#is not a direction i would have taken the story in

[revelboo]

Oml the cliffhanger on metroplex. Big guy needs more love in his life.

I absolutely love your work on these stories you got cooking here. Each and every one of them have so many characteristics to them. Can't wait for your next work. 🤗💖💖💖

Thank you!

18+ 🌶️

I Can Feel You Pt 6- extended cut

Metroplex x Reader

Monitoring as you step into the labyrinth that makes up his interior, for a moment you hesitate. Looking back up at the light streaming down from above like you want to go back. He knows he could close that exit to you, force you to continue on. Would you resent him then? If he takes away your choice? Little hands twisting together as you stare up toward that light, he knows he can't take that away from you. Needs you to choose him. And finally you take a shuddering breath and square your shoulders. "Okay," you whisper, eyes wide as you look around. "Okay. Show me, big guy."

Slowly he begins flaring his biolights, feeling the strain of redirecting energy where he needs it to give you direction. It's slow going when you're so small. Turning again and again, following the pulses of light. Trusting him to guide you and occasionally reaching out to brush your fingers against him almost absently. Those little touches helping focus him, because if he's wrong, if he's not careful, he'll burn through too much energy and be forced into recharge again. That unease twists through him as you follow, because he's not sure you'd be able to find your way back out. You're so little, so easy to overlook. How long would it be until the Autobots above miss you? Before you slowly starve to death wandering around inside him? That fear is a living thing, urging him to turn you back around. Let you go.

Just once, though. He wants to speak to you at least once. More than your stilted conversations as precious to him as they are. Wants to feel you reach out and be able to touch you in return. "I didn't realize all this was down here," you whisper, brushing against a cable. "It's like a whole other city." Except its only him here and now you.

You don't complain as he leads you, but as time passes, you are slowing. Shoulder and wrist bumping a wall as you turn a corner. Time is a hard concept for him, but it's different for you. You'd have taken a rest interval by now, right? He's not sure, but as you stumble guilt sets in. Knowing you're exhausted, but you're so close. Please, just a little further. "Metroplex? I think I'm done," you say, leaning your head against him. "Is it much further?"

Pulsing warm light, he waits, and you reluctantly push away from his walls to keep going. Knows you're tired and he's asking much more than he has a right to. But just this once, he wants to wrap his arms around your little frame. Needs you to understand how precious you are to him.

Exhaustion pulls at you as you scrub a hand over your eyes, your head pounding. It feels like you've been walking forever, trusting that there's a reason you're down here. It must be night by now or early morning. There's no way to know down here in his labyrinthine interior. He's seen you eat and must know you'll need to soon. Should already have. You keep your eyes on those warm, comforting lights of his, not on the empty shadows beyond. If not for the low hum of his spark vibrating under your feet, you'd think you were alone. Abandoned. Know you're inside him and there's nothing to fear, but panic is just there under the surface. Screaming at you to turn and run back the way you'd come. That this is a tomb, maybe yours.

And then light, warm and beckoning. Leaving the tunnel you were in to enter an open space limned in warm light along the walls, pulsing slowly as they run upward with a low thrumming you feel in your bones. Breath catching as you tip your head up to find his spark. It's a shocking thing to see, knowing it’s everything. It’s him.His life force pulsing and glowing above you, little arcs of energy trailing through the air around it.

"Metroplex? This is your spark, right?" The part of a Cybertronian they protect and keep hidden, and he's shared his with you. It feels like trespassing on something private as your eyes drop. Like this isn't something meant for you to see.

Directly under it is something almost like a closed metal flower, pulsing with that same energy. And along the ground, his biolights pulse. Slow, deliberate flares that draw you forward. As you approach, that strange structure opens, metal petals unfurling slowly as thick cables unravel from around it. "You wanted me to see this?" You ask, because of course he had. That thing that's not at all a flower is pulsing slowly like his spark, that light almost hypnotic. One of those cables brushes your ankle and twines about it as you approach and reach out. Fingers brushing him and feeling energy arc through you, shattering you.

That contact jolts through you as everything falls away and you’re left in a space limned in the warm pulse of his spark, surrounded by him. You can feel him in a way you never have before as you try to figure out if the space you’re in is small or infinite. And if touching whatever that was just killed you, because it’s so hard to focus here. You feel like you’re drifting and just want to sleep.

So hard to focus. That’s not your thought, is it? It feels like yours, but there’s a faint dissonance. Ground me, little one.

“Metroplex?” You whisper, reaching out and a figure materializes in front of you, bigger than you but not as massive as the Autobots are. Ghostly and insubstantial until his servos touch your fingertips and he solidifies some. You’ve never seen his bot form, but you know this is him. Metroplex. Warmth spilling through you as he offers you a big hand and you lay your palm in his.

“Touch me,” he says, the words a deep rumble, a plea as his servos curl around your hand.

Because he becomes more real where you touch him. Encouraging you to reach for him, hand lifting to cautiously cup his jaw. And his other arm curls around you and draws you near, feeling solid against you. The warmth of him, the thrum of his spark against you all so real. “Hi,” you whisper against him.

“You saw me,” he says, chin on top of your head, that deep voice so grateful it hurts you. Like acknowledging him, speaking to him is unthinkable. “Woke me.”

It breaks you wide open, that wonder in his voice over something so simple. Thinking about how he takes care of you, watches over you, has tried so hard to reach out. “I’m here. I’ve got you,” you whisper, reaching for him, cupping his helm in your hands and pulling him down. Because you understand that loneliness, of being unseen. Knowing you’re so much smaller than even the smallest Autobot, that you’re easy to overlook. To forget. And among them you feel alone, alien and unseen. His mouth is warm when you go up on tiptoes to kiss him. And he rushes into you, tangling what you feel with what he feels.

Knowing that he won’t be able to maintain this for long, but he’d wanted to tell you how much he appreciates you speaking to him so he doesn’t drift away from reality completely. All those little touches, the sound of your voice and your stories, you’ve held him together. Giving him something to focus on. A sense of self after so long.

You can’t separate yourself from him as his mouth slides against yours. Can’t tell if the need and heat are yours or his. But knowing that you see him and that you want to wrap yourself around him, protect him against that fear of being forgotten. Of losing what little of himself is left. Dying alone and forgotten.

Not sure how much of this is real, it feels like it is as he drags you against him. The kiss becoming something desperate, needing to show him he’s still alive. To feel him hold you, touch you. Big servos on your hips, lifting you as you wrap yourself around him. You feel the head of his spike slide against you. Sex and need and fear of being forgotten, left behind, all jangling through you. His thoughts, your thoughts. There’s no separating them as he pulls you down, the hard length of his spike sliding deep to stretch you.

Those big hands on your hips, moving you against him as your mouth brushes the corner of his mouth, hearing him venting raggedly against you. “I see you,” you moan, clinging to him.

“I feel you,” he whispers, against you. “I have you.”

You know it’s true as he keeps moving against you, his spike stroking deep again and again. You’re safe and sheltered here in his arms. He’s been watching over you all along, reaching out but unable to say a word. When he pushes you over that edge and you fist his spike, your climax is a gentle warmth spreading through you. Feeling him rock himself against you, groaning with his own release, helm resting against your forehead as those optics seem to devour you. Because he does see you, he’s seen you all along.

Previous

[umgeorge]

Press con questions that weren't shown:

Q: (Jenna Fryer – Associated Press) George, were you guys blindsided by this or have any idea that it was coming or under consideration, that a change in Race Director was coming? GR: No, no idea whatsoever. So, yeah, as I said, it was a bit of a bit of surprise.

Q: (Luke Smith – The Athletic) George, has there been any response from the FIA or the FIA president to what the GPDA put out? GR: No. Not at the moment, which I'm a little bit surprised about, to be fair. But maybe there'll be something to come. Who knows?

Q: (Ben Hunt – Autosport) It's obviously very disappointing to learn from you that there's no transparency at all from the FIA. Was there any response about where the money's going from for all these fines and all that sort of stuff? Because that's another key element which we would quite like to know as well. GR: No, I think ultimately for us, when we were hearing from the FIA a couple of years ago, when it came to the Presidential elections, they were talking about transparency, talking about where the money is going to be reinvested into grassroots racing, which we're all in favour for. And of course, when it comes to some of these large fines, there's a number of drivers on the grid who can comfortably afford these fines. There's maybe some rookies on the grid that if they're handed a $1 million fine, you know, they can't afford this. But if we know where that's being sort of reinvested and if it's going into grassroots or into some training programs, then we get it. As I said, I think we just want the transparency and understanding of what was promised from the beginning.

Q: (Kevin Scheuren – Motorsport-total.com) A question to George as well on that topic. Isn't it a bad sign that you need to open up a social media account to make your voices heard as a collective? Because it sometimes seems, looking from the outside, that the individual, if the individual has an opinion on stuff, he faces repercussions. Now you have to work as a collective. Are you more or less a pawn in this game? Do you drivers feel sometimes more or less as a pawn in this game, not taken serious? GR: I think we've probably learned from the past that whenever we have spoken up, let's say internally, it hasn't gone anywhere. And as I said, as drivers, we only want the best for the sport. We want to improve it, especially on safety grounds, but whenever it comes to, you know, decisions in the race, we only want to help. And it's been a couple of years now that not much has changed when we have sort of given some views forward. And I guess we all wanted to show that we are collectively united. And maybe that will show how seriously we feel as a whole on the subject.

Q: (Andrew Benson – BBC Sport) George, it's been seven years since the GPDA had put out a public statement of this kind about something they were concerned about. What level of confidence do the drivers have in the leadership of the FIA at the moment? GR: I mean, I'm not too sure to be honest. We recognise everybody's working as hard as they can to do the best job possible. There is obviously a huge amount of change within the FIA quite regularly, so it's clearly not the most stable of places. And maybe that's why it's been a bit challenging to get some of the changes that we've wanted implemented. Of course, everyone has their own side to their own story. But as I said, I think if we feel that we're being listened to and some of the changes that we are experiencing, requesting, are implemented, because ultimately we're only doing it for the benefit of the sport, then maybe our confidence will increase. But yeah, I think there's a number of drivers who feel probably a bit fed up with the whole situation. And it only seems to be going in, to a degree, the wrong direction.

Q: (Jordan Bianchi – The Athletic) For all three drivers: you returned to Vegas this year. A year ago, there was a lot of hype and excitement about this race. I'm curious, now that you come back here for a second time, what's the atmosphere like that you guys have kind of experienced so far? Kevin, let's start with you.

GR: Yeah, I mean, it definitely feels strange, this Grand Prix, just living in the night. And like Kevin says, the atmosphere builds up during the course of the weekend. So, yeah, let's see how it goes.

Q: (Anna Cordera – Momentum Racing) George, I'd like to ask you, you've been racing with Lewis for almost three years. What do you think is going to be different now you being the veteran of the team racing with Kimi, regarding the development of the car? GR: Yeah, I mean, ultimately, for most F1 teams, you have near on 1,000 people who are working towards building these two cars, yet you only have two drivers driving it. So, I think, let's say, in Lewis, in my case, it was never that Lewis had a stronger voice. The team listened to us both equally because both of our opinions were extremely important. And the same going into next year. You know, Kimi's new. He's fresh. And I'm sure he's going to have a lot of great ideas to bring to the table. So, you know, I am the more experienced of the two, but we will both get equal voices the same way, and we will both equally contribute towards the development the same way as it was with Lewis and I.

Q: (Ian Parkes – New York Times) Sorry, another question to you, George. George, is it that difficult to try and get a sit-down face-to-face meeting with the President of the FIA to discuss all these issues, that you have to go down the route that you did with that message? GR: It's definitely not difficult to get a sit down, but I think getting things to change or getting promises upheld seems slightly more challenging. So, it's maybe the FIA or the president didn't recognise how seriously we all felt. So I think that's why over the course of 20 races this year and also even last year we spoke about a number of topics, all of the drivers, we all feel pretty similar. We all know what we want from the sport and the direction it's been heading and we probably feel that we want to do a small U-turn on a number of topics and just want to work together with the FIA on this. And that's just what we've felt has not been happening at all, at least directly from the President.

[thethingsnerd]

This one. I like this one. Fic under the cut

“Your input is not necessary.”

It’s not the first time Bruce had said that to Dick tonight. It would be less frustrating if B was making better calls- he’s not really listening to anyone else tonight, not just Dick, and his decision making is suffering for it.

Everyone's tempers are suffering for it, too.

It starts with Oracle, who hates when Batman falls back into bad habits like this as much as Dick does, and has twice as less patience for it. She's curtly professional from the word "go" and when Dick offers to bring her a pint of cherry garcia later, Barbara tells him to shove it up his ass instead. Dick doesn't take it personally.

Next is Cass, who's always extra stressed when Barbara's upset. Even so, it blindsides Dick. They'd ended up at the same shootout, they'd efficiently gotten the surrounding civilians to safety, they'd worked together beautifully. They de-escalate the gun fight next, and Dick knocks a gun out of a gangster's hand before he can shoot Blackbat in the back. He doesn't think twice about it until Cass starts castigating him on the roof.

"I didn't need help."

"He was behind you. That's the whole point of a patrol partner, Blackbat, so someone can cover your six."

"No."

"No?"

"You were out of rhythm."

"I was not-"

"You're throwing me off."

She's running before Dick can say anything else. He could catch up with her, if he really tried, but he's still not sure what that was about. Maybe Dick is as out-of-sync as Cass insisted, or maybe Cass is feeling off-kilter herself. Either way, he doesn't go after her.

The rest of the night shift is uneventful, aside from the snipe over comms. Back at the Cave is a different story. Steph and Tim are arguing when Dick rolls in, and Dick gets all of three steps toward the computer before they round on him instead.

"Dick! Tell Tim that-"

"No, Dick, inform Stephanie-"

"Oooh full name, I'm so chastened, Timothy-"

"You should be embarrassed-"

"Okay!" Dick interjects. "What is the problem?"

Steph glances between Dick and Tim, glances at her feet, then sighs aggressively. "Nothing," she grits out. "Absolutely nothing, so for once in your life leave it alone, you busybody."

Dick watches as she stomps away. Just a bad night, he has to remind himself that it's just a bad night. Tim shakes his head when Dick glances at him, so Dick heads straight to the showers.

Clean, warm, and dressed down in comfy sweats, Dick feels much better than has all day. He'd passed Damian on the stairs, but something was clearly eating at the kid- he'd taken one look at Dick and turned sharply in the other direction. Hiding. Dick's been there, and valiantly tries not to take it personally.

He decides to make himself some chamomile (he'll never take sleeping pills again after don't think about it) and takes a moment to check in with himself. His therapist would be proud. Alfred would be proud of how nicely his chamomile turns out; Dick almost always understeeps herbal tea but tonight he's gotten it just right.

Dick sips his tea. He takes inventory of his injuries; minimal bruising, achy lower back, tender left wrist. Pretty good. Then takes stock of the rest of him; tired but not yet sleepy, agitated but not too badly. All in all, considering all the tension, tonight definitely could have been worse.

Famous last words.

Tim walks into the kitchen just as Dick gets to the dregs of his chamomile. Dick nods at him in greeting, and Tim does not take it well.

"Oh, now you acknowledge me?"

Dick does not sigh. He doesn't but it is such a near thing. "Did I not acknowledge you some other time tonight?"

"I asked you to back me up downstairs and you totally ignored me!"

"I did no such thing. You were in the middle of an argument I didn't catch the start of, so I asked what the problem was. How is that ignoring you?"

"I asked you for backup and you didn't come through," Tim hisses.

"Backup in the field and backup in a lovers' quarrel are not the same-"

"It wasn't a- a lovers' quarrel, asshat!"

"Well, how am I supposed to know when you don't say what's really going on?"

"You shouldn't need to know! I asked for backup-the only thing you're good for is backup and you couldn't even do that right!"

......yeah, alright, there's no getting around it. Dick is going to have to take that personally.

Dick deliberately turns away from Tim. He rinses out his teacup so the porcelain won't stain. Then, he takes a long, centering breath, and decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time.

"That how you really feel, Tim?" One more out.

"Yes."

Dick decides to cut his losses.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" Tim asks. Clearly still angry but now confused as well. It's a bad look for him. "This is not an 'okay' kind of situation."

"Not from your angle," Dick says. It's the only reply Tim gets before Dick makes his way upstairs.

Last time he left Gotham at dawn, Dick had nothing but a backpack and stolen emergency cash. This time, Dick is a grown man and a lot less desperate, not to mention a lot less injured, so he digs out his civilian suitcase and actually plans out what he wants to take.

He packs jackets, pajamas, shaving razors, plenty of socks- the kinds of things that are only expensive when purchased by the Wayne Estate, and that he won't buy for himself. All shoes go in a beach bag he has stashed in his closet, except for his loafers which go in the bottom of the dress bag with his most tolerable black tie suit. That had annoyed him last time, he remembers- Alfred had always been so militantly insistent on perfect tailoring that the baggy fit of Dick's off-the-rack replacement had been an unbearable insult to injury.

Other personal affects get tucked in the suitcase with care, bits and bobs, odds and ends, and he zips up everything just as the clock hits 4:00. Even the most workaholic bats should be in bed by now, or at least upstairs, so he should be good for a pop down.

Dick has a Nightwing stash on the edge of the city, and he'll get most of his kit from there, but his costume and his current favorite pair of escrima sticks are going with him now, neatly folded into a briefcase. Dick also nabs a keyring on his way out of Bruce's office.

The car keys used to stay in the garage with their respective vehicles, but one too many joyrides had prompted Bruce to hoard all the keys in a desk drawer instead. The first time Dick had seen them under the monogrammed stationary Bruce never uses, he'd laughed out loud.

It pains Dick to leave his bike behind, but even though Dick doesn't have a lot of luggage, it's still too much for a motorcycle. He'd considered which car to take carefully; no flashy sports car, obviously, but also not one that Bruce is particularly fond of. He needs a car for practical reasons, not spite, so Dick settles on the least ostentatious Audi and tries to think of anything else he might want in the next five-to-ten years.

Dick takes the box of chamomile tea bags.

__________

Donna opens her apartment door on the fourth knock. The look on her face is superficially friendly that Dick's proud of her- of course, she smiles for real when she registers just who it is at her door. Dick finds himself smiling back before he decides to.

"Hey, Donna. Mind if I crash here for a minute?"

Donna raises a curious eyebrow, and Dick bites his lips to keep from grinning. Donna ushers him inside without a word, locks her door, and all but pushes Dick into a bar stool. Donna sits herself up on her counter in front of him and demands eye contact.

"When you say a minute, do you mean a New York minute?"

Dick slides his eyes away and toward her couch. "I mean a lot of minutes. I'm cutting Gotham off."

"AAAA!" Donna picks him up and spins him in the air for several more turns than he thinks this really warrants. Then Donna sets them on the floor just to twirl Dick around even more, and he giggles. Part amusement, mostly relief; Donna wouldn't be so excited if he'd come at a bad time.

"Was the scream of delight necessary?" He asks, still laughing.

"Entirely," she says, mock serious. "This is a delightful day."

Donna sobers a bit at her own words. She eyes him more thoroughly, "It is a delightful day, yes?"

He knows that Donna knows he wouldn't decide to cut contact for no reason, that's not the real question. The answer to her question, which is 'are you reeling from what it was', is thankfully 'no'. Not today.

"Yeah," Dick says honestly. "Peachy, even."

Donna smiles at him.

She deposits him back at her kitchen counter, declares she's going to make real breakfast- apparently she's been breaking her fast with fruit jerky all week- and starts grilling Dick the same time she starts frying up sfakianopita.

"So which straw broke the camel's back?"

"My brother implied I'm mildly useless and I took offense."

"Only 'mildly' useless convinced you to get out of hell? I'm not complaining, but that doesn't sound like you."

Dick bites down the instinctive urge to deflect, to push her away. Donna wouldn't care even if Tim insulting him had been his only grievance. Donna is happy to have him here.

"Nah, it was more of a... death of a thousand cuts kind of thing. Yesterday was a bad night, and I thought about it some- which, you know how that usually goes- I thought about it, and I'm tired of not taking any of it personally. Even if they don't mean it, I don't want to put up with it. Then Tim comes in with an unmistakably personal attack and...."

"And you made the best decision."

Dick's mouth twitches up. "They wouldn't call it that."

"They have terrible decision making skills."

Donna starts stacking the sfakianopita on two plates.

"That's not true, they just don't always pay attention."

"Who does these days?" Donna gripes.

"You," Dick says.

Donna turns toward him, one hand on her hip, one hand pointing her spatula at Dick's face. "You don't make it easy, Dick."

Dick shrugs emphatically. "What can I say? I was born difficult."

"Not difficult," Donna shakes her head. "Just challenging."

"And you like a challenge?" Dick grins.

Donna bops him on the shoulder with the spatula. "Get it right, Dick. I love a challenge."

Well, doesn't that make Dick feel warm and cozy? Donna smirks at him like she's won something (she has and they both know it) and turns to root through her fridge for cheese. Dick gets out of his seat to find the honey while she does.

__________

Dick crashes on Donna's couch for exactly nine days before she tells him they're getting a new place together. Dick tells Donna that he always intended on getting his own space- a misstep, since Donna argues that's exactly why they should get a new apartment. A two bedroom, where Dick can have more privacy.

"I don't want to impose, Donna."

"Have you ever considered what I want?"

Dick sighs. "What do you want, Don?"

"I want company. It's been a lonely year, D. I enjoy when my friends impose."

There's not much he can say to argue that. Isolating himself never leads Dick anywhere good, anyway.

Between apartment hunting and catching up, Donna and Dick fight supervillains. New York City never lacks for things to do- smugglers to send packing, wannabe world conqueror to thwart, assholes to kick in the face. Dick had honestly forgotten how fun it is to patrol during the day.

He adds some some gold back into his costume. Dick's surprised by how much he likes it- it was his idea, yet when he catches glimpses of blue and gold and black all blurring together in high rise windows, beside Donna's sea of stars, Dick feels more like himself than he has in long, long time.

He starts picking up a lot of dropped habits. He makes dinner; real dinner, like Madam Vasilyev used to make on the train's little stove, and like he would sometimes make for the Titans for family team dinners. It's so much easier to make things when it isn't for him alone. Donna is happy to let him, having no great love of cooking herself, and always supportive of non-cape hobbies.

She's full of surprises, though. Dick had tried to teach all of his friends at least one or two meals they could make from scratch themselves, just in case. He hadn't thought about whether any of it had been retained, though, not now, so many years removed. Not until Donna one day bestows upon him a pot of chicken paprikash and he almost cries.

It's delicious. Just like his parents used to make, whenever they could find a grocer who sold paprika. Just like he taught Donna to make it in the Tower an entire lifetime ago.

"Did I get it right?"

"Did you make it with love?"

"Of course."

"Then you got it perfectly right."

Other than dinner, he starts gardening. Nothing serious, but the new apartment has a couple of windows, so Dick plants a window box full of herbs.

He plants cilantro first. The seeds were on sale at the hardware store, so the whole box was just cilantro, for a while. Donna buys live basil from a grocer she likes, so one of the cilantros gets pawned off to a neighbor, and their pasta sauces taste awesome.

It's not the most exciting hobby, but it gets him out of bed on Bad Days.

Those days, it's hard to do anything at all. It hits him, when the clouds are just the wrong color, that he and Bruce are on the outs again. He hates being on the outs with Bruce, hates that it means another bond between them has snapped. Makes him catastrophize about whether or not this is finally the fence that can't be mended.

At least it's not nearly as bad as it was Before. Dick hadn't understood, back then, what Bruce's problem was. Now that he's older he knows Bruce had never had to let someone walk away before- even with Talia, B had been the one to walk away first- and took Dick's bid for independence badly as a result.

He'd swung by Gotham exactly once for Jason, and stole the kid away to Tower at every opportunity. He'd made sure Jase was present in Dick's space the way Dick was no longer welcome in Bruce's.

He'd gone back to Gotham exactly one other time, after Bruce held Jason's funeral without so much a ping on Dick's pager. All that accomplished was losing Dick his house key. Until Tim barged in.

Donna and Dick were winding down for the night, enjoying a nice bottle of wine and a shared bowl of plantain chips, when Dick makes another decision.

"Donna."

"Dick." She tosses a chip in the air so she can catch it in her mouth.

"I've had an epiphany." He swirls the wine in his glass playfully. Donna leans forward in her chair.

"Do tell."

"Every time I don't want to talk to Bruce, he finds a new stray child to bring home. And I always go, because what I am supposed to do? Not keep an eye on them? But Bruce has a billion orphans-"

Donna snorts. "A billion?"

"Okay, fine, half a dozen orphan children roosting in his house full of ghosts, and it's probably inevitable that there will be another and you know what, sister?" He drains the rest of his wine glass while she stares at him.

Donna seems to consider him, or maybe she zones out, but after a moment she similarly liberates her glass of its wine.

"Lay it on me, Robin."

"I'm not going back this time. Not until someone actually apologizes, not if there's a new bat, not if there's another secret baby, not for any of that bullshit. Tim's as old as I was when Tim first came around, so he can deal with it. Or Cass. Or Babs. Or Bruce can keep his act together for longer than two weeks at a time I don't care. I won't be lured back for family drama. Not this time."

Dick stops to breathe. A mistake, really, as it's the perfect opportunity for stinging anxiety to start buzzing under every inch of his skin. He's an idiot. What a stupid thing to say, what a stupid idea to even have-

Donna is in front of Dick. When did she get out of her chair?

"Richard John Grayson."

"Donna Hinckley Stacy Troy."

I've come to a decision, too. Tell me if it's a good one."

Then she pulls him into a hug. Dick swallows heavily and lets himself be held, for a while.

"Good decision?" Donna asks.

"I think so," he says. He wraps his arms around Donna, reciprocating- God, how long has it been since he's had a reciprocal relationship? Donna squeezes and he throws the thought out of his mind. The awful pull against his insides has subsided, so now he's just warm and loose.

"Donna, do you like my decision?"

"I really really do."

__________

When they were still in Donna's old apartment, various Gothamites tried to contact him. A lot of voicemails are angry and accusing. He listens to them once just in case and deletes them right after. He gets texts from Tim that he knows are meant as olive branches, but they're all offers of joint patrols, or going over case files together, or similar Mission oriented activities.

It's hard to turn him down, especially since he knows Tim won't understand. It's easier to ignore Bruce's messages, sparse as they are, demanding explanations.

Cass had broken into Donna's apartment. Donna had been out with a friend she met in her photography club, doing yoga maybe? Dick had been making egg fried rice for lunch when a wild Bat appeared.

Dick had smiled politely, which seemed to confuse her. Dick had offered to share his lunch, which seemed to make her feel better.

They’d eaten in silence for a while, Cass occasionally staring hard at him while Dick waited for her to make the first move; exactly how Dick would treat a hungry kid he didn’t know. You never know what will spook a stranger, after all.

Bowls empty, Dick had gone to pick hers up to wash when she caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to wash up after our lunch.”

Cass squints at him, exaggerating her expression to make sure he gets her memo.

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not pretending to do the dishes,” he answers calmly, blandly.

“Stop pretending you don’t know me!”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“Go home.”

“No.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected pushback, for certain, but flat refusal, nothing else? An unwelcome miscalculation.

“Why not?”

“At the moment, I won’t feel at home in Gotham. As far as I’m concerned I’m at home right now.”

“Liar,” she’d hissed. Dick was watching, tho, and saw the confusion in her stance. Her eyes told her he wasn’t lying at all. Deliberately on Dick’s part, not entirely truthful, yet not entirely manufactured- the apartment may not be special to him, but Donna always will be.

“I have no reason to go to Gotham right now.”

“Your team is there.”

“I’m not on Team Bat at the moment.”

“You can’t quit-“

“Cassandra. My roommate will be home soon. I suggest you leave now, if you have nothing to say on your own behalf.”

It’s a low blow to call her a messenger, to write her off as nothing but a mouthpiece for Bruce or Tim or maybe even Damian. Dick wouldn’t feel bad about it if they weren’t close, so he won’t feel bad about it now; she’s the one who didn’t want partner, Dick’s just respecting her wishes.

Cass stares and keeps staring so long he’s worried she’ll refuse to leave, but then they both heard footsteps in the hall, and by the time Dick turns back toward her she’d already gone.

The next morning, Dick had a new message from Bruce. It was an email, that time, instead of a text, which more than anything actually written lets Dick know Bruce has caught on to what’s happened. What is still happening. The email begins ‘Mr. Grayson-Wayne’ and Dick doesn’t read a single word further.

__________

Wally visits the new apartment shortly after they move in. Apparently, Nightwing being in town again has caught the interest of an opinion columnist or two, and Wally had wanted to see him with his own eyes.

“You’re hanging out with people again!”

“I never stopped,” Dick protests. “We see each other once a month, Wally.”

“Scheduled visits- ugh, it’s like you were in prison, and I only got to see you during your time in the yard.” All of this is dramatically declared as Wally flops on their couch, taking up space and definitely bothering the neighbors.

It should annoy Dick. It should at least hurt his ego. Instead, it makes him bloom into a smile, and throw himself onto the couch next to his friend.

“Donna and I have been having a great time without you,” he teases. “We could have an even better time with you, if you’re up for it.”

“Dickie, I thought you’d never ask.”

The Flash joins Dick and Donna for a fight every now and then, patrolling as often as work and Central City will allow. It’s good- it’s really, really good.

“Why did we disband?”

“Because we grew up?”

“Terrible decision.”

“Adulthood is overrated.”

“I don’t know, I certainly wouldn’t want to be a teenager again, would you?”

“Nah.” “NO!”

Wally looks away from the conversation he started, and his eyes find the window box. “Hey Ds, is that a garden?”

“It’s mine,” Dick says. “Right now it’s just cilantro and basil. I’m open to suggestions.”

Wally gives him a once over, looks again at the plants, then changes the subject. The next time Wally comes over he’s holding a pot of chives.

A couple of months later, there’s a siren hiding out in the Harbor. It kicks Dick’s ass and Donna almost drowns. It occurs to them that they are idiots, and that they should’ve called Garth. Garth, thankfully, both answers his communicator and has time for them, so they get to watch Tempest absolutely destroy the siren.

Afterward, they go for pizza. They ask Garth if he would want to come around more often maybe, just because?

Garth smiles brighter than the moon.

The first time they stop a supervillain downtown together, it’s all the papers will talk about the next day. Someone got an excellent picture of all four of them in action. Flash is about to pounce, so he’s still enough to see. He’s tagged in with Donna, distracting the giant rat monster from the air so Flash can trip it into the river. On the bank, left of center in the photo, Tempest and Nightwing and are on standby. Garth will drench the awful thing, all fifteen stories of it, once it’s close enough to the water, and Nightwing will fry the thing with all the electricity his sticks have got.

They work together smoothly, and they cheer when they win, and the papers all ask, ‘Titans Back Together?’

After a while of mulling it over, they unanimously decide to answer ‘yes’.

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[kawaiichibiart]

Another idea for the JL meeting the BatFam:

You know how there are prompts/fics where they capture Red Hood and arrest him because they just know him as a crime lord and not Batman's son, until Bruce shows up and pretty much bails him out??

Take that but have the majority (if not all) his kids be villains he's taken in to help reform and live better lives. They don't fight crime (yet) but they like lurking about in the manor and in the cave.

The JL needs to meet somewhere due the Watchtower being closed for some major upgrades and repairs, and it's voted that the Batcave would be the next best place. Bruce isn't happy about it, but begrudgingly let's them hold the next few meetings there.

The first few went by smoothly, but then one day one of them, most likely Hal or Oliver, notices something in the corner of their eyes and they just see large, golden, eyes stare back at them. And they tell the others about it. They're about to get ready to fight, when Bruce just lets out the biggest sigh and says, "Dick, please, everything is fine."

He's not even looking in the direction of the eyes, so he can't see the heavy "I fucking doubt it" look the young man has on his face.

The JL eventually sits back down and resume the meeting, all while feeling an intense stare on them. If you ask, none of them jumped when the young man propped himself against Batman's chair. The meeting, thankfully, ends quickly.

And the next few meetings introduce a few new faces (another young man, this one with a white streak in his hair. He almost always had a loaded gun in his hands, if not blades he was cleaning. And then there was a boy, who looked a bit too much like the Joker, and was constantly pranking them. No one wants to talk about the time Dick showed up again, this time with a girl and younger boy and any silence was broken by birds chirping).

Once they're able to get back to the Watchtower, they demand answers, and wow is that a long story.

[catghoul31]

I Just Wanted To Feed Some Ducks, For Christ's Sake

Wade was just having a @poolverine-week Day 4: First Date with Logan, when out of nowhere, a close-minded jerkwad of a dad decides to harass them! He deals with it in typical Deadpool fashion, but accidentally reveals something about himself along the way. Will Logan still love him? Or will he hate him forever and ever and never, ever talk to him again??

(...Spoiler alert: everything was fine. Psh, I wasn't even worried!! Why'd you think I'd ever be worried...?)

Content Warnings: Homophobia and Transphobia (directed at logan and wade)

Read it under the cut, or on ao3!

This was probably the happiest Deadpool had been in about a decade… and all he was doing was throwing corn and peas at ducks at the park!! Oh, but his Logan was there, and today, that made all the difference. 

A couple days ago, they’d exchanged their first “I love you”s, kissed each other until their lips got sore, and signed marriage documents. That third one would’ve only been true if he’d taken Vanessa’s advice at face value, sure- but it was official now!! Deadpool and Wolverine were an item. No queerbaiting, no sending one partner to superhell, and not an ounce of homophobia to be found! This story would be really short, because it was honestly just an excuse for Wade to tell all you guys that he was feeding ducks with Wolvie right now. Wasn’t that an adorable thought in these trying times? He sure was glad no one was gonna ruin it, and he could just lean against him and kiss him on the cheek all cutely-

“Hey, what the hell-? You can’t be doing that around my kids!!”

FUCK.

Okay, Wade, calm down. Maybe there’s some other weirdo who decided to waltz over here naked or something, and that’s who he’s talking to? 

No- no, this guy was walking over to them- and there goes that cute little smile on Logan’s face. Why does this author keep making us deal with shit like this…? I just wanted to feed some ducks, for Christ’s sake!

“I don’t remember asking you, dickhead,” Logan grumbled lowly, and Wade would recognize that tone anywhere… That was only ever how he spoke if he was seconds away from introducing the claws to someone’s face!! He needed to humble this Karen-in-training now, before his peanut gave that guy a real reason to get them kicked out!!

The rando who thought he was the king of this public park scoffed at the show of aggression, crossing his arms. “No, listen to me!! I don’t care if you two want to be freaks in private, but I won’t have my children seeing this nonsense-“

“Nonsense?? We’re just feeding some ducks, lady!!” Wade interjected, stepping in between both the fuming, borderline rabid monster man and Logan. “I know that sounds concerning, but that bucket’s full of mixed vegetables! No white bread here, we know that’s bad for them, so I promise your kids won’t pick up any bad habits-“

“God, shut up!! You know exactly what I’m talking about- this gay shit… ” he hissed, as if ‘gay’ was a four-letter word or something, while gesturing at them as though they were some spectacle. He really could’ve picked… any of their other adventures, if spectacle was what he wanted. He was clearly new here, since Deadpool knew he’d gotten a lot fruitier than this!! But whatever- so much for no homophobia, right?

“Oh, come on!! ” Wade said, in the middle of a few barks of laughter. “ That’s the problem you have with us?? In the year of our lord 2024… I mean, I’m a fucking merc, and you’ll probably find out what’s going on with my super-friend here if you keep bugging us,” he quipped, smirking at how fucking pissed Logan looked. He’d have no problem calming him down later, if you know what I mean… ;) But he was honestly curious- what lore was behind the stick up this man’s ass?

“Please, though, tell me how me giving this little guy a little kissy-kissy affects your children, who are currently throwing handfuls of dirt at each other 200 feet away from us where they can’t possibly see us,” Wade snarked, scratching Logan’s head as said little guy continued growling threateningly at the man. “Easy now, tiger…” he soothed, to absolutely no avail.

The loving, accepting individual in front of them cringed at the exchange before them, nearly looking ready to spit on Wade. Hey, he’d gladly open his mouth for him!! “You don’t see a single problem with this?? Ignoring how fucked up whatever that guy’s doing to me is-“

“I’ll show you fucked up, you sad, bigoted waste of-“

“Hey, hey!! We’re having a civil conversation here, Logan- I am so sorry. He’s not used to new faces, but I’ve been working on socializing him-“ Wade joked again, shutting up as soon as he felt the pricks of his claws brush his hand. They had to keep it cool, blood-free and stuff, because they had to think of the kids, right??

“-I don’t want my, or any other kid, going around thinking it’s okay for two men to be treating each other like women! God, you two are sick…”

Immediately, a lightbulb went off in Wade’s head. Without thinking, he said exactly what was on his mind, because oh my god it sounded so fucking funny to him- 

“Well… how do you know I’m not a woman?”

Dead silence followed his statement. Logan wasn’t even snarling at the dude anymore, and the dude himself was looking at him like Tails did in that one MS Paint comic panel that made him crack up every time he saw it. Fucking brilliant.

“…Because you have a penis?? What kind of question is that, you freak?!” he yelled, and Wade felt Logan tense up in defense once again.

“Woah, woah- and how do you know that?? Get your mind out of my pants- and maybe yourself away from this lake, if you want to keep your… everything intact,” he said, tightening the arm he had around his honey badger as he glared daggers into this dickwad. Truthfully, he was this close to just letting him go- it’d be so funny!! Except his kids were supposedly here, so…

“Ohh my fucking-“ The male Karen- Kyle?- whoever he was- his brain was officially broken. Wade loved to see it!! “Just- get out!! Degenerates like you shouldn’t be allowed anywh- HOLY SHIT!!”

Snikt!! Oh, that was one of Wade’s Top 3 Favorite Sounds Of All Time for sure… and the full flash of claws from Logan finally had this dude running away with his nonexistent tail between his legs. “Awh, good boy!!” Wade praised, patting his back affectionately. “You showed him, didn’t you-?”

“Just… just shut up,” Logan said, though there wasn’t any anger in his voice anymore. Just exhaustion- and confusion? Oh… oh no… “Let’s just go home, okay, bub?”

Wade furrowed his brows- if they left now, it meant that guy won, didn’t it? But then he realized, once again- that “joke” about him possibly being a woman? Not nearly as much of a joke, as it turned out!! Did… Did Logan even know about stuff like this? Shit, he might’ve said too much in the heat of the moment… This could be bad.

“Yeah… yeah, peanut. Let’s go…”

—

An awkward silence settled over them both as they walked home. Quite unusual, since usually Wade was yapping about anything and everything whenever they’d go anywhere, even before this little date of theirs!! But he wasn’t in the mood for that- he didn’t even reach for his hand, when he’d been holding it the entire time while they were walking here. He was too anxious over what Logan must think of him now… or maybe he was worried over nothing, and Logan did really just take it as a joke? Wade really hoped that was the case…

Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks, right before they got to their apartment complex, and turned to face Wade. “Wanna tell me what that was about, bub?” he rasped, his tone just accusatory enough to have his blood pressure spiking.

“That Karen??” Wade said, hoping beyond hope that that’s what he meant. “Oh, just a dipshit in public, and you didn’t actually hurt him, so we’re probably fine-“

“No, Wade. What you said. About…” Logan shook his head, tilting his head at Wade with his brow furrowed in confusion… and concern? “…I’m sorry, I just gotta know if you… meant that. If you’d rather I call you… are- are you trans or something??”

…Okay, that was close , and technically correct- but no, Wade wasn’t a woman. Not entirely, anyways... Logan didn’t seem disgusted by the idea, so that part of Wade’s worries was able to shut up!! But… god, this was gonna get even more confusing. “I… well…” Wade paused for a second, trying to figure out how to put this.

“Not judging you here, bub. Just… trying to make sure, so I didn’t accidentally-“

“No- no!! I’m not- well… okay, you’re gonna have to stay with me here, peanut. Alright?” Wade asked, his gaze flitting away from Logan and suddenly finding the cracks in the sidewalk very, very interesting. The gruff man slowly nodded, looking at him patiently.

“I’m not… not a man. But I’m also… not not a woman, either? I might also be some secret third thing, don’t worry about it- just, I don’t really even care that much!! Trust me!! It’s just…” Wade nervously chuckled- it seemed so simple in his mind, but Logan had to be so confused right now, right? “…You don’t gotta change anything with my name or nothing, it’s just- a long while back, I kinda figured out that… my gender, it’s… more complex than just a man?? If that makes any sense…?”

Logan was looking at Wade, trying to decipher his words. As soon as Wade saw that face, his heart dropped- he knew that would all be too much too soon… Maybe he should just pretend he was joking after all? It’d be much easier that way-

“…Okay? I can’t say I’ve heard of that before, but… Wade. You know I don’t give a fuck, right?” For a moment, Wade glanced up at Logan, really hoping he wasn’t calling him ridiculous or anything. It was always hard to explain this to people, which is why he usually just… didn’t! But Logan wouldn’t have let him lie about it… he never let him lie about anything anymore!! Something about being able to “smell when he’s lying” or some shit?

“That- no, that sounded bad, what I’m trying to say is…” Logan reached forward to grab his hand again, and Wade felt his heart calm down and fill itself with butterflies at the same damn time. “If… if that’s what you are, I don’t mind. Whatever it is- you know what, just throw the Wikipedia page at me if it has a name, okay?”

Genderfluid. Wade had figured that out with Vanessa long ago, and learning what that meant, why he felt like he fit in with both men and women- but also neither category truly felt like… him? Her? Them, even-? was a massive breath of fresh air at the time. And… Logan was willing to learn. All for him…? Oh, he knew he’d picked right!! Thank God he hadn’t picked the vaguely problematic Logan from the early comic days on accident or something…

“You… you mean it, Logan? I didn’t just blow your mind in a bad way…?” Wade huffed uncomfortably, still not quite believing what he’d just said.

“Ah,” Logan waved off his concerns, stepping closer to give him a hug. Oh, he could cry- Logan hugs were the best… “You’re still Wade, aren’t ya? We’re mutants- people like him hate us for a lot of reasons. Just because I don’t understand something… doesn’t mean it’s any of my business. And- bub…” He stepped back a bit, giving Wade that soft, caring look that always melted his heart. “I’ll try my best to understand. For your sake, alright? I love you…”

Wade genuinely smiled, for the first time since that shitbag ruined their nice day out. “I love you too, peanut. Thanks… really. This means a lot…” he muttered, squeezing him tight before he pulled away.

In return, Logan gave Wade’s hand a tight squeeze. God- always had to try and break his fingers, huh? “No problem, bub…” He muttered something under his breath, making Wade’s heart skip a beat since it sounded suspiciously like, “You mean a lot, so…”

With that heartwarming coming-out story out of the way, they walked back to their apartment as though nothing had happened… and in a way, it really hadn’t!

Because they had each other, didn’t they? And no one's stupid opinion of them would get in the way of their love, no matter how loud and annoying they were about it…

[irohsteaa]

is it me or I think there is some misogyny within the monster fandom..i mean people treat Eva and Vera as the worst people in the wolrd when I can think of much worser characters,and they boil down Nina to "a nice girl" and ignore all her complexities,symbolism and narrative importance and say "she isnt that well developed and not important to plot"

Misogyny certainly plays a role here, it's esp. evident with how the fandom treats Eva (esp. before she grew as a character; and even after she grows, it's mostly about "she stopped harassing Tenma" and her relationship with Martin, while the more important thing here (imo)—how she started to take care of herself and stopped defining herself through the men in her life—is underdiscussed).

But I think it'd be reductive to say that the way the audience sees the women in Monster is only a result of misogyny; I think a crucial aspect here is the way the female characters are written and how they're treated by the male cast.

I think it's one of the many traps laid by Urasawa, traps that are very easy to fall into (which is perfectly understandable with a complex work filled with so many characters). I also fell into them: my first reaction to Eva was "oh, here we go again, female characters written by dudes" (yeah, Monster taught me to stop yapping about shit without 1) finishing it 2) looking at it carefully, because the devil is the details).

So what exactly are the traps built of?

Cliches

Subtle characterization and/or an apparent lack of information that shows in, for example, the namelessness or very little time on screen.

The fact that a large part of the story is the lack of a story.

Ad 1. I think a big part of Monster is the way it plays with cliches (and it does so boldly; it isn't afraid to introduce us to the most overused cliches and turn them into little storytelling gems), so of course there're also many female character cliches: the love interests, the damsels in distress, the naive & clueless woman, etc.

And when you don't pay attention, it's easy to think that these cliches are everything that can be told about these characters. When we stop here, we miss so many details that reveal the more complex character behind these cliches.

Ad 2. I think Nina is a perfect example of how the subtle characterization can leave many people thinking that she's underdeveloped, irrelevant to the plot, and just an addition to Tenma and Johan.

We also don't have access to her direct point of view, but I don't think it's necessary here and I think we don't have access to it for a very good reason; women are still seen mainly as caregivers, as people who serve others, and are socialized to be nice from a very young age. This can lead to ignoring one's own needs and, in consequence, losing yourself.

And Nina is a character who fits into this role perfectly; she's often shown serving others, bringing kindness where it's needed, being a beam of hope, etc. She's also very often overshadowed by her brother; she's referred to by other characters as "Johan's sister", as if this was the most important information about her.

Heck, Johan even takes away from her the monster title; the reasons behind it are, of course, ambiguous, but it doesn't change the fact that it was her who was kidnapped to the Red Rose Mansion and it was her whose memories were taken away.

And she's clearly upset when Johan tells her that it is his story to tell.

One of my favorite examples of her subtle characterization is the fact that in the beginning of the story, she wants to be a public prosecutor, and by the end, she wants to be a lawyer. It seems like a small change, but it tells a lot about how much her worldview changed.

When it comes to the namelessness and the little time on screen, a good example of it would be Věra. Please keep in mind that we only learn about her possible name in Another Monster; why do I say it's only possible? Because the only source of this name is one person interviewed by Weber, and the person identified Věra via a sketch. I wouldn't call this the most reliable source.

But let's get back to the main topic; what's the reason behind both the lack of a name and the little time on screen? It's Bonaparta.

Bonaparta doesn't let us see much of her, he doesn't let us learn her real name. But even when we see so little of her, we can still see someone compelling and complex, we see a wide range of emotions, we see her determination, we see who she could be if it wasn't for her circumstances, we see her deep guilt and fragility by the end of the story, we see someone who Bonaparta initially dismissed ("you are a funny woman" etc.) only to end up obsessed with her.

But since it's only a matter of a few panels and she's mainly discussed by other characters as the mother of the twins, it's easy for the audience to a) see her as a bad mother, b) think she's unfairly treated by the manga.

I don't think she's treated unfairly by the manga, I think she's one of the most important characters in Monster and it isn't merely because she's the mother of the twins, it's because we can see so much of her in other Monster characters: in the nameless, the dismissed, the robbed of a better future, the reduced to a certain role, all the characters we simply do not know a thing about their minds and that quite possibly, behind the awful clichés, there were in them gardens and twilights, and palace gates.

(I tried to stop myself from babbling about Lolita, but it's not my fault the quote fits so well here.)

Ad 3. I mentioned the lack of the story partially in Ad 2., but there are so many other examples: the little girl who lives with Hugo Bernhardt, Richard Braun's daughter and wife, Lunge's daughter and wife (the difference between how Richard sees his family vs. how Lunge sees his family is shown in the narration as well), Martin's mother and girlfriend etc.

Thanks for the ask! ‎(^人^)

[d-z20]

The Ballad of Agatha Harkness Chapter 13

Summary: The time has come for Rio to face the music and tell Agatha who she really is.

Warnings: angst with a happy endning (they finally admit they love each other!!)

Words: 2.6k

A/N: This one is a little emotional but I promise there's a happy ending!!

AO3 link | Master List

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The Confession of Death

The air in the cottage hung heavy with stillness, the faint scent of smouldering wood lingering in the hearth. Moonlight filtered through the small window, casting silver streaks across Agatha’s face as she slept. Curled beneath the patchwork quilt, her chest rose and fell in an unhurried rhythm, her usually sharp features softened by the veil of sleep.

Rio stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame with an expression that no one—least of all herself—would have expected. Her usual sardonic grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, her dark eyes traced every line of Agatha’s face, their depths filled with something dangerously close to reverence. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak, knuckles whitening. She had faced countless battles, countless endings, and yet none of them terrified her the way this moment did.

“I long to tell you,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire. “But what if you don’t want me anymore?”

The words felt foreign, almost laughable on her tongue, but the fear was real—too real. For someone who had spent lifetimes indifferent to human connections, the weight of this singular bond was crushing. She pushed off the doorway, pacing soundlessly across the room, her thoughts tangling with every step.

Rio knew that this couldn’t go on, this precarious balance of secrets and stolen moments. Agatha deserved to know the truth about her. But what if that truth shattered everything? What if, after all this time, the woman who looked at her with such fierce intensity, who teased and challenged her at every turn, suddenly saw her as something monstrous?

—

As dawn crept into the sky, Rio slipped out of the cottage, needing space to think. The air was crisp, the faint tang of dew settling on her skin as she wandered down the familiar path. Behind her, the cottage stood silent, a haven that now felt like it was closing in on her. She couldn’t stay—not with the weight of her truth pressing so heavily on her chest.

The nearby village was quiet, the world still heavy with sleep. Rio walked without direction, her feet carrying her over cobblestone and grass, her thoughts replaying moments she both cherished and feared. Agatha’s laughter echoed in her mind, sharp and unrestrained as they’d argued over the merits of wine versus mead. It wasn’t the memory itself that haunted her, but the realisation that every laugh, every quirk of Agatha’s lips, could be snuffed out the moment Rio revealed who she truly was.

Her pace slowed as her eyes turned toward the riverbank, the same place where so many of their shared memories had taken root. The dark water shimmered faintly, catching the pale light of the rising sun. She stopped, staring into its ripples as if they might hold an answer she was too afraid to voice. She could still hear Agatha’s voice from that day—teasing, coaxing her to step into the cold water despite her grumbled protests.

“I’m not getting in there,” Rio had said, crossing her arms as she leaned against a tree.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Agatha had shot back, her tone carrying that infuriating mix of mockery and affection. She’d waded in with all the confidence in the world, water swishing around her calves. “Come on, Rio, what’s the worst that could happen? You melt?”

Rio had eventually relented, her reluctance fading in the face of Agatha’s relentless enthusiasm. That day had been easy. Simple. Agatha had splashed her, her wild curls dripping water as she laughed like she hadn’t a care in the world. That laugh—that genuine, unguarded joy—had lodged itself deep in Rio’s chest. Even now, the memory of it tightened something inside her, an ache that was both sweet and unbearable.

Rio sank onto a fallen log near the river’s edge, elbows resting on her knees as she raked her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t go back to what she’d been before Agatha—distant, untouchable, a mere shadow of existence. For so long, she’d been nothing more than a name whispered in fear, a force that ended things but never began them. She’d always accepted it, even embraced it, because it was easier to be alone when no one wanted you anyway.

But Agatha wanted her.

It didn’t make sense—none of it did. Everyone else always hated her, reviled her, cursed her name as their final breaths left their bodies. But Agatha? No, she was different. When Rio walked into her life, her eyes didn’t fill with fear or anger. Instead, they lit up. Her smile widened, her voice softened, and her embrace felt like warmth Rio had long forgotten was possible.

And now, Rio had to destroy it.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. She had always been the end of things—an inevitability no one could love. If she stayed, if she let herself believe in the fragile beauty of what they had, she would only taint it. And yet, the thought of leaving was unbearable, a hollowing out of something she didn’t know she had until Agatha had filled it.

Rio stared at the river, her reflection rippling across the surface, fragmented and distorted. Wasn’t that all she was? A distortion of life, a shadow in its wake? She had spent centuries perfecting the art of not caring. And now, in the face of Agatha’s laughter, her stubbornness, her maddeningly beautiful way of seeing the world... she cared too much.

The sun rose higher, its golden light casting long shadows over the still village. But Rio felt no warmth from it, only the cold certainty that she was on borrowed time.

She buried her face in her hands, the weight of her turmoil threatening to crush her. For the first time in lifetimes, she wanted to stay. But how could she, when staying would mean breaking the one thing that had ever truly made her feel alive?

—

By the time she returned to the cottage, dusk had fallen, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. Agatha was waiting, her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes tracked Rio as she approached, sharp and knowing.

“You’ve been gone all day,” Agatha said evenly, though her tone hinted at the irritation she’d likely been nursing.

Rio offered a crooked grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Needed to stretch my legs. You know how restless I get.”

Agatha stepped aside to let her in, but her gaze lingered, studying Rio with a scrutiny that made her want to bolt. Instead, Rio busied herself with the hearth, stirring the fire back to life as though she could avoid the weight of Agatha’s attention.

“Rio,” Agatha said after a moment, her voice softer now, but no less direct. “What’s going on? Where do you disappear to??”

The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant. Rio laughed—too loud, too sharp—turning to face her. “What, can’t a girl have a brooding walk through the woods without being interrogated?”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play coy with me. I’d prefer you just spit it out.”

Rio hesitated, the mask slipping for a brief moment. She opened her mouth, the confession bubbling at the back of her throat, but the words caught, stuck behind the lump of fear that threatened to choke her. “It’s nothing,” she said finally, her voice strained. “Just… things on my mind.”

—

Later that night, the fire burned low, and the shadows stretched long, flickering across the small cottage with a restless energy. Agatha was seated in her chair, a book balanced on her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in several minutes. Her gaze shifted occasionally to Rio, who stood across the room, her back turned, seemingly lost in thought. The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

Agatha finally broke the silence, her tone sharp but edged with concern. “Alright, enough of this. You’ve been acting strange all day, and frankly, I’m tired of the guessing games. If it has anything to do with where you disappear to so often, now’s the time to say it.”

Rio stiffened but didn’t turn around. Instead, she let out a short, humourless laugh, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “What’s the point in asking questions you don’t want the answers to?” she replied, her voice low and guarded.

Agatha closed the book with a decisive snap, rising to her feet. “Stop deflecting, Rio,” she demanded, stepping closer. “Something’s eating at you. If you think I don’t notice, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Rio turned sharply, her eyes blazing. “You think you want to know, but you don’t, Agatha. Trust me.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Agatha shot back, her voice rising. “You’ve built walls so high you can barely see over them yourself! Why don’t you stop running and let me in for once?”

The argument escalated, both women’s voices ricocheting off the walls of the small room. Rio’s demeanour flipped between nonchalant, erratic, and painfully needy, her usual confidence unraveling.

“You think I’m just running?” Rio shouted, her voice cracking with the weight of her words. “Maybe I am! Maybe that’s all I’ve ever done because staying means watching everything you care about fall apart!” She spun away, her hands raking through her hair as if trying to ground herself.

Agatha’s gaze softened, but her determination remained firm. “You’re not running now, are you?” she said quietly. “So stop pretending like you don’t care. I see through it.”

Rio froze at that, her back still to Agatha. When she finally turned, her expression was a warzone—panic and defiance battling for dominance. Her lips quirked into a shaky smile, but her eyes betrayed her, shimmering with unshed tears.

“You wanted to know why I keep disappearing?” she said, her voice uneven, a thin layer of dark humour coating her words. “Well, darling, I’m out reaping souls. I’m not just a green witch, I’m the green witch. I’m Death, sweetheart. Surprised?”

Rio’s hands trembled, and she clasped them tightly behind her back, as if restraining herself from reaching out to Agatha. Her voice, usually dripping with sardonic humour, cracked at the edges. “I’ve seen it before, you know,” she added softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “That moment when someone realises what I am. The way their face changes. Fear. Loathing. Sometimes they’re polite enough to pretend, but it’s always there, that flicker of revulsion. And I couldn’t bear to see it on your face. Not yours.” She blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.

The confession hung in the air like a storm cloud, the weight of it pressing down on the room. Rio’s eyes welled up, and her voice cracked as she continued. “And now you know. So go ahead, Agatha. Say it. Say you don’t want me here anymore.”

For a moment, Agatha didn’t speak. Her sharp features softened as she absorbed the words. Rio could almost see the thoughts racing behind her dark eyes, and it was torture—she’s going to send me away, she has to send me away.

Instead of horror, a slow smirk crept across Agatha’s lips, the edges of her mouth twitching as though she were holding back laughter. “You’re telling me I’m sleeping with Death?” she said finally, her tone wry. “Well, that explains why you’re so relentless.”

For a moment, Rio’s expression faltered, caught between disbelief and heartbreak. “You think this is funny?” she said, her voice rising in frustration. “This isn’t a joke, Agatha. I’m telling you to your face that I’m everything people fear—the shadow in the corner, the end they can’t escape. And you’re standing there smirking like it’s a fucking game!”

Rio turned away, gripping the edge of the mantle so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Remember the river? The way you laughed when I refused to step into the water, calling me a coward?” She huffed a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not afraid of water, Agatha. I was afraid of losing that moment, that laugh—of you seeing through me. For centuries, I’ve been everything people run from, and I didn’t want to ruin the one time I felt... alive.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as if willing the tears to stay where they were. “I just wanted to stay in that moment with you.”

Agatha stepped closer, her voice losing its teasing lilt as she continued. “Do you really think I’d turn you away? I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. Like I’m something precious. How could I ever hate you for something you never chose? For something that makes you… you?” She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Rio’s hand, though Rio flinched at the touch. “You’ve never given me reason to fear you, Rio. Not once. If anything, I’m more terrified of the idea of losing you than I ever could be of who you are.”

“Stop it,” Rio said, her voice trembling. “Stop pretending. You’re just… you’re lying, or—” She faltered, her emotions spilling over. “Don’t mess with me, Agatha. I can’t cope with that.”

Agatha’s expression softened, though her voice remained steady. She reached out again, this time gripping Rio’s face firmly in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. “I want you, Rio,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I want you here. I want you to stay. I want you. All of you. Let me to see you as you have seen me: whole and unashamed.”

Rio’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had finally slipped free. She met Agatha’s gaze, searching for even a glimmer of doubt, but all she found was steadfast certainty. Her lips trembled as a tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. “I’ve spent so long convincing myself I didn’t need anyone,” she whispered. “But you... you make me wish I could stay. You make me want to be more than this.” She gestured at herself, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “More than just an ending.”

Agatha reached up, cupping Rio’s face with both hands. “You’re not just an ending,” she said firmly. “You’re my beginning. My middle. And I’ll fight you on it if you say otherwise.”

The seriousness of her words broke something in Rio, and she could no longer hold back her tears. “But why?” she asked weakly, her voice raw with emotion. “Why do you want me?”

Agatha’s eyes shone with an intensity that made Rio’s knees nearly buckle. “Because I love you,” she said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of unshakable conviction. “I don’t care who you are. You are mine, and I love you,” she repeated, her voice breaking just slightly on the last word.

The intensity of the moment shattered the tension like glass. Rio surged forward, capturing Agatha’s lips in a kiss that was both a question and an answer. It was messy and desperate, their emotions spilling out in every movement. They clung to each other as if the world outside the walls of the cottage had ceased to exist.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, Rio let out a shaky laugh. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Agatha smiled, her fingers brushing against Rio’s cheek. “And you love it.”

Rio laughed again, the sound lighter this time, filled with something that felt dangerously close to hope. She pulled back just enough to look into Agatha’s eyes, her voice soft but steady. “I love you, Agatha,” she said, the words carrying the weight of centuries’ worth of longing.

Agatha’s smile widened, her fingers lacing through Rio’s. “Good. Because you’re not getting rid of me now.”

Sub-Chapter (NSFW) >

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I told you there'd be a happy ending :)

[chaifootsteps]

Hiya! If you don't mind a little bit of Hazbin-themed venting, I've got something I'd like to get of my chest, if that's alright!

I'll start this by saying that I'm...uh, well, a decently competent artist. The sort that can land some goofy roles here and there, those entirely irrelevant to this ask. Saying this not to brag, of course, but just to illustrate that I have spent years on my craft and take it very, very seriously!

My art has always generally leaned a certain direction, and that direction has overlap with VivziePop's art style, incidentally. I've never taken inspiration from her—my inspirations can be sourced elsewhere—and my artistic journey has not involved her whatsoever. Regardless, in real life, in the past recent years, people have repeatedly compared my art to Hazbin Hotel. Over, and over, and over. When the show came out, those comparisons ramped up, and I feel like by pure misfortune I have this shadow casted on me, as if I owe all that I've worked for to a coincidence.

I don't know. There's no real way for me to prove that I 100% did not take after Vivzie since I don't really have the Internet footprint for it. My friends and loved ones can attest to my work being my own, but...there's nothing I can do. People look at me and see someone else now. I've had comparisons before, but nothing like this. I consider art ultimately as an expression of the self, and to know that others hear a voice that's not my own is nothing short of distressing.

I would like to post my work online, and I'm itching to (if the dice rolls well on it) make my own cartoon, but I kinda sorta fear that those Hazbin comments'll end up dominating the space and, uh, I admit I don't trust the Hazbin Hotel fandom to be nice about it.

I'm considering the idea of changing my art to escape all the comparisons, but I also hate the idea of changing myself over something vain and, really, so, so dumb. I like my art. I think it's different, and I think it's me. It works for what it's meant to do! I just...wish other people could see that, y'know?

I've developed a sort of embarrassment over work that I've been chipping away at for over a decade because of this, and I find myself demoralized over making and showing art knowing exactly how other people are going to percieve it. I'll for sure still do what I do, but I find myself at a low point, and I felt the need to yell it out there. I'd be more than happy to welcome any advice on how to tackle this issue!

Trust me, Anon, you're far from the only artist who's run into this problem. You'd be surprised how often it comes up.

I think you've got to just do your own thing, even if some of the comments make you develop an eye twitch. There will always be people who see your hard work and unique style for what it is, and you can't hold back your talents just because Vivienne Medrano happens to be dooking up the Earth. The world needs more artists and more stories!

[maxdibert]

hii!! i love ur blog immensely, i literally spend so much time reading your analysis, and i agree with everything u say abt severus (my fav character), which is very rare for me

so, id like to know what do u think sev would be doing if he didnt have to go back to hogwarts at 21 and be forced to teach? like, if there was no voldemort (but everything else stayed the same like his childhood with lily, the marauders bullying him etc), what would he be doing nowadays? i always thought he would open his own potions store, maybe he'd try to heal from his past, find someone to love, idk, u probably have a more detailed answer lol

First of all, if Voldemort didn’t exist, I don’t think Severus would have ended up with the Death Eaters because, well, they wouldn’t exist, right? The story would be very different. I think his "break" with Lily might have taken longer, but eventually, they would have drifted apart quite a bit, and when she got together with James, it would likely have been Severus who distanced himself completely. Because, I mean, Severus isn’t exactly brimming with self-love, but I can’t imagine him handling his friend ending up with his bully very well, for obvious reasons. That said, I don’t think it would have been such a traumatic break but more like one of those friendships where, as you grow older, you just don’t have anything in common anymore and go in completely different directions. Then, one day, ten years later, you run into each other on the street and have no idea how to greet each other. You know what I mean?

That said, without him being part of the Death Eaters, without Voldemort in the picture, and without Lily dying and creating a lifelong guilt trauma that led him to sell his soul to Dumbledore—no, Severus wouldn’t have been a professor. At least not at Hogwarts, which is a pretty triggering place for his personal traumas. I see him dedicating himself to magical research and experimentation. I’m not sure if there’s an equivalent in the wizarding world, but like a typical Muggle university researcher working on specific scientific projects, only applied to magic. We’re talking about Severus Snape, the guy who rewrote his own Potions textbooks and invented complex spells as a teenager—the same Severus Snape who, despite everything, was a Slytherin, which means he has ambition. I think the perfect mix of those two things would have been dedicating himself to magical research, publishing his findings, and maybe—just maybe—teaching. But only teaching adult wizards who had already graduated from Hogwarts and wanted to further their skills by applying advanced knowledge. Like the equivalent of a university professor who only teaches because they’re required to in order to continue their doctorate.

I think with a life like that, with the peace to follow his own path and achieve his own successes, he could have healed from a lot of his issues. Probably not entirely, because the magical world sucks when it comes to managing mental health, but he could have moved on from Lily and built his own life.

[maintitle]

I want to talk a little bit about the Morrigan/Mythal situation, because I've seen a lot of people talk about how Morrigan chose Mythal and chose that power and therefore this is her life and her ultimate evolution and generally just dismissing what happens to her after Mythal rejoins her as a natural evolution of the character, girlboss, ect. I don't want to be dismissive of that take because it can be one that is easily taken without reflection, but I do think it terribly misunderstands the nature of Flemeth and Morrigan's relationship and the methods by which she was very carefully raised.

So let's talk about Morrigan, how she was groomed and abused, and the training she took great pride in that was that was ultimately weaponized against her by design. Let's also talk about the great pains the game goes through in order to sidestep these issues, and by doing so leaving a much better story on the cutting room floor in order to make a very tepid story of parental forgiveness that misses the depth of their relationship entirely.

I'd like to say at the jump that the fusion of Morrigan and Mythal isn't a story I'm resistant too. I assumed this was the direction they would go and I truly think there was some fascinating storytelling to be had that expanded upon the themes already present in both. But I also think the Veilguard writers either misunderstand the exact nature of how Morrigan was raised, or needed to ignore it in order for Morrigan to serve as a vessel for Mythal in order to serve Solas' story (an issue I have with her use in this game in general, but that's for another post.)

The most revealing conversation that I think Morrigan has in regards to Flemeth is actually one that occurs very early in Origins. I think it's juxtaposition with other scenes is important;

Morrigan: "My Mother has been hunted from time to time, yes. My Templar fools like Alistair, which should tell you how successful they generally were. Flemeth made a bit of a game of it, in fact. The Templars would come again and she would look at me and smile and say that the fun was to begin once more."

Warden: "You really had no trouble with them?

Morrigan: "I am unsure. I was too young to understand, and perhaps 'twas bravado on Flemeth's part. Or perhaps she was merely amused. I will never know. Flemeth would warn them, once. 'Twas a warning they inevitably failed to heed." Morrigan: "And then the true game began. Often Flemeth would use me as bait." She giggles in amusement. "A little girl to scream, and run, and lure the templars deeper into the wilds and to their doom."

Warden: "Flemeth used you as bait?"

Morrigan: "'Twas a game, and I a young girl. If I didn't get to play, I would have been very upset."

This is a really important example, not just of how callously Morrigan was trained to kill when she was challenged at such a young age, but also because it exemplifies how Flemeth taught her. There's an assumption that Flemeth simply yelled and screamed at Morrigan her entire childhood, and that was true in places, but Flemeth was very crafty in how she presented the lessons that she felt were necessary for Morrigan to have.

A bit further into the conversation;

Warden: "Do you still think it was fun?" Morrigan: "I think that my Mother made it fun so that a child did not learn to fear. And I think it was necessary."

Interestingly, if you don't agree with this assessment, Morrigan ends the conversation very suddenly.

The point of highlighting both of these conversations isn't necessarily to outline the casual and cruel abuse, but instead to show how sinister Flemeth's teaching methods were. She treated a child with kindness and the warmness of a friend or Mother when it suited the needs of Morrigan's lessons, but when she broke out and did something that would endanger those teachings, she violently lashed out, as is evident with the mirror scene.

These juxtapositions are important when you look at who Morrigan becomes as an adult, and why she's sent away during the Blight at all. As we know, it was Flemeth's plan all along for Morrigan to offer the ritual before the battle with the Archdemon, but Morrigan posits that it's now her making those decisions and not her Mother. This is highlighted by the line;

Morrigan: "Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will."

If we jump ahead a bit to Inquisition, this thought process is expanded on a lot more, in a lot more detail, highlighting the philosophy in Mythal's temple;

Morrigan: "There is... a danger to the natural order. Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing has left us all the lesser. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the well. I would have it restored"

Inquisitor: "I wasn't expecting your answer to be so... romantic."

Morrigan: "Trust me. Your surprise is matched only by my own." Sigh. "Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: Elves, dragons, magic... the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true."

On a surface level, this can be seen as an evolution of who she was in Origins and what she believed then. I can see how that mistake might be made, and I can see how that thought process can lead to accidentally mistaking Veilguard's reply to it as being that same evolution. But if we look at the Dark Ritual, we see this is an opinion based within the philosphy she was always taught by Flemeth.

In order to expand on that, we can actually look to the comics, in the little-explored character of Yavana, sister of Morrigan.

I want to stress first we don't TRULY know much about Yavana. History implies she's a figure out of Antivan legend going back multiple ages, but it's sort of impossible to know if that's true or if it's even her and not a previous Witch Of The Wilds, or even a previous host of Mythal. I hesitate, therefor, to truly assume what her relationship with her Mother was like, however I will very carefully put forward that, based on what little dialogue we have of her, she may be a 'failed' daughter of Flemeth that Mythal deemed unworthy, as she knows about Mythal inhabiting her daughters, see's it as Flemeth does, and seems somewhere between disapointed and jealous in the fact that Morrigan seems to misunderstand that. (I'm not really here to run back the whole Origins possession versus Inquisition's and now Veilguard's 'a soul is not hefted on the unwilling, because frankly it doesn't really weigh in on the point being made here as much as you'd suspect, as you'll see.) But this assumption is questionable, and might be both wrong and not relevant to the issue, if perhaps fairly telling.

What we DO know about her for certain is that she was raised by Flemeth, and at some point moved to Antiva in order to nurture and preserve the return of Dragons to Thedas. Her actual wording of this point, I think, is so telling of FleMythal as a character that I almost wish it wasn't hidden away in the comics;

This is, nearly verbatim, the same message Morrigan gives both in short in Origins before the Dark Ritual, and in much more detail in the Temple Of Mythal in Inquisition. I also find Alistair's response to this INCREDIBLY telling, as one of Alistair's great talents is seeing through people;

While I think the phrasing is very purposefully dismissive and flippant, I don't think the sentiment is totally off base. It actually leads me into the entire thesis of this post, and an aspect of this relationship that some fans and even writers seem to blatantly miss;

The preservation of the old magic is not Morrigan's dream. The preservation of magic is what Morrigan was raised to value most in the world by her abuser.

To illustrate this, let's look at Morrigan's arc in Inquisition, and what it's actually saying about her and Flemythal; The cycle of abuse.

Mythal's Temple is a story about Morrigan and the folly of pride, certainly, but it's also a character arc of a woman who was very carefully raised to HAVE that pride. This isn't an assumption I have made based on evidence, Flemeth outright says it in DA2;

Hawke: "Is (Morrigan) someone I should know?" Flemeth: "She's a girl who thinks she knows what is what better than I, or anyone." Chuckle. "And why not? I raised her to be as she is. I cannot expect her to be less!"

This is, to be, the smoking gun of Flemeth's entire method of teaching and parenting. She is incredibly adept at training flaws into her daughters, pride being the greatest of them. More than that, she's very talented at imparting just enough knowledge that they think they know everything, while also holding back vast amounts of it in order to stay in control.

The Temple Of Mythal is one of the crowning achievements of that. While you can't exactly expect Mythal to have known that's where Morrigan would end up (although Morrigan certainly questions if she knew it would happen), it really hardly matters if she knew or not. Morrigan was raised from birth in order to make the exact decision she made at the Temple. The preservation of what might be lost is such a core part of her being that she can't escape it... and more than that, she can't fathom it being a negative trait. To her, it's a holy calling.

I'm going to pull out the most direct conversation of abuse Morrigan documents now, not to pile on more evidence, but instead because I think it's a more effective conversation to use as juxtaposition of why she thinks that than I could make myself;

Leliana: They say your mother is Flemeth, a witch of the Korcari Wilds. Morrigan: They also say that washing your feet in winter makes you catch cold in the head, but we all know that is not true. But sometimes they are right and they are right in this. Leliana: You know the stories about-- Morrigan: Of course. You think my mother would let me go without telling me all the stories of her youth? Leliana: My mother told me stories too. She was the one who kindled my love of the old tales and legends. Morrigan: Hmph. my mother's stories curdled my blood and haunted my dreams. No little girl wants to hear about the Wilder men her mother took to her bed, using them till they were spent, then killing them. No little girl wants to be told that this is also expected of her, once she comes of age. Leliana: I... uh... I see. Morrigan: No, you don't. You really don't.

This is the environment Morrigan grew up in. She was exposed to Flemeth taking advantage of men, she was exposed to gruesome murder both as a game and in casual moments. Any attempt she made to take self-possession or grow as a person was aggressively curtailed and broken. This was a girl so afraid of her home life that, for many years, she spent as much time as she could living amongst the animals of the forest, and escaping her home life.

Now, imagine; This same abusive woman gives you positive reinforcement. You're a child, and you crave that attention like any child would of their Mother, and you know that reinforcement comes when you're an attentive and talented student. The closest you ever are with your Mother is when you're taking in everything she has to teach you, so it becomes the center of your life. Soon, it's not just a method by which to be close to your Mother, but a core tenant in your life. They stay with you as a fascination, as something you take pride in, as a holy crusade even as you escape your abuser and move on into a happier version of your life where you've grown and matured, where you've seemingly broken the cycle.

Now, imagine the discovery that those few, core, good memories you have were horribly tainted. The lessons you were taught were cyclical, a method by which to control you and gather that which she needs. Your life goal, your career, your passion was entirely made in order to benefit the abuser you've run from your entire life. Imagine who devastating that would be.

That's what happened at the Temple Of Mythal. That was the pride that Flemeth trained into Morrigan, the path by which she wanted her to evolve. She seized that opportunity, and that opportunity either tied her to her abuser forever, and/or told her abuser where she and her son was after years of protecting him from her.

Everything you know, everything you are, everything you've protected... is based on a lie.

Morrigan's character arc in Inquisition is her breaking that cycle. 'What Pride Had Wrought' is in reference at least partially to Morrigan's personal journey, where that pride, that passion, is something she recklessly seizes on because to her it is good and right and just and hers by nature, and it is that pride that was so ingrained into her by her abuser that she watches tear her son away from her and into the hands of said abuser.

In that moment, when she's faced by everything that her pride could lose her, she is forced to reckon with everything she has ever believed, and in the face of her greatest fear... she chooses to break the cycle of abuse. She chooses to assure that her son is safe.

The most obvious quote to be in this write-up;

Flemythal: "As you wish. Hear my proposal, dear girl. Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you... and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due." Morrigan: "He returns with me." Flemythal: "Decided so quickly?" Morrigan: "Do whatever you wish. Take over my body now, if you must, but Kieran will be free of your clutches. I am many things, but I will not be the Mother you were to me."

This is obviously Morrigan's most famous line, but I actually am not sure if folks understand the truth depth of it; This is not only breaking the cycle of abuse and freeing her son of it, but she's also going against every natural instinct that was bred into her. This woman, the girl that was raised to lure men to their deaths for fun, who's most crucial life lesson was to do anything in order to survive... accepts she will never be safe again. She accepts the possibility of constant danger just to keep her son safe a day longer, a sacrifice her Mother would have never made for her.

This was a possible full culmination of her story. And Veilguard... sort of ignores the meaning of it by giving undo attention to Flemeth's head tilt.

I want to take a moment to preface this next section by saying that I was in no way resistant to the idea of Morrigan being possessed by Mythal in Veilguard. I in fact expected it and was excited by the possibility. There was a really brilliant way to handle the situation even within the parameters of how the game handled it, but the developers chose instead to dismiss this situation in a few lines so that they could instead focus on Mythal, and her relationship with Solas.

I don't want to outright insult the writers here. Veilguard was a game I greatly enjoyed. But I do want to say this because I find it deeply regressive, and I also find the decisions that were made were a symptom of this issue; Morrigan is not in Veilguard for her own character. Morrigan is in Veilguard because she is a convenient vessel through which to explore a character that has much more importance to the main antagonist. This is already slightly regressive because it's two characters largely only serving the plot of one male character, but I find it most troubling because the character they use her for is her own abuser, and by paying as little attention to that as possible while also barely using Morrigan herself as a character, it creates a very tepid story of parental forgiveness that... doesn't work as presented.

From her scene in the Crossroads after finding all of Solas' regrets;

Morrigan: "When I learned she intended me to become the next receptacle of an ancient god's soul, I feared naught would be left of my own. It inevitably came to pass on a deep night: I was awakened by the presence of a blaze of magic in the shape of a woman who both was, and was not, my Mother."

Rook: "I don't think I'd recover from that."

Morrigan: "Neither did I, at the start. Mythal's memories were both gift and burden, this blazing woman told me, but I must accept them of my own accord. The decision was paralyzing. What would it mean to become such a host? What would be lost if I refused? In the end, 'twas something in my Mother's voice which guided me."

Rook: "What was that?"

Morrigan: "Regret. Not the regret of a God, but of a Mother who knew she would never see me again. And so my mind remains my own. What I gained was knowledge... both Mythal's, and of those who bore her."

I think you can see where the problem lies, but let me reiterate:

Morrigan was a child of abuse. That abuse was calculated, both in how she treated her aggressively and how she gave her affection. Her methods of teaching, of raising a child, were there entirely to teach that child to continue on the legacy of Mythal. The preservation of magic was imbued very carefully into Morrigan and Yavana both in order to gather and save aspects of the ancient elves, and in order to prepare them to carry Mythal's soul. Pride was a weakness trained into them from childhood, and their lofty goal of protecting ancient magic was a weapon to be wielded in order to control them. This was a cycle Morrigan first discovered in Inquisition and began to fight against, because she wanted to break the cycle of abuse for the sake of her son.

In this game, Morrigan took on the memories of Flemythal... in order to preserve ancient magic that must be protected so that it is not lost. An instinct given to her by her Mother... in order to be used as a weapon... so that one day she would take on the soul of Mythal.

I want to be clear, I am not opposed to this storyline. I'm not going to yell 'That's problematic, you can't write that!' or 'That's a regression of her character!' because I think it's a fascinating direction to take both their characters.

The problem to me isn't that they went down this pretty natural path, the problem is they did it by... sidestepping any negative parts of how this would affect Morrigan. They sidestepped the fact that the reason she accepted her was largely because of something that Flemythal trained into her and weaponized against her, and the writing treats it as... a difficult moment that eventually brought her peace.

I think this is most exemplified in the aspect of Mythal's soul that remains in the Crossroads. As a concept some are saying it's arbitrary considering how Flemythal saved herself inside of an amulet in Origins/DA2, but I think that's lacks context. It's clear Mythal couldn't prepare this time, because she didn't expect Solas to murder her. Her soul, while saving itself, fractured into pieces. I'm definitely willing to defend that choice.

The problem, I think, is more that the fracturing is seemingly mostly used as a way to sidestep how Mythal's soul fully joining Morrigan would change this scenario. Morrigan's ultimate fear was becoming one with the soul of Mythal, so in order to avoid that they've attempted to only give Morrigan the memories of Flemythal while also seemingly leaving her unchanged as a character.

My issue with this thought process, first and foremost, is that it prevents them from exploring a much better story that has the chance of presenting a much better payoff as a story of an abused child coming to terms with her Mother. It removes the chance of Morrigan's possession being a major character arc, one that would further what she went through in Inquisition while also offering Flemythal a pathway toward an understanding with her daughter so that that ending could still be explored, in order to get to where they want to truly get to as fast as possible, which is using Morrigan as an agent for Mythal's forgiveness in order to fulfill Solas' character arc.

Imagine a more fleshed out version of this story, one where Morrigan had more of a presence within it. Over time, as you discover more about Mythal out through those flashbacks, you begin to realize something is... off about Morrigan. Her unique way of talking has slowly changed, her more sarcastic and poetic tone drips away in favor of Flemythal's more loose, jovial, sometimes playful but always pointed and aggressive tone. The player is prepared to pick up on that, but Rook isn't. Things eventually come to a head where Mythal has to reveal herself, likely as an aggressor similar to how she's handled in the Crossroads, and Morrigan is actually allowed to exist within this presentation. She sneaks through occasionally. The magic of the crossroads allows her moments of clear headedness. She reflects that she accepted her Mother's soul out of that fear, and that it's begun to change her, that she's scared of what she's losing, and even more frightened of how she's coming to understand her Mother. Conflict occurs and if you've reached Morrigan, she fights against Mythal's influence and regains control enough to fracture them just enough to have to come head-to-head, where you can guide them through decades of conflict to a mutual understanding or forgiveness through this bond they have, help Morrigan fully overcome Mythal, or help Mythal dominate Morrigan. Ideally, you'd have the ability to either remove Mythal's essence from Morrigan forcefully with an 'I reject you!' scene, or you can have your moment of forgiveness where the Flemeth side of Mythal removes herself from Morrigan, perhaps into the idol you use for Solas at the end.

But that's not what they did. What they chose to do, I think, is to sidestep a difficult issue, a problem this game does tend to have. I'm not entirely sure if they didn't quite grasp Morrigan's relationship with her Mother, or felt they were forced to gloss over it either because of the world state issue or their need to use Mythal, but the decision they came to is not an acceptable payoff to that story.

The truth of the matter is, this version of the stories' either inability to explore this issue in full or it's misunderstanding of it greatly hurts the characterization and misses a massive chance at more impactful storytelling. And that, to me, is the most damning creative decision of the entire game.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

***

Chapter 14

Edoras

After Théoden said something about a place called Helm’s Deep, he left the room with Gandalf right after him. Sansa suspected the other man - and was he really a man? - was not done trying to persuade the king.

Honestly, Sansa could well understand Gandalf and Aragorn’s frustration at Théoden. She couldn’t claim to be a strategist, but all of this seemed like a bad idea.

She’d once been in a battle where the enemy came to them. She’d hidden down in the crypts with the others, waiting for a miracle. She’d been stuck in a place when the dead rose to kill them all.

Sansa was in no hurry to repeat the experience. She didn’t even need to look at Susan to know the other woman thought the same.

“Your Grace.” Theon hurried near, then bowed when he saw who else was there. “My lords. Your Majesty. I am sorry for interrupting, but…” Now he seemed like he didn’t want to speak.

Sansa immediately knew. “Arya or Jaime?” She asked with a sigh.

Theon cleared his throat. “Both. Arya is fighting the men and Jaime is taking bets.”

Sansa took a deep breath in, before turning to men who’d stayed behind  and Susan and giving them a polite - and brittle - smile. “If you excuse me, my lords, my lady.”

She didn’t need to look behind her to know they all came after her. She’d stepped out the hall and went down the stairs, only to find Arya holding a dagger to a man’s throat.

“Arya.” She called.

Her sister looked up. “Aye?”

She glared at her sister, then her eyes moved to Jaime, who was surrounded by other men. 

“Ser Jaime?”

“Your Grace.” He waved at her. “Next one is about to start. Would you like to make a bet?”

“What I want to know is why you are doing this.” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, Arya started it.” Jaime said shamelessly, making the younger Stark glare at him. “Someone said she could not fight being that small, she insisted she could…” He shrugged. “I was just exploring the business opportunities.”

“They have just disappeared.” She informed them both. “Get the others, meet me in my chambers. We have something to discuss.”

***

Susan imagined that Sansa had taken her people to talk about the next steps they’d take. She’d get Helga and the others to do the same. She wasn’t convinced they should go to Helm’s Deep. Perhaps, she should go and meet her siblings in Minas Tirith.

If the people of Rohan were planning on staying still for a while, there was nothing the Narnians could do to help. It seemed to her that going to Gondor might be a better use of her time.

She’d just turned into a hallway, when she saw Gandalf coming from the opposite direction.

“My lady.” The wizard came towards her. “It is an honour to meet a Queen of Narnia.” Gandalf bowed to Susan. “Stories from your land have always reached us.”

“The honour is mine.” Susan nodded at him. “The White Wizard. It is good to know someone deserving of the title now has it.”

“You are very kind, my Queen.” Gandalf gave her a small smile. “I was told you and Queen Sansa have been helping.”

“We did what we could, which was not much.” Susan sighed. “We could not prevent Lord Éomer’s banishment.”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “You cannot carry a whole kingdom on your shoulders, your majesty. Especially when there is such malice behind the happenings in here.”

Susan nodded. “I am glad you are here and that the King is back. The question is: now what?”

“Now I would like to ask for your continuous support.” Gandalf told her seriously. “I do not believe this will be as simple as going to Helm’s Deep, which - mind you - is not easy at all.”

Susan sighed. “I was planning on going to meet my siblings in Gondor.” She admitted to him.

“I would kindly ask you to wait for a bit.” The wizard spoke. “Follow us to Helm’s Deep. I have not given up on Théoden.”

Susan frowned. “Do you think my presence there would be of any help?”

“From what I gathered, you have been great company to Lady Éowyn and you have actively tried to help this whole time. I think Théoden might be open to hearing from you.”

Susan sighed one more time. “Fine. We will go.”

Gandalf bowed his head in her direction. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Do not thank me yet. I cannot promise anything.” She pointed out.

“Friends are hard to come by in dark times, my lady. The fact that you are here is already a great promise.”

***

Éowyn hurried to Léoith’s house. They were all leaving for Helm's Deep soon and then they’d be faced with the question of the two ‘intruders’ in the middle of the city.

She didn’t even know how to explain their presence, even though there were so many outsiders in Edoras at this point it might be unfair to judge young Percival and Lancelot. On the other hand, in those uncertain times, more strangers might just be a problem.

“I heard the news.” Léoith said as soon as she walked in. “When do we have to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Éowyn twisted her fingers. “How is he?”

“He is much better, but I am not sure if good enough to walk all the way to Helm’s Deep.”

Most people would have to. They’d save carts and horses for the elderly and the sick, and -even though Lancelot was still in recovery - it’d once again bring back the question of who he was and why he was there.

“Lady Éowyn.” Percival came running into the room. “Are we really leaving?”

She touched the boy’s shoulder. “Yes. We will need to find a way to get you and Lancelot in the middle of the group.”

“We could just leave.”

It was the first time she’d seen him standing up. Lancelot was a tall man, and he seemed much recovered; his skin had more colour in it and he seemed firm on his own legs.

Apparently he was also well enough to say absurd things. “Leave?” She repeated. “Where to?”

“I do not know.” He admitted. “But we have taken enough of your time and kindness. It might be time to be on our own.”

“You cannot expect to take this boy out there!” Léoith protested. “It was a miracle you managed to arrive here. It is not safe, there are too many orcs running free.”

Lancelot turned his eyes to Percival. “You are correct. Perhaps I should leave on my own.”

“No!” Percival protested immediately.

“Calm down.” Éowyn asked the boy, before turning to Lancelot. “You are not leaving on your own.”

Lancelot frowned. “No?”

“No.” She told him firmly. “You are not recovered and it is not safe.”

“But you know it will not be easy to explain where we came from.” He pointed out. “Your people will know we are not from here.”

Then it came to Éowyn. “But you are not the only outsiders,” which she had thought about before, but now it came with a different idea. “Who is to say you are not Narnians?”

***

“We will not make to Gondor.” Jaime pointed out, looking at the map. “It is a risk to move out there right now.”

Sansa sighed. “I will send a letter to Margaery now. She should know where we are headed.”

“I do not like this.” Brienne commented.

Sandor grunted what was probably an agreement.

Theon was quiet on a corner, and Sansa turned to him. “Theon?”

“I have a bad feeling.” He told her simply. “But I do agree that there is nothing we can do at this point. From what we have heard from Arya and even the people around the city, this land is covered in orcs and uruk-hais. We stand no chance on our own.”

“That is what I feared.” She looked at Jaime. “What do you think?”

“We are evacuating a city. There will be families, children, the elderly, the sick… Not everyone here is a fighter and I do not know how big of an army is left here. Any idiot would know this will be a slow moving group. I would attack us on the way.”

“We also do not know how big the army of the enemy is.” Brienne reminded him.

“No, we do not. And, as much as I hope they are no more than a hundred untrained idiots, I would not bet our safety on a hope.”

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache and she had no time for this. “I will write to Margaery now. You go out there and find as much information as you can. Talk to the Narnians, talk to the Rohirrim, talk to the damn wizard if you must.” And she could not believe she was saying that. “Get me whatever you can, because I need to pass on the information to her, in case…” She pressed her lips together.

Arya frowned. “Sansa.”

“In case something happens.” She finished.

The others exchanged looks, but they nodded at her and left to do what was asked of them. Only when the door closed did Sansa notice that Arya had stayed behind.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Her sister wanted to know.

“It will pass.”

Arya snorted. “Do not start acting all prissy now.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow at her sister. “I am still your Queen.”

“Only when it is convenient.” She smirked.

Sansa snorted, her lips curling up. “I will be fine. I assure you.”

“Fine.” Arya seemed to finally accept her answer. “But, Sansa, on my word, say you want to leave and I will get you out. The others would not mind and you know that.”

“I do.”

Arya gave her a firm nod and left the room.

She walked down the hallways, looking for the others, but someone else found her first.

“Lady Arya.”

“Sir Reepichip. What is the news from your side?”

“We are all going to Helm’s Deep.” He informed her. “My Queen has just decided it.”

“So has Sansa. What do you know of the enemy?”

“Nothing more than a few tales. We should find a better source.”

They exchanged a look. “The dwarf.”

***

“What do you think of all these Queens here?” Boromir asked Aragorn, once they were alone.

“I am not sure.” He admitted. “Help is help, but I do wonder what they might be interested in. They all came from far away just to be here.”

“It is bad that we need to worry about war, but now we also have politics involved.”

Aragorn was bemused. “There is always politics involved, my friend.”

“Yes. My brother is the natural diplomat between us.” Boromir had a fond smile on his face as he spoke about Faramir. “I learned it because I must, but he just had something in him.”

“It will be a great pleasure to meet Lord Faramir.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “But back to the current situation…”

“Why don’t you talk to Queen Sansa’s people?” Boromir offered. “I knew Théodred, even if not that well, so I might try and talk to the King.”

Aragorn nodded. “Let us do this.”

Honestly, Sansa could understand well Gandalf and Aragorn’s frustration at Théoden. She couldn’t claim to be a strategist, but all of this seemed like a bad idea.

She didn’t even need to look at Susan to know the other woman thought the same.

“Your Grace.” Theon hurried near, then bowed when he saw who else was there. “My lords. Your Majesty. I’m sorry for interrupting, but…” Now he seemed like he didn’t want to speak.

Sansa immediately knew. “Arya or Jaime?” She asked with a sigh.

Theon cleared his throat. “Both. Arya is fighting the men and Jaime is taking bets.”

Sansa took a deep breath in, before turning to Théoden King and giving him a polite -and brittle -smile. “If you excuse me, my lord.”

She didn’t need to look behind her to know they all came after her. She’d stepped out the hall and went down the stairs, only to find Arya holding a dagger to a man’s throat.

“Arya.” She called.

Her sister looked up. “Aye?”

She glared at her sister, then her eyes moved to Jaime, who was surrounded by other men. “Ser Jaime?”

“Your Grace.” He waved at her. “Next one is about to start. Would you like to make a bet?”

[hermemescabin]

Annabeth forgave her dad, let it go

A person reconciling with a neglectful and/or abuse parent in real life is a very personal choice that you have the right to make for yourself.

A character who grew up in an abusive and/or neglectful house in fiction, only to have this neglect invalidated by the author, is a totally different matter. Personally I never felt that Rick gave me enough reason to believe Frederick is redeemed. Also he's fictional and my opinion won't hurt him. I just don't like him.

At the end of the day we're all going to interpret these things differently and I welcome you to disagree if you feel like it.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why

(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)

similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.

(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)

plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?

(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)

How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?

You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.

If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?

TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.

(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)

(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)

(more under the cut)

Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?

Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?

Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.

(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)

also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!

(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)

you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.

Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)

there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?

[bxriles]

I gotta be honest, the ending of JJK isn’t doing it for me. It feels underwhelming. And before anyone freaks tf out and tells me that I “can’t read” or that I “didn’t understand the point of JJK” I can promise you that I did. I understand and I can read between the lines and make inferences. I can also promise you that I know just because the ending isn’t my cup of tea, does not mean that the ending is objectively bad. I get all of that.

And yet, I still think the execution was fumbled and I think that’s a bummer. In a desperate need to be *different* from the rest of Shonen manga, I think the last 10-15ish chapters have felt incredibly similar to the rest of the genre. At least, in my opinion they have.

Argue with the wall if this post pissed you off. I’m allowed to post my opinion on my blog.

[thetriggereffect]

Of course this whole thing is unimportant. The showrunners (not movierunners) always intended for the gate to be a vehicle for stories. Like the enterprise or the tardis or the impala or the time tunnel.

I mean yes, but this is blog where I pick things apart. :)

Also, the movierunners are guilty of a worse sin. They went on record, when the show started, saying that they never intended the Stargate to connect to more than one destination. Which raises the question of why the fuck an address was needed in the first place.

"The location as seen in the sky from Earth" is not a three-dimensional coordinate. It's a two dimensional coordinate on the surface of a sphere, and even then it's wildly imprecise, given that even with the third dimension taken out of the equation, those stars are light-years apart.

But even if we assume that it is a precise 3D coordinate, the six-coordinate system is pants-shittingly inefficient, as it only allows you to locate planets that lie directly between three sets of these points.

Given the four-dimensional nature of a galaxy, a seven-coordinate system actually would be ideal. Just.... not those seven coordinates.

Your first three coordinates would be the x, y, and z, where 0,0,0 is the center of the galaxy. (Alternately, they could express vertical and horizontal angle, plus distance, from a particular view from galactic center-- think "look forty-three degrees to your left, and eighteen degrees up, then it's 16 light years in that direction" but expressed with better math.)

You next three coordinates would be pitch, yaw, and velocity. (These measurements would need to account for the fact that the movement would be circular, which is easier to do that explain in words.)

Your final coordinate would be the point at time in which the measurement was made. This allows you to update the address to account for the kind of fuckery that happens at cosmic scales; it's reasonable to assume that a species advanced enough to travel to a location and put a stargate there would be able to keep track of where it was and simply recalculate those values.

Of course, the other thing that gets glossed over is that the Stargates are all connected via some kind of network, and have an operating system that can be modified. Which means that the most efficient way of doing it would be to just give each gate a numerical address.

And the gate spinning thing is entirely a Looks Cool factor. It doesn't even make sense for it to be there, considering that if you're working the gate without a DHD, you also don't have a power supply. And it especially doesn't make sense in the SGC after the first season, considering that they found a functioning DHD in Antarctica.

(Don't get me started on the whole "two gates in proximity to each other conflict" because that's just bad design.)

Nothing About the Stargate Is Intelligent

Don't get me wrong, I love all three Stargate shows, and I regard them as some of the best science fiction on television.

But the Stargate itself is a mass of technobabble whose operation is not just ridiculous, but impossible. And I don't mean technically, I mean logistically.

A standard Milky Way Stargate has 39 glyphs. Each glyph represents a constellation. A standard Stargate address involves seven of these glyphs-- six of them identify the location in three dimensional space, and the seventh is the point of origin.

This is several entirely distinct flavors of stupid.

Constellations are not points. One of the stars in Orion's belt, for example, is more than a thousand light years from either of the others.

Even if this weren't the case, the Stargates are millions of years old. Stellar drift has changed the constellations in the ~10,000 years that mankind has been aware of them.

You only need three points to identify a location in three dimensional space. Requiring a second position for each axis does nothing except for drastically limit the locations that can be addressed.

If every address requires the same seventh symbol at a given gate, there's no reason not to make the gate automatically supply it.

If you can identify the point of origin with a single glyph, why can't you identify the destination with one? (There is actually a bit in the original movie where Daniel tells the natives, "we're from here" and shows the symbol that corresponds to earth and they get it.)

Also, if the point of origin is one symbol.... there can be a maximum of 39 total gates. There is no such limit in the shows.

Of course, there is also the magic eight-symbol address that somehow, despite being made up of coordinates in the milky way galaxy, points to the Pegasus Galaxy. Or the nine-symbol address that can only be dialed from one gate (that apparently isn't even in the right place, affecting its ability to dial), which points to Destiny, which doesn't even have a fixed location.

And while we're on the subject of Destiny, how does THAT gate work? If the glyphs on a gate are constellations, how does that work on a ship that moves between galaxies?

How does dialing even work? The whole spinny thing is just our gate, because we don't have a DHD, but, like... why does spinning it even work? And how is it that, by the end of the show, we've developed the technology to build our own gates, but we're still dialing the main gate with the equivalent of a hotwire?

That's not even getting into the physics of the "wormhole" itself, or, rather, the lack thereof.

An incoming wormhole spits out a vortex that, in a violation of all known laws of physics, completely destroys everything it comes into contact with.

Unless it's the iris, which is just really close to the event horizon.

Or you just bury it, but that seems to have only worked the once.

The iris that we built, because the ancients who created them didn't seem to think anyone would need to be able to lock the goddamn door (until they got to the Pegasus Galaxy).

The iris that nonetheless seems to be completely integrated into the gate so seamlessly that you can't see the mechanism or where the parts go when not in use.

Wormhole travel is one-way. Except, of course, for radio waves.

It is an explicit plot point in several episodes that an object passing through a stargate is de-materialized as it passes through the event horizon, and is not re-materialized until (and unless) the entire object passes through.

Which begs the question-- how can you step through? Once your front foot is through the horizon, it can't bear weight. How is your back foot lifted up?

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.