked his tongue. “No. Here for the show, I s’pose. Heard ‘em laughing about some ‘noble skirts’ playing pretend at being working folk.”

Lack of creativity aside, it struck Trevelyan that only she was in a skirt, and that it was a plain smock—so the insult did not quite apply.

“Don’t see any nobles ‘round here, though,” continued the deliveryman, quite obliviously, “but let ‘em play, if they are. So long as they’re doing the work, who gives a toss?”

The Ladies chuckled, exchanging a look, as the deliverer went in search of something for Trevelyan to carry.

“Go,” she told Samient, “do not be idle on my account.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course—we do not wish to be accused of playing pretend, after all.”

Lady Samient laughed, with devious and wicked joy that Trevelyan quite shared. She dutifully parted, off to the stores once more. Trevelyan turned, to collect the sack the man had dropped for her.

A hand fell upon it. Gloved in black, and sudden enough to startle her. She looked to the arm to which it belonged—and then to the man whom that arm belonged to.

The Commander stared back at her.

(And beside him, a small platoon of sheepish-looking soldiers).

“Forgive me,” he said, releasing his grasp. “I hadn’t realised. Take it.”

There was a growling sort of undercurrent in his speech; a shortness, far more pronounced than even when he had scolded Lady Montilyet. Someone, it seemed, was in trouble.

Trevelyan smiled. “No, no,” she told him, “it’s yours.”

With a nod—again, more curt than usual—the Commander hauled up the sack, and slung it into the waiting arms of a soldier.

“We are all the Inquisition,” he lectured, “and instead of aiding our cause, you mock those who do. Save those barbs for the enemy. We work as one.”

To Trevelyan’s great satisfaction, each soldier was saddled with cargo and sent marching to the stores, with the Commander’s disapproving stare burning into their backs. She could not help but smile.

“I apologise for their conduct,” said the Commander.

Or lack thereof. Trevelyan shook her head. “Quite all right. I do not care for the opinions of those who do not know me.” Like his, for example.

“Very well.” He hesitated, as if mulling over his words. “May I ask, are you… well?”

That imperious air sloughed from him once more, and left only the tenderness of their previous meeting. In that moment, Trevelyan recalled the magic she had cast upon herself, and felt it still, quietly coursing below the surface. Yet, nothing on the Commander’s face suggested he had sensed it.

“I am fine,” she assured him. Again.

The sudden thud of an apple-crate beside them was a welcome distraction, as the deliveryman announced, “That’s the last of it.”

Though Trevelyan reached for it, the Commander took up the handles first. “Allow me,” he said.

Trevelyan would have protested—the soldiers’ mockery had not left her so fragile that she could not lift a box—but she had not the chance. For, out of the corner of her eye, she could approximate the shape of Lady Samient, observing them from afar.

“Twice in one day, Commander,” the Lady purred, strutting closer, “to what do we owe this pleasure?”

She spoke her words like honey, moved her body like silk. It was quite at odds with the plainness and practicality Trevelyan had seen of her during the last half-hour. Perhaps she had not been lying about her time with the Commander, and he responded well to such affectations.

Or perhaps not. For the Commander did not respond at all to this velvety question, muttering instead, “I should, ah, get this to the storeroom.” Entertaining not even another word from either of them, he fled.

Though Trevelyan was quite amused by this, Samient appeared rather bemused. She fixed Trevelyan with a peculiar stare, that Trevelyan almost interpreted as suspicion, until she realised that his presence, to Samient, remained a mystery.

“Well, since he shall not deign to explain himself, I shall,” Trevelyan told her. “The Commander was here to scold his soldiers. Quite furiously, too.”

Lady Samient’s mouth sank into a smile. “Ah, I see. Good. As they deserve.”

“A shame you missed it.”

“Yes, but unlike them, I was far too busy working.”

Trevelyan chuckled, and rested herself against the cart. Its bed lay bare, as did those of its brethren. For that, she felt they had quite earnt a break, yet the bustle did not cease—she noted plenty of staff still to-ing and fro-ing, fetching more barrels and crates and chests. Except—these came from the kitchens.

“You take things from Skyhold, too?” she asked the deliveryman.

He was perched on the side of the cart, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Aye,” he said. “Sometimes they have deliveries for us, but usually it’s the empty bits we take back, and fill ‘em up again.”

“How often do you come?” Lady Samient wondered.

“Every week, supposedly—but the Maker has other ideas sometimes. Got delayed this week by weather. No problem, though; I hear you’ve got stores enough to last months.”

Sounded about right to Trevelyan. Any defensible castle did, just in case the enemy ever tried to starve you out.

Lady Samient hummed. “All sounds very efficient. Do they not worry about something untoward sneaking in through these deliveries, though? Seems like you could fit a man in one of those barrels.”

She wasn’t wrong. You could certainly fit a man. Or a Trevelyan. If things ever got too dire, she might squeeze herself into one of those things, and be shipped out on the next delivery to… wherever these carts went to.

But the delivery man shrugged. “I s’pose they check’em. You’d have to ask the soldiers.”

Tsk. There went that plan.

And, as if that weren’t enough disappointment, it seemed the mere mention of soldiers summoned movement in her periphery. Their aforementioned tormentors trudged on up, out from the stores, tails between their legs. But without their Commander’s instruction, they seemed quite at a loss for what to do next.

“Such idleness,” whispered Lady Samient, apparently of the same mind as Trevelyan, “more the sort I would expect from those work-shy nobility.”

Trevelyan laughed. “How fortunate we are not—”

She stopped, on noticing nearby a maid, huffing and puffing and red in the face, attempting to roll an empty barrel towards a cart—entirely by herself. All it took was one wordless glance at Lady Samient, and the two were traipsing off in her direction.

“Do you need help?” Trevelyan asked the maid.

“Oh—yes, please! Thank you, miss,” she replied, releasing her quarry into their capable hands. Though grateful, she fixed them with a curious stare. “Sorry, but... you’re the Ladies here to see the Commander, ain’t you?”

Lady Samient raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Nothing, your Ladyship! Well, you’re such an ‘elp, and—you know, there was a lot of sugar in that delivery.” The maid waited to see their faces change, but the Ladies’ expressions spoke only of confusion. “Well, we need a lot in, you see. Because the Commander—he has something of a sweet tooth, is all.”

Perhaps that was where his sudden sweetness had come from. “Good to know,” said Samient, “thank you.”

“’Course, your Ladyships.”

Armed with this newfound knowledge, they prepared to haul the barrel away—but Trevelyan hesitated. She considered herself for a moment, and whether or not she owed loyalty to the little prankster in the kitchen, or the kind woman she’d just met. It wasn’t a hard choice.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, “just before the cook uses any of that sugar—perhaps a little taste test, may be in order. Your kitchen had a rather impish visitor, earlier.”

Though the maid seemed almost bewildered for a moment, and Trevelyan worried she had misspoken, her face soon resolved into recognition, then annoyance. “Oh, that Sera!”

Trevelyan recalled the name—Dagna had mentioned it on a few occasions. From the description she’d been given and what Trevelyan had caught her doing, she safely assumed that they were one and the same.

Leaving the maid to deal with her mischief, Trevelyan seized her side of the barrel. With Lady Samient’s aid, and practised ease, they hefted it up, and paraded it past the loitering group of soldiers. One bravely asked if they needed help.

The answer was no. And a scathing look.

***

Ser Morris delivered—in the literal sense. Hours after she’d left, Trevelyan raced back to the Undercroft, an intricate little chest in her hands.

Dagna was surprised to see her: “I won’t lie, I kind of thought you just quit for the day.”

But Trevelyan was quite able to explain, and Dagna was satisfied that she had used her time with noble purpose. It did help that finally seeing her order put the Arcanist in something of a good mood.

She placed it upon a workbench, and with great reverence, opened the chest. Even Trevelyan recognised what was inside.

“New enchanting tools,” Dagna said, “straight from the finest smiths in Orzammar. With these, I can do things a little more delicately. Which means the time for theory is over—tomorrow, we enchant!”

Trevelyan grimaced.

Tomorrow she was with the Commander.

[justaz]

merlin told arthur his favorite color was the color of the sky during sunset when it shifted into a deep violet. arthur gets a tunic made in that exact shade. its the best thing merlin owns. arthur was hoping that would mean he’d wear it almost everyday but merlin almost never wears it. the only time he does wear it is when royals come to visit (which isn’t all that often). arthur “subtly” asks about it and merlin is like “it’s the best thing i own. i’m not gonna dirty it mucking out the stables or serving rowdy knights wine while they splatter food on it” and arthur is like “why not wear it when nobles come to visit? look at least a little presentable for them” (cough nice save). merlin doesn’t see the point in it bc nobles don’t care about him at best, view him as less than human at worst.

arthur really just wants to see his boyfriend servant in the tunic he had made for him (bonus points for sending a message that merlin is his. not that merlin seems to notice. man is too much of an idiot). merlin wants to preserve his favorite tunic and gift from his boyfriend king.

[astrobei]

he’s very tired after his surprise party btw

[yuri-is-online]

Tsum Tsum event with Yutu where his tsum didn't get the hidden identity memo and isn't wearing a mask or a hoodie, it's just a free range Yutu out in the wild following Yuu around. No one recognizes the little guy but they see his little dorm uniform and start asking questions it's not like Yutu can really defend himself because they don't know it's him. And his tsum knows that and is rubbing all the attention its getting from Yuu in his face.

[benevolenterrancy]

@hereticcryptid I appear to be slowly but surely developing an entire series about how Hensheng and Baxia apparently get fed up with their owners' inability to express their feelings and take matters into their own hands...

[theminecraftbee]

i find myself occasionally thinking of empires 1 flower husbands again. and you know what dynamic with them is really funny: scott seems to remember the whole third life past life with jimmy, but jimmy... doesn't do much with it? and like. i know you can play this for angst but actually i don't remember enough COMEDY about scott remembering jimmy as his Tragic Doomed Lover He Is Falling Tragically In Love With Once More. and then there is jimmy. he is a fish in a swamp. he doesn't understand what this elf guy wants with him. scott is writing entire elaborate fanfics in his head and jimmy is just vibing. going "oh neat! anyway time to kill some salmon." i think there's great comedy potential here,

[fuckinart]

(they'll never understand) How could I ever understand? No, I don't have to understand. I don't wanna understand. So I will never understand. (we could have everything)

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[mechazushi]

Kafka Hibino

Kafka Hibino.... with visible salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka HIbino.... in that black turtleneck and a dark brown leather jacket and also wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing that outfit and is an Animal Biology Professor in an College Au.

Kafka Hibino..... asking out Hoshina who is an Advanced Mathematics Professor working at the same college, to have an after-work drink with him.

Slightly DRUNK Kafka Hibino... becoming very forward with an also slightly drunk Hoshina

Slightly Drunk Hoshina... immediately matching Kafka's freak tenfold and Kafka is very much fine with this.

[necrotic-nephilim]

jaytim but damitim were getting married for reasons (maybe politics or they just have a really toxic relationship and tim is done) and tim runs away and into jason car

oooh i LOVE this. i think it's pretty easy to swing DamiTim getting married for political/family reasons. maybe something that Ra's arranges, forcing Tim into agreeing bc it keeps WayneCorp safe and out of the hands of someone like Tommy Elliot. and it's more fun if for that reason, neither Tim nor Damian are a fan of this turn of events. bc it *works*, legally, but they can't stand being in the same room as each other. maybe they hatefuck a few times, but it's clear they're terrible for each other. or maybe Damian is actually too controlling of TIm, seeing the marriage as an opportunity to finally force obedience out of Tim and that's his breaking point for going with Jason.

and Jason being the disgraced family figure who ends up getting Tim out of it is so fun. bc no one would expect *Jason* of all people to be the one to get Tim out of this situation. at first Tim goes with him just for the reprieve of getting away from Damian for a night, then it turns out Jason actually has a pretty well thought out plan for Tim to be able to get out of the marriage. and sure they're hooking up the whole time, but Tim doesn't actually expect to catch feelings. catching feelings would probably make the whole situation a lot more complicated. but he spends more and more nights at a club Jason owns, sometimes crashing at Jason's apartment not even for sex, but just to get away from everything. fuck buddies but they have a slow burn romance sort of thing going on as Tim deals with legal divorce proceedings. also sort of fun if Damian fights the divorce and you have the fun lil tropey moment of Jason protecting Tim, as well as the larger family reaction to Jason and Tim getting together if Jason is perceived as the family pariah. who approves and who disapproves, how the things that forced Jason out of the family are handled now that he's wrapped back up in the legal drama of everything. there's literally so much you could do with this, i adore it.

[doodoodinklefart]

back for another jjk yap sess, this time abt geto LOL...

im honestly a little surprised i never noticed this before but the way that geto (who thought that his best friend was killed and saw a girl he was essentially willing to uproot his life for get murdered right in front of him) tries SOO hard to stay calm while toji's talking and then the MOMENT he brings satoru up again and trivializes riko's death, suguru loses it. i'm thinking suguru let him talk in the first place despite the risk of letting toji reveal his pact (and wanting to kill him Very Bad) cuz he figured it would be better to understand toji's deal since he beat satoru, something that suguru trusted would not happen

but then he starts referring to satoru strictly as "the six eyes", and i think that suguru, one of the few people that saw satoru as a person beyond his cursed technique or his family name could not help but get super pissed abt toji's dehumanization of satoru (and riko too, who he only refers to as the star plasma vessel). i just thought that it was very interesting....... suguru cared so much and it makes me CRAZY AS FUCK.

like, to begin with i think its sooo so interesting that suguru made it a point to be considerate of all the human parts of satoru despite the fact that im sure most other people assume he doesn't need to be worried about. i'll never stop thinking about suguru asking if he needs a break since he's overusing his technique, telling him he worked hard after getting back to the school, trying to rush to his side after he's been stabbed and being conflicted when satoru tells him to leave with riko and kuroi... he didn't just assume satoru could handle all that shit on his own cuz even if he could have he shouldn't have to.

also related omg im almost done i promise but!! the scene where suguru gets to the star religious group and sees satoru again for the first time...

the way that he can't even believe his eyes, probably in part because he's acting way different but also because he thought he FUCKING DIED. and he had to drag himself out of the tomb of the stars and probably went to look for gojo's body before even going to shoko. and then he had to tell her he couldn't even find his body man WHAT THE FUCK!!! i think maybe saw a twitter post about this part in particular but he might have thought toji took riko's body and satoru's, so the thought that he went all the way there thinking he'd have to see two dead bodies of people he cared about... ugh. suguru geto i love you

[justaz]

im a slut for post magic reveal arthur (& knights) thinking merlin has like. a smidge of magic. like he can get stains out of clothes or warm food and baths but OBVIOUSLY merlin can’t fight. that’s ridiculous. merlin doesn’t correct this notion for whatever reason - perhaps it’s best that people think that so when they’re all in danger, he isn’t registered as a threat so he can protect his silly lil guys. ofc his silly lil guys realize that they were wrong bc the bad guys get a lil too close to hurting arthur and merlin is like “nope! fights over!!” and annihilates them

[strawberryicemoon]

Does anyone else feel like the Della that was set up and the Della we actually got were two different characters.

Primarily I think Della's just dumber than we were initially lead to believe. And I think there's something in one of the first things we knew about her was that she had pretty handwriting, where I struggle to believe the Della is patient enough to have neat handwriting. The last Crash of the Sunchaser implied she designed the Spear of Selene. Scrooge said someone who "sees the angles". Like I get that don't speak ill of the dead was in play. And I also get wanting Della's legacy to not match perfectly with her true self, but some of the literally flashbacks we saw implied she was clever (she figured out Dewey was from the future, again, she was sketching the Spear). Having the characters stretch the truth is one thing, but flashbacks is another. I mean we literally saw her Scuba-Diving in a flashback, but in show she hates fish.

Not helped by the fact I assumed she named her children, and was using that as a gauge of her personality. And like. Turbo is very funny. I get why you'd make it a surprise reveal. Recontextualize her personality. But we already were introduced to her in the episode before. Also I just didn't like it tbh. (And kinda like my beef with the whole April May and June thing, I'm not a duck fan, I have no horse in this race, and things can be different, but considering to my understanding the few glimpses of previous iterations of Della, she definitely named her sons, and changing one of the few things that previously existed about the character felt weird to me, cheap even. On one hand I get wanting to show just how disconnected from her son she is and how much the incident cost her. But on the other hand it was just salt in the wound at that point, for a few jokes about the boys names… which have generally been changed to be even more embarrassing than they were previously for more jokes).

I really did like Whatever Happened to Della Duck. The only "Weird' things to me was how technically and artistically unsavvy she seemed to be, when we had scene her sketching the spear of Selene. Like that was a whole ass plot point. And also how oblivious she seemed to what was happening with the Moonlanders when she was presumably "sharp". But y'know. I can excuse one misunderstanding, and she was probably just a bit crazy from being alone on the moon for so long (and any prior mental health issues) and when she gets back other characters will probably be unnerved by her a bit because she's changed. But this was apparently normal Della (aside from not liking her reflection). If someone had spelled out in show the ways she had changed while on the moon I think it would have made all the difference. (Though Ducktales in general has an issue for completely neglecting to state important information until its necessary but long after it was relevant, so the fact no one says that doesn't mean it can't be true tbh).

I think the core of the character, and thus why she caught my attention remained. She's a traumatized woman who did something impulsive (that should have been fine), that had disproportionately huge consequences. And now has to get to know her children. She has to learn to parent on the fly. She has to establish herself as an adult when she's otherwise been stuck in place. She has to reestablish herself with her family, and a new sense of identity in a world that's changed without her.

And looking some of the Della description from the pitch bible we got recently, and the Della described there is closer to the one I thought we were getting prior to her debut. It makes me wonder when that changed. I know early on, in the Moorshire episode, they realized they made Launchpad too dumb after they finished it. To me it feels like they did that with Della (and to a certain extent Donald as well), but then never made the realization about what they did. We already had launchpad as the stupid adult. We didn't need more. Also, to be honest, I struggle to name any strengths over other characters besides the pragmatic "better at flying than Launchpad". Now, don't get me wrong, I still like canon Della. She had a lot of great moments. But to be honest I think all of her best moments, would have also worked with the Della I thought we were getting. Her fears about losing the kids, so lying to them about participating in the fight. Her song. Her punishing Louie for being stupid. The bit where she talked about being unable to look at her reflection and breaking her glass. Teaching Dewey to fly. Realizing how much her kids looked up to her and to what extents they might be idiots to prove themselves to her. I don't want her not to be reckless, just more thoughtful. That said, the way the other characters treated her didn't really help. It felt like at least for a while she was being ignored. Like she wasn't being treated seriously, but also no one was trying to help or understand her. (Which we got Donald blasted off into space after being ecstatic to see her, made me feel like Donald might actually see her... but then 5 episodes in to S3 Donald gets a girlfriend and the twins rarely appear together).

Liking those elements of the pitch bible might be a bit of the classic "the grass is greener" nonsense. And the fact it's just a barebones description not a full fletched character, and to be fair I don't care for every detail in it. But even before the pitch bible, I was bothered by the fact Daisy, not Della was the person who understood Donald best. (My aromantic self does not appreciate the prioritzation of romantic relationships). And here in the pitch bible. It says Della knows Donald best. We didn't get a single glimpse of "was scared to be a mom", even though I'd solidly developed the head canon that the Spear of Selene ride was a form of post-partum fear even before reading this, and I understand that might have been difficult to work into the show, the lack of support for Della in general, or any hints of empathy for why she did what she did doesn't help. Even of dealing with trauma from the instance. I can't say the "stuff just happens" angle is objectively bad. But this is still a story. A narrative. Not reality. It feels cheap as a character, for her biggest mistake to basically boil down to "oops", rather than a huge character flaw. Like yes, being reckless is a flaw. But considering what the family is USUALLY doing, it… isn't? It really isn't any worse than what they family does normally so for her to be punished so harshly for it is a bit unfair.

In the finale the fact it's revealed that Bradford told Della about the spear, also feels kinda cheap to me. I think its an interesting reveal… but considering this is information one of our main protagonists knows it feels bizarre that it is a reveal to the audience. (Or that no one asked Della before). Also it feels a bit like it's trying to absolve Della of blame, but it doesn't address the core problem of (sure the show never states there's a problem but Scrooge makes reference to Della's "one last big adventure" and it's hard not to see this as an attempt to break out of some sort of mental funk. And it again, needlessly victimizes Della. She got stuck in space for 10 years, couldn't even name her own children, loses her leg, gets betrayed, loses her plane kinda-sorta, and is kind of treated like an idiot by many of the other adults around her. Because some guy was trying to mess with Scrooge. Della's moon trip sucks, I don't think they needed to make it worse by making it not even her fault.

I wish we had gotten a scene of Donald telling the boys what Della was like from his perspective. He's her twin. And I really don't want to welcome the comparisons between DT17 and GF. But the lack of any character drawing the parallels between Donald & Della and Huey, Dewey and Louie is absurd. But they don't utilize it. Like at all. No one ever looks at Donald and goes, oh. He lost his twin. That really sucks. The triplets never go. What would it be like if I lost one of you. Like twins are sometimes just siblings. They don't need to have "super special relationship", but in a show about family it's sure awkward that they don't. I am so mad that Huey, Dewey and Louie didn't get to see another side of their Uncle Donald brought out by Della. Or alternatively a Della struggling to connect with her brother. Even better both.

I know the "is the character acting ooc or do you not actually know the character" is well, a thing. I am aware that the post-partum depression, actually clever and observant Della is mostly made up by me. But I also know where in canon it came from to me. Della never acts out of character from once she's introduced. But that character is still a bit off from the character we had come to expect in the first season and a half. She's not completely divorced from what we were told about her. But still. Do I love Della, or the idea of Della. Honestly, I don't know.

This is definitely very OPINION, and not really anything objective.

[shima-draws]

Slamming my head against the wall god fucking DAMMIT I'm so in love with Sanlu I am GOING to explode.

[whattimeisitfic]

You guys.

Help.

One particular commenter is getting in my head. And I just want you to know it is taking every single ounce of my being not to project the steadily growing headcanon ship I have for Lucifer x Sofia into the actual fic. Like I’ve always wanted this to be a non-romance fic that focuses on Luci’s mental health so I don’t think I actually will. However I’m telling you all because I want you to be proud of the amount of self-restraint I have.

Please recognize my efforts because they’re actually kinda a cute concept and I’m dying. He’s already adored by her kid so there’s no issue there and I just— I caaan’t—

[orcelito]

I've been so incredibly horny for Wolfwood lately that I might write another stone top Vash fic but from Vash pov *specifically* so that I can write him being absolutely besotted for Wolfwood. While also edging him until he's crying and begging for Vash to let him come.

You know. Normal things.