#with admittedly varying success

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Obviously the structure of an episodic series often requires characters to go from 'complete strangers' to 'close friends/family' in an unusually short amount of time. I get it.

Writers need a 'new guy' in the group to ask questions about the setting that the audience can't, but still (especially in comedy shows) want the fun dynamics that come from all the main cast knowing each other super well. It's one of those functional tropes like L-Shaped Blankets where you're required to suspend your sense of disbelief.

Having said that, I love when writers choose to take this trope and retroactively justify it by later on revealing that the Seemingly Normal Everyman Character is actually as unhinged as the rest of the group— it's just that their weirdness manifests specifically as an ability to form found family dynamics with literally any group they join, almost immediately after joining.

Like, you assumed that they just fit in so well because your group has a special vibe, but then you accidentally left them in the supermarket for like five minutes and by the time you realised and went back they were already Blood Brothers with the cashier.

Characters who are like friendly dogs in that you can put them essentially anywhere, with anyone, and they will just be like “welp! Guess this is my New Family now” and just go along with it.

[meanbossart]

So like healing isn't linear. Do you think there are times when Astarion is like "I can't do it tonight" in the middle od the deed? I do wonder what would be Drow's reaction? We know he can be overprotective. Would he, groundlessly, blame himself? I feel like in the latest chapters of ANE he made some progress with understanding Astarion.

On the other hand I feel like Astarion would be, unreasonably, angry at himself for not being able to move on and leave his past behind. "Cazador is gone, I gave myself time. Trauma, what else do you want?"

I would love to hear your opinion!

Oh yeah, absolutely there are times where he isn't feeling it. Admittedly I'm a little less interested in exploring the internal workings of healing from this kind of traumatic sexual fatigue than I am in exploring the way other people can accidentally make it about themselves, doubt your agency because of your past experiences, and continually focus on your trauma on your behalf under the guise of helping. Healing is a complex, personal experience that is practically impossible to document in a linear or clear fashion - the way other people react to it, on the other hand, is often painfully predictable.

Astarion is a grown man who wants to move on with his life. Sometimes, he probably feels overly sexual and privately needs to dwell on the guilt associated with that. Sometimes he isn't in the mood but he does it anyway for x and y reasons. Sometimes he stagnates and sometimes he tries new things that don't work, or that he regrets later. The important part is that these are decisions and "risks" he decides to take for himself. He knows that he can say no; he knows that if he says no, whatever is happening will stop. To him, that's the biggest perk about being with someone you trust - you can venture freely into the terrible and the painful and know nothing bad is actually going to happen, besides for maybe a weird-feeling type of week or a few nights of restless sleep.

Whether you think this is good or bad practice, it is what he wants to do as someone who is in a rush to enjoy things again.

DU drow is the one who is constantly concerning himself with his state of mind and his ability to make these kinds of choices. Getting into his head about whether or not Astarion feels pressured to fulfill his needs to the point where he avoids displaying any amount of sexuality around him for a time, where he himself turns Astarion's advances down not because he doesn't want to have sex - but because he doesn't trust him to make these choices in earnest. In this context, he is looking at Astarion and seeing a profoundly damaged man in need of rescue and guidance; while Astarion looks back at him wondering where this practically-weaned-yesterday doofus got the idea that he's got a radioactive dick. Once again, whether or not you believe that what Astarion is doing is healthy, the point is that DU drow has absolutely no authority in this area.

Like you pointed out, this is something that they slowly come to resolve. It will no doubt pop up as an issue again throughout their lives but the situation does improve. At the same time that Astarion will probably go through phases of dealing with his own business differently and communicate that to his partner to varying degrees of consistency or success - the important thing is that the other guy in the room stops acting like this is something he can do anything about but listen.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt from the one where Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this.

Only Kal would manage to get his DNA stolen on a planet called “Earth”, of all the godsdamned stupid places.

Might as well just be named “The Planet” or something, she swears. 

“All three it is,” Kara says, waving open her wall storage and grabbing her rice pot out of it. She only has the one because she's never had to cook for anyone else in her life, much less anyone who was staying with her, but she'll make it work. 

Somehow. 

Can't be any worse than pulling off mission-critical military maneuvers in shit conditions with untried and under-trained new recruits, she figures. 

. . . though she is admittedly more prepared for that situation than this one, if it comes to it. 

Look, that’s just experience, alright? She’s been on a thousand maneuvers and missions she didn’t have the resources for, but Kal doesn’t get cloned every day. 

Well, at least not when he’s not on incredibly uncreatively named alien planets, anyway. 

Kara dumps three times the usual amount of rice into her rice pot while Thirteen hovers just outside the kitchen and Match stands very, very still beside him. Neither of them says anything else, though Thirteen looks like he might want to. He seems to be the talker, from what Kara can tell. 

Or at least, he’s the one they’ve designated to be the talker. He asks more questions, and sometimes Match looks at him like he’s expecting him to ask a question. Even if they don’t necessarily get along, they seem to be cooperating at least that much. 

Well, it makes sense. They’re the only other successful Kryptonian-human clones that anyone’s aware of existing, and they know cloning is illegal on Krypton, and Kal isn’t here right now. Who else are they going to rely on when meeting a total stranger? 

Even a total stranger who is, technically, family. 

Or at least arguably, anyway. 

Her house communicator plays a familiar identifying little melody as she’s juggling her spheres of katso sauce and dried spygin in one arm while trying to dig out the last couple of bly fruit she <i>knows</i> she had shoved in the back of her cold storage, which admittedly is a bit cluttered with premade meals right now. Or . . . always, pretty much. 

In her defense, she really doesn’t cook very much. Or very well. Or . . . at all, really, when she can avoid it. 

She’s a grown woman and a decorated general, alright? She doesn’t need to cook if she doesn’t want to. 

“Accept call,” she instructs briskly, and the communicator’s holoscreen materializes to her side. Thirteen startles slightly; Match doesn’t so much as twitch. Doesn’t so much as breathe either, though, so she’s pretty sure he was startled too. At least, that’s the impression she’s been getting from the way he’s reacted to things so far. 

Avoided reacting to things, more like. 

“Oh, look who’s finally calling,” she says, eyeing Kal’s image on her projected screen. He looks just barely harried and the slightest bit sheepish, and she can see a dark-haired woman who’s presumably his new wife sitting behind him in his home office wearing peculiar clothing that is definitely not Kryptonian, but also doesn’t look nearly as indecent as what Thirteen and Match both showed up wearing. She seems occupied with a reader, and keeps activating and deactivating it like she’s never seen anything like it before. 

So probably the wife, yes. Lois Kal-El, née Sam-Lane, according to Kal’s previous calls. Though he also says that humans have slightly different naming schemes than Krypton does. And apparently more varied ones than Krypton does, too. 

Why Kal apparently made sure his grown wife was more appropriately dressed than the children were is beyond her, though.

[cavegirlpoems]

Hey I found your blog through the animation post, and I've been having a lot of fun reading through your thoughts on ttrpgs. I played 3.5e in high school but I am admittedly very ignorant about the medium as a whole so it's really cool to see someone's much more knowledgeable takes. I've wanted to get into it more, but life seems to get it the way.

I will say I think there's one benefit of actual plays getting big that's worth taking about: the comparison to video games. Game breaking and exploiting design quirks is a major part of modern video games, see speedrunning or basically all of Minecraft, where the entire point is pushing the game past what it was meant for. Good (video) game design requires that to be accounted for, embraced or tactfully hidden, but regardless it's axiomatic that in a game involving free movement you *supposed* to dig through all the nooks and crannies, that's the point

Listening to some DND podcasts was what made me realize you're not actually supposed to play ttrpgs like that, that there's a fundamental principle of collaboration that exists within the medium that doesn't in video games. After all, you can have a successful tabletop session with the whole party trying to break the rules or find corners of the map that didn't get fill it. At a certain point they all have to buy in or the game doesn't work.

Or maybe I'm wrong, idk you're the expert. Anyway, I like your writing, keep it up

I think you're pretty spot on. A lot of toxic (or just sub-optimal) behaviours you see come from fundamentally forgetting that you're here to collaborate, or not buying into the basic premise of the game. Of course, the thing about ttrpgs are that there are a lot of different ways to have fun with them, and different players come to them for different reasons. Some people want an overarching story. Others like inhabiting a character in a more unstructured way. Others like exploring a setting. Others like the feeling of accomplishment from overcoming in-fiction challenges. Others want to be rewarded for using the game mechanics skillfully. Somebody who's here for a big epic story and somebody who's here to explore every space on a wilderness map are going to but heads every time "should we take a detour" comes up; this is why it's important to get that buy in for the game. And, I will say, I've played some games where mastering the game mechanics and playing tactically was the point! And had a lot of fun doing it, even. (I remain a big fan of D&D 4e). If everybody rocks up to a 4e table wanting to get into the minutiea of team synergies and character builds so they can beat really fucking hard encounters (and the GM enjoys running that sort of challenge game), you can have an absolute blast! But, the point is that even here everybody is collaborating for a particular experience, and a player who kept banging on about character arcs and refused to support their team-mates in combat because "it's what my character would do" is playing disruptively, and makes the game less fun for everybody else. It's a very varied medium, is the thing.

[trekkele]

Do you know if Bruce has a hebrew name? Or do you have a headcanon for him? :O

afaik Bruce doesnt have a canon hebrew name and tbh i dont see DC ever giving him one because that would require them to 1. Acknowledge his judaism on panel in a way thats much more blatant than the occasional Culturally Significant Background Action (do i love the panel of Bruce placing a stone on a grave? Yes. Do i think the average reader has any idea what that means? No.) 2. Would make it obvious and canonical that Marthas jewishness was important to her and therefore important to Bruce, and quiet frankly i see enough fans insist that he isnt “that kind of jew” (what does that mean?? What the fuck does that mean???) that i dont think its going to happen.

Personally i always think of him as Baruch which literally translates as “blessing”, and with Marthas canonical fertility troubles and the way he dedicates himself to improving the lives of those around him (with admittedly varying levels of success) its both appropriate and ironic. Think of it as Marthas last gift, the promise that she never viewed him as anything less then a gift, a blessing, no matter what he thinks of himself.

It also has the same “b” and “r” sounds as Bruce, which was often (anecdotally) how secular names were chosen.

Another appropriate name could be Dovid, because a big thing in the navi is how King Dovid would prepare for the building of the Bais Hamikdosh but never personally see it built. Kind of how Bruce is always working for a better Gotham, but has never expected to see it.

And Baruch Dovid is a common combination of names.

(Baruch is pronounced Booh-r-uch, with the r rolling and the ch being a guttural idk growl? Its not the ‘ch’ of ‘child’)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

🌮 < emoji for easy recognition

AITA for "bullying" someone out of a group chat for putting public health at risk?

This happened a while ago but I randomly remembered it happened and I'm super curious (and also still feel bad about it despite the incident happening probably around a year ago, but I also feel entirely justified). Additionally, I put "bullying" in quotes for a reason that will become clear later.

Some background: this group chat is a local/state Telegram group chat where everyone knows the approximate location of everyone; specifically, everyone knows either what region everyone else lives in or what town/city. One of the members of the chat (who was 19 at the time) worked at a fast food restaurant local to his area and is the "someone" this is ask is referring to. It's worth noting that a not insignificant chunk of the people in this group chat (which had around 150-175 people in it at the time of this happening iirc, most of the ones involved in this situation being older than him) found this guy annoying. I did too, but I was willing to talk to him because I don't think someone being annoying is a reason to be a dick to them (and I hold this stance with most people until they cross the boundary from annoying to toxic). Eventually I did block this guy because he was kinda a dick, but this isn't too relevant. What is relevant though is blocking someone on Telegram only blocks them from directly contacting you over direct messages; it doesn't block someone from replying to you in group chats or overall interacting normally in a group chat. Anyway, I had blocked this guy as of the events I'm going to get into and because of how Telegram works, we could still communicate in the group chat.

Now onto the actual event. Keep in mind that this guy works at a restaurant.

He came into the chat one morning mentioning that he was sick, like throwing up sort of sick, and said he was going to work anyway because his workplace was short on staff. Everyone active at the moment tried to talk him out of it -- he worked at a restaurant, and he was throwing up -- but we had no success in talking him out of going to work. All of us started trying to figure out what to do because this guy was risking the safety of literally everyone there. We even brought up the fact that if he went to work and got his coworkers sick, they'd be even shorter on staff, thus completely negating his point in going to work despite being sick.

One of the other members of the chat suggested we call his workplace and let them know he told us he was throwing up because it was a safety issue. I don't remember if anyone actually called his workplace, but it was something that was discussed.

Eventually (I don't remember if it was before or after he got off work) we started telling him our concerns and admittedly it did get heated, because this guy risked public safety (and his coworkers' health) and potentially his job and the restaurant by going to work after throwing up. NONE of us were happy about it. We were all varying levels of pissed, annoyed, irritated, anxious, etc.

Eventually he left the chat and he hasn't returned since then.

Why I think I might be TA:

I contributed to the discussion of "this guy is risking public safety and he really shouldn't be going to work if he's throwing up" which is the reason he left the chat.

I told my brother (who also worked in fast food at the time) and my aunt about it and they basically told me it was a dick move.

Why I think I might not be TA, or at the very least justified:

This guy was risking public safety

I didn't actively get heated until it was clear he wasn't taking what we were saying into consideration, at which point it felt like I needed to get more intense about it because he wasn't fucking listening

Additional bits of info:

To reiterate, Telegram doesn't block people from interacting with you or vice versa in group chats specifically if you've blocked them. It just means you can't communicate over direct messages. This is why I could still talk to this guy in the group chat despite blocking him.

I'm not entirely sure how relevant it is, but in case it's more relevant than if he worked at a McDonalds or Wendy's, this guy worked at a Mexican restaurant chain. I won't say specifically which one to respect privacy, but he worked at a Mexican fast food chain.

The reason I blocked him is completely irrelevant to this, and I don't feel like sharing why I blocked him anyway.

I don't remember what my thought on "call his manager" was, please don't ask about it.

He'd already been banned from or left the chat before (I don't remember which; if it was the latter I'm pretty sure it was because he knew people found him annoying but I don't remember any bannable offenses from him), then let in again by the chat's owner. He was actually let in again I think a day or two before all this went down. Because of him having just been let into the chat again less than 5 days before all this, the chat owner was trying to get us to calm down, which we obviously weren't doing since this guy had told us he was throwing up and still went to work his fast food job.

TL;DR: AITA for participating in making a guy feel so bad about going to work after telling us he threw up and therefore risking public safety and the health of his coworkers that he left the group chat?

What are these acronyms?

[italianbabydaddy]

hey there! question: do u think lulu had a gf at any point? it seems so odd that nothing has come out as of yet of him having one? and i don’t mean like a girl coming out and saying they were bf/gf but i mean like even in photos? i can’t imagine someone like him not having a gf like at least in college?

Hi, fren!

I’m sure, like someone myself who’s become disgustingly eager in learning everything about Luigi—from before the incident and now in the current state of things now, you’ve been wondering the same thing. Especially with how so many of us have been swooning and damn near have fallen in love with the guy over this past month.

I’m not gonna lie, upon the first few days that his name was in the news and more information was coming out about him, you couldn’t presumably not assume and stereotype about the kind of life he’s had: white, Italian, conventionally attractive, evidently socially outgoing personality, intelligent, successful Ivy League education, wealthy family, etc., And of course, with the parasocial infatuation growing as time has gone on, we all wish he was ours, but we also don’t want to think he has been with somebody, as we see in our minds that there is a sense of mutual feeling and want to believe it by knowing he’s experienced relationships. I mean, look at the collective response over that apparent Polaroid of him supposedly kissing that girl. My first reaction was that my Christmas was ruined because of it. (It’s been speculated that it’s fake, so I’m not going to say it’s confirmed.)

However, after reading up on a bunch of things throughout spaces like here and Reddit (the Free L thread, particularly) and diving into really the little bit of information we know about him, I wouldn’t be horrifically surprised if he never has had a girlfriend. And I will explain why:

I’m going to use myself as an example. I’m 23 years old, and admittedly, I’ve never had a boyfriend/significant other. I’ve never even been on a date, no less, had my first kiss nor found myself having true romantic crushes—but once I have a chance with Luigi, everything will change. Anyway. The best answer that I can give you as to why this is happened is because, in all honesty, I’ve never had much of an inkling for dating/romance in my life and there really hasn’t been a time and place where it’s just come along in my life so far. When I tell people this, a lot of them are in disbelief, and argue that since I’m an attractive person to them subjectively, that I have a great personality, and the mystery of that who wouldn’t want to be with me romantically is dumbfounding.

Now, I’ll briefly mention that I’ve wondered if I’m aromantic, but that’s another story, and then there’s times where I don’t think I am, as here I am now, feening down BAD for some Italian Ivy League frat boy from Maryland that I don’t even know and who allegedly shot a CEO and now I am affectionately considering him as my man from a parasocial view?

Maybe, the time for me to be a relationship hasn’t come yet, that is, if it ever will. I’ve just never had the dire urge to seek out romance, despite being in social spaces and environments where I could interact and potentially meet someone (similar to Luigi with Greek life, school, work, etc.,). However, I will affirm strongly that nobody could ever tell me that I have not lead a meaningful life because I’ve never dated anybody; maybe instead, my understanding of a meaningful life varies across other people’s understandings, but I can tell you, with certainty, on my behalf that my life is still meaningful and one worthwhile even if I’ve never dated somebody. I can proudly state that I enjoy my life as a single person.

That being said, I understand where you’re coming from when you say how you can’t imagine someone like him—a 26-year-old conventionally attractive, outgoing, sociable, smart grown man—not ever having a girlfriend while at least in college, as he attended an all-boys high school. It’s based in a phenomenon that we’ve been sort of conditioned to go along with, known as amatonormativity, which leads to the assumption that everyone desires romantic love and that not experiencing it means something is wrong with you, making it hard for people to understand or accept that someone might not feel or have experienced romantic attraction at all. In a sense, there is societal pressure to be in romantic relationships, heterosexual or not. And when somebody doesn’t conform to that pressure, we’re shell-shocked; we are even more bamboolzed to try and actualize this news when we hear about a person that we consider romantically attractive and suitable ourselves that has not been in a relationship.

Now, before I go any further, I am not saying that Luigi is aromantic and/or asexual nor am I alleging it. Perhaps, maybe Luigi has dated someone in the past, but for some reason, we just haven’t seen any photographic evidence of him and a girlfriend for the reason being that maybe she wants to protect their privacy, the general fear/apprehension of having association with his name in the news currently, or whatever the case may be—if there is a case pointing to this. Maybe he’s never dated really at all, but he just has had casual sexual relationships that weren’t significant to either person on an emotional connection.

Or, maybe, he’s never dated at all. I say maybe in each of these scenarios because we really don’t know the truth, and we won’t know until it is known. The only way that I could even conceivably come up with an answer for the last theory it’s because of what he values and considers important in his life, and how he chooses to pursues things in life. This takes me back to his concern about agency that he discussed with Gurwinder Bhogal, and the conversations they had about the lack of free will that Luigi noticed while on his trip to Japan this year. In short, perhaps Luigi has never dated because of all the other things that he has done in his life that makes his life great for him—traveling, reading, playing chess, surfing—and that he’s never found an outstanding reason to ever consider dating since there never really has been a time yet for it happen, for whatever chance may be. He may be just focused more on his career and individuality, and doesn’t have the urge to dive further into that route.

As a whole, to answer your question: I’m not sure if he’s ever had a girlfriend at any point. Would I like to know? Sure, why not. But will we ever know? I’m not so sure. It’s a whole another investigation in understanding this Luigi Lore that we may never get to know completely.

p.s. I did NOT mean to make this into an essay, I’ve just become enraptured when talking about him and it definitely shows. I’m open to hear anybody’s else thoughts on this!!!!

[the-marshals-wife]

Ugly Sweaters and Mistletoe (Sebastian Wilder x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Merry Goosemas! 🎄 After all the comfort and joy he has brought me this year, I had to dedicate my holiday fic to another of his darling characters. I rewatched La La Land and endured the agony of the ending just so I could write this.

{Forgive me the mini chunk of exposition at the beginning, there's a ton of dialogue afterwards, I promise. I must give reader some set-up/backstory or I will perish.}

Description: Sebastian Wilder x waitress Fem!Reader, festive fluff | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol/drinking mentioned | Setting: a year or so after the epilogue | Word count: 2.6k

Imagine Sebastian surprising you with some holiday magic

Christmas had officially come to Seb's, and it was better than you'd ever imagined. As you tie your apron around your waist and make your way onto the floor to begin your shift, you try to take in all of the splendor. Garland was draped across the frames on every wall, each table had a cloth with festive print, and a beautiful tree decorated in blue and silver twinkled in the corner of the stage. Perhaps best of all, the club was absolutely brimming with guests wearing the flashiest, gaudiest holiday sweaters you'd ever seen.

You slip behind the bar, head buzzing with anticipation.

"Merry Christmas," you greet the mixologist.

"It most certainly is," he smiles, pausing to wipe his brow, "These sweaters are good for business. We got a lot of thirsty folks tonight."

"I better stay on my toes," you reply.

Even without the holiday trimmings, working at Seb's was the best job you'd ever had. The staff were some of the most easy-going people you'd ever met, the atmosphere was electric, and the music was sensational. Where else could you buss tables for a decent wage and hear a jazz concert every single night? The tips weren't too shabby either. It wasn't uncommon for you to bring drinks to studio execs and business moguls just as much as the working class jazz enthusiast. It'd taken a few years to get off the ground, but now, there was hardly a person left in LA who dared to call themselves "in the know" that hadn't at least heard of this place. By the time you'd sent in your application, Seb's was quite well-established on the scene. That was nearly a year ago now, and the club had only grown in popularity since. Even the odd movie star would visit from time to time. Some would sneak in and try to blend with the rest of the clientele, while others would leave a brigade of paparazzi out on the sidewalk, crowding around the door until said celebrity had to inevitably depart. Sebastian was quite irritable on those days, though he admitted to liking the publicity.

Oh, Sebastian. Admittedly, your favorite part of the gig was not the music or the money, but the owner himself. That was something you tried to keep to yourself, although perhaps to varying degrees of success. Like many of the nights that had come before, in the ocean of faces, you find yourself looking for one in particular. You see the band warming up on stage, but the charming, somewhat enigmatic pianist is missing.

Your fellow waitress for the evening bounces into the bar behind you, snapping you back to reality. She's decked out in a peppermint-striped sweater dress and fuzzy reindeer antler hairpieces.

"Oh my gosh, I love your outfit," you smile.

"Thank you! I love yours," she beams, "Look at this place! Cal said there was a line forming down the block two hours before opening."

"I know, this is insane," you agree, taking in the view again, "I can't believe so many people came."

"And I seriously can't believe you got Sebastian to do this," she chuckles, stacking drinks on her tray.

You pick up a cloth and start polishing a glass. "What do you mean?"

"He's super strict about the aesthetic of this place. Everything's gotta fit 'the jazz vibe', you know? He wouldn't even let people wear anything special for Halloween."

"Really? I wore a princess tiara and had glitter all in my hair on Halloween. He didn't say a word to me about it."

She stops long enough to shoot you a pointed look. You could instantly feel your cheeks turning red.

"My point exactly," she responds, smirking, "Boy, am I glad, too. I love working here, but around the holidays, it has been like a funeral home. No lights, no tree. Not even a shred of tinsel."

"You're kidding," you say, realization finally starting to sink in.

"Now it's like the mall at Christmas in here," she declares, "Whatever you're doing, honey, keep it up."

She winks. Before you can explain that her guess was as good as yours on what that might be, she's walked away and left you to your stunned thoughts.

Did Sebastian really do all this just because you asked? You try to think back to the moment that you suggested it to him. By all accounts, it had been a night like any other. You were cleaning up your tables, eagerly thinking about the upcoming holiday season, especially since it would be your first working at Seb's. At your last job, they talked about doing an ugly Christmas sweater night for the staff and guests, but you left before getting to participate. You always thought it would be fun. So, when Sebastian walked you to your car that night, like he always did when you worked the closing shift, you brought it up.

"Sounds...colorful," he'd remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

And that was it, until a week ago when you saw the pile of fliers on the bar for Seb's first ever ugly Christmas sweater party. You'd been too excited to realize how out of the ordinary it was. Thanks to your amused coworker, you now wonder how you could have missed it.

More anxious than ever to see him, you make yourself busy, going out to your tables and collecting orders. Yet by the time you deliver your third full tray of drinks, there was still no sign of Sebastian. From the back of the room, you can see the rest of the band up on stage shrugging and talking amongst themselves. Just as you're about to sneak into the back to look for him yourself, you hear a familiar voice.

Sebastian hurriedly walks up alongside you, surveying the full club.

"Oh good, they didn't start without me," he says, out of breath.

"I was starting to think you got lost, Wilder," you say, turning to face him.

"Just had to swing by the North Pole and grab a change of costume. I definitely didn't forget it in my car," he replies, slicking back his tousled hair, "So, what do you think?"

He peers down and holds out the bottom of his bright red sweater, a huge golden saxophone emblazoned on the front surrounded by tiny silver music notes.

Your hands fly up over your mouth, the sight filling you with instant joy.

"I freaking love it," you grin, "It's glorious."

"Think it's snazzy enough? Or, should I say, jazzy enough?"

"It's so jazzy," you answer, giggling in delight.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You look pretty festive yourself."

You glance down at your green yuletide apparition, the two googly eyes of a fluffy white cat in an elf hat staring up at you.

"Thanks. It was between this and one that had Santa with a Hawaiian shirt and a margarita. This one spoke to me though."

"I think it's speaking to me too," he says, raising an eyebrow, "The eyes really follow you, don't they?

Just like always, Sebastian had you laughing and nearly forgetting the rest of the world.

"Speaking of eyes following you," you begin, gesturing, "Don't you have a show to start?"

"Indeed I do. Time to jingle some bells," he says, clapping his hands together, "See you after?"

Your heart skips at the suggestion. "I'll be here."

He starts to walk off, but then you're struck with sudden remembrance.

"Wait, Seb!" you call after him, reaching into your apron, "I almost forgot."

He spins on his heel and returns, his bright blue eyes wide with expectation.

"To complete your look," you say, holding out a Santa hat, "You're the boss, after all."

"Of course. How can I refuse?" he smiles, taking it from your grip and placing it on his head, "You don't have a long white beard for me too, do you?"

"No, no, you're good. I left that in my other apron," you snort, playfully shoving his arm, "You better get up there, Jazzy Claus."

"That's good. I'm gonna use that," he replies before dashing away.

Now remembering that you're on the clock, you quickly maneuver back to home base where more orders are surely waiting on you. Across the club, Sebastian finally makes his way onto the stage and up to the microphone.

"Happy Holidays," he greets after the boisterous applause, "I see a lot of folks who have donned their gay apparel. I know I have. And I've got just one question for you. Who here is feeling the Christmas spirit?"

The audience laughs and whoops in confirmation as you arrange a round of refills on your tray, stealing glances as you go.

"I think we've got at least a few," he smiles, scanning the crowd, "But if you're not feeling it yet, I believe you will before the night is over. I'd like to thank you all for attending our first ever 'Ugly Sweater Celebration.' We've got a great line up for you tonight that will hopefully put a spring in your step, and maybe even bring some cheer to your hearts."

"But before we start rocking around the Christmas tree, I want to take a moment to thank a very special someone."

You nearly drop the glass in your hand. Before you can move, the soft glow of one of the stage lights is pointing directly at you. Your pulse begins to race, and through your stupor, you hear Sebastian continue.

"The lovely Miss Y/N, without whom tonight's party, and much of the magic here at Seb's, would not have been possible."

As the audience claps in your honor, you look up to see Seb's gaze fixed on you. In that moment, the glitter and garland faded away. All that remained was you and he.

Only once he sat down at the piano and began to play did time start again.

⋆

The party was a complete success. People even cheered for an encore of ''Zat You, Santa Claus?', which Seb was all too happy to give. Meanwhile, you somehow managed to focus on your tables and get through the rest of your shift without busting from excitement, Seb's speech about you replaying in your mind. As much as you enjoyed the festivities, you couldn't keep your thoughts from wandering to what might await after the final carol was played.

Now that the last guest had left, and the rest of the staff had gone home, you and Sebastian were the only two left in the building. The suspense quickens your pace as you switch off the remaining lights and gather your things. Like clockwork, Sebastian stands by the door waiting for you.

"I'm about to sweat to death in this thing," he says as you approach, keys jingling in his hand, "You ready for some fresh air?"

"Don't have to ask me twice," you reply, pulling your purse over your shoulder.

He holds the door open for you, locking up once you're through. You wait for him at the top of the stairs like usual as he switches off the neon, going through the motions of the nightly routine in uncharacteristic silence. You figured he was exhausted from spreading holiday cheer, yet you couldn't help but wonder if anticipation was weighing on him as well. The damp night air brings little relief as you step onto the sidewalk, but it would take an arctic breeze to chill your nerves.

He locks the outer door and lets out a dramatic sigh.

"Much better," he exhales, "At least three degrees cooler. Maybe five."

You start off down the block side by side.

"I'd say about four and a half," you nod, "Why don't you take the sweater off?"

"And undo all that Christmas spirit? I think not," he scoffs.

"What was I thinking?" You roll your eyes, bouncing your palm off of your forehead.

"You didn't have one of those eggnog cocktails, did you? Which was not my idea, by the way," he adds, shuddering.

"Absolutely not, that was disgusting. Just the smell of it-," you gag, wishing you could dispel the memory entirely, "If I never have to serve another of those again, it'll be too soon."

Silence falls between you for a moment as you turn the corner and start down the alley towards the parking lot.

"I think my halls are officially decked," he says, a bit quieter than before.

"Same. I smiled so much, my cheeks hurt."

"You're not going to report that as a workplace injury, are you?" he teases, "Cause if you are, I'm gonna need to lawyer up."

Your expression turns sly. "Well, we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement."

"Uh oh, like what?" he asks, faking nervousness.

"Like...you agreeing to have a Christmas party every year from now on," you respond with confidence.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be. I give ya an inch, and you take a candy cane mile!" he throws up his hands in feigned exasperation.

You step ahead of him and begin to walk backwards, staring him down.

"We could always take it to court, Wilder. But I'm warning you, my lawyer has never lost a facial injury case. I think you should just accept the deal and walk while you still can," you say sternly, trying not to crack up.

He stops in his tracks and crosses his arms, frowning, "I didn't take you for a cutthroat."

"That was your mistake, Jazzy Claus," you smirk, "Never judge a woman by her ugly sweater."

Sebastian can keep up the charade no longer, breaking down into laughter. You swiftly follow suit.

"Alright, alright. Twist my arm, why don't ya," he concedes, rolling his eyes and starting to walk again.

"I knew you'd see it my way," you chuckle, pleased with your victory.

Your car comes into view, and with the playful moment passed, you determine to tell him what you'd actually intended to.

"I really enjoyed tonight. Everyone did. Thank you for doing all of this."

"It was a great idea. I'm glad you thought of it."

Your journey ends as you reach the front of your car, and you stand face to face.

"That's all I did. You're the one who brought it to life and pulled off a Christmas miracle," you remind.

"Because of you," he states, "I get stuck in my ways sometimes. But when you're around...not so much."

"Well, I'm glad I can help," you offer, glancing down at your shoes.

"I meant what I said up on stage, Y/N. This place is better with you," he pauses, inching closer to you, "So am I."

You're momentarily lost for words, captivated by his softened gaze.

"I also meant to hang this somewhere out here." He reaches into his pocket and produces a sprig of mistletoe tied with a thin red ribbon, "But there's really nothing to walk under. And then I thought, 'maybe that's a weird thing to do', even though it's a time-honored tradition. So you know, I just spiraled from there."

You grin and take the sprig from his open palm.

"Don't overthink it, Wilder," you say, holding it over your head.

He takes only seconds to accept your invitation. The space between you disappears as he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss. Time stops once more as you kiss him back beneath the winter stars. This too was better than you'd ever dreamed.

"Do you have any plans for New Years Eve?" you ask, awestruck.

He slips his hand into yours and smiles.

"I do now."

[normalbrothers]

Omg my discord server has discussed that exact “facilitating sexual violence” thread with tommy. Our running theory (literally what we call “The Theory”) is that Arthur Sr facilitated Tommy’s abuse for money, and that’s created a lot of his views on people being investments. The “everyone’s a whore” line and his whole complex about Lizzie’s past (side note, also the way they look suspiciously similar… the mirrors are mirroring) are probably the most obvious examples, but the fears he has about being seen as useless to his family and his tendency to Literally “sell them out” for their continued success read like a monstrous combination of soldier mentality and childhood trauma. On top of that, the other people who (imo) conduct themselves the most like him in the criminal underworld, such as Polly, Michael, Grace, Jack (heavily implied), and Alfie (if you’ve listened to TGOAS) have also all been SA/SH victims. AND, in one way or another, those people betray Tommy— or a stand-in for Tommy —while playing the role of someone who was supposed to protect him/the stand-in. It is sooo!!!! Sorry that was a massive amount of word vomit but I had to yappppp 😫

´mh. the dangers of posting a take that doesn't get into the nuances. i kind of see your point(s), but i think i only agree with half of it, and even then with caveats. looking at a thematic thread is important, because it obviously Says Something, but i think getting into individual situations and what causes them, and the specific motivations that underline them is somewhat more important here, because it Says Something Even More.

this is rather long so i'm putting it under a read more (i hope it's not typo-riddled and that the sentences are legible, i find it awfully diffcult to actually make post on tumblr hdhd somehow the lay out doesn't appeal to my brain)

i haven't seen a lot of meta that actually argues for this, but arthur sr prostituting tommy (though, there are also fics that do the same thing with arthur) seems to be a relatively commonplace trope on ao3 - at least it's more prevalent than, say, arthur sr sexually abusing tommy himself. i can see where this comes from - sr appears like an opportunist who is mostly driven by wanting to make a quick buck for his own gain and who apparently has little emotional attachment to his children - and we have tommy's scathing line about children working for men "in their various ways", clearly implying sexual exploitation, but my personal theory when it comes to tommy and his relationship to his father doesn't exactly involve this (though, to be fair my take on their father is in general a little different than what fandom tends to go for - and, admittedly, i'm sentimental about this, but i don't think it's entirely unfounded either). but both are theories in the end, with an equal amount of "validity"; it's not like the concluding movie will confirm anything in that regard.

however, the problem with this theory, or rather making it the source of tommy's view of the world and the people around him, is that it precedes the war trauma, but the way we are introduced to tommy, how he operates and how we are meant to look at his initial ruthlessness (which is not a permanent state, it dissolves more and more as the show goes on) is the result of that specifically. the tommy before the war is someone that largely remains elusive to us. but we know that most of his family's grievances with him in the first season in particular are about how different (see: inaccessible and emotionally detached) he is since he came back - polly, arthur, their father point this out, all with varying degrees of judgment and condemnation, and much to tommy's dismay: he knows he's different, but unable to change that. it begets an odd feedback loop where he is rejected and simultaneously unable and often unwilling to talk about anything. thus the entire 'tommy doesn't talk to his family, his family (sometimes justifiedly) calls him out on it, but seemingly doesn't actually want to know anything, so tommy says even less' Complex becomes kind of a chicken and egg situation that causes most of their strife. but it's not necessarily a dynamic where one is categorically wrong and the other right. the troubling thing about this, of course, is that he often jumps things on them without briefing them beforehand and this may have the result that someone gets hurt - it's a nasty habit he has, but also something that lessens as the show goes on, but it's ... not exactly coming from nowhere. indeed, his family doesn't listen to or is dismissive of him; they are quite a few instances where they against his orders or don't heed his requests or warnings (a huge point of contention in season 3). important here is also that he doesn't retaliate or punish for this - if he's sometimes displeased and huffy that he isn't given a lot of respect by the people closest to him (as one would respect a traditional patriarch), he does little to and is unable to actually enforce it, nor is he feared by them.

nevertheless, he's still, in a way, regarded as the family's emotional center (next to polly), and despite everything, is still entrusted to look after his family members, my assumption is that he had a sort of caretaker function before the war without being considered the head of the family (it's important to point out that he takes over in s1, in his late twenties, instead arthur (early thirties) is introduced to us as the head of the family, the script itself goes as far as calling him a 'king': and he still tries to act with authority towards tommy in the beginning, which makes me think that this is something that *did* work once upon a time (actually, you can still see glimpses of this throughout the show), but doesn't anymore: tommy only starts to challenge him at this point, where both of them are well into adulthood) - and what tommy says of himself is that he believed they deserved better and that he used to be impatient and angry at 'slowness'. the notion that he was a romantic and idealist seems plausible to me; in that sense i don't think he was born a businessman, that he was always able to strategize, and use people, with aim for profit - and even then this is not exactly what motivates him in the first place.

so this is evidently not something his father taught him, but rather a trait (the compartmentalization, using people as tools as he himself is a tool) he developed over the course of the war where at some point he served as sergeant major, with men under him that he was responsible for, but also had to command (always in the extremely stressful context that any of them could die, and that any mismanagement or misstep on tommy's part could be the reason for this - *that* is the root of tommy's ruthlessness/emotional "coldness", he has to compartmentalize: his friends and brothers become soldiers he commands, with the traumatic knowledge that he might be sending them to their deaths - that arthur and john survive, also because of him, informs their dynamic once they return. they very much trust him as their leader, that tommy will take care of things and that he knows what he's doing, but without the circumstance of a literal war, they become brothers (human) again and these pre-war relationships and the traumatic distribution of their roles during the war are a source of conflict - it's not just a terrible thing for arthur and john, it also has a bad impact on tommy. something of a side note: while wealth and status and the trappings that come with it are things he enjoys - as does the rest of the family! - his attempts to achieve legitimacy and assimilation have more to do with safety for himself and his family (and he brutally learns that this is not really possible). for example john and arthur - as "bad" as him - enjoy the life, even as they admire tommy for what he seems capable of, they don't really see a point in tommy's plans to go legitimate. both of them would have, likely, been "content" to remain gangsters and rule over their small corner of the world (though, of course, we are privy to arthur's ongoing dilemma of wanting two opposing things and that he buckles under his own guilt, as tommy does) - that is not a safer way of living, however. sooner or later someone like campbell would have shown up anyway, and any of them could have still been gunned down in a turf war or have been arrested and eventually faced legal punishment for their crimes. this is not a position that tommy put them in, but of course, through tommy, they face problems on a larger scale - but the entire family wouldn't have been safer either way - this is an incredibly important point - poor and marginalized and criminalized and criminal as they are.

so, my very longwinded first point here is that tommy's behaviour, as it starts out in the show and how we see it transform over the course of it, is not something his father taught him. i also think it's a mistake framing tommy as acting like his father in any way (their motivations and ambitions and personalities are almost completely diametrically opposed) - this isn't really something that the show makes a point of, and he is certainly not replicating something, according to this theory, that his father subjected him to with his family members. mostly he structures the business militaristically, with him as a commanding officer - that business and family are the same thing, in a sense, and that it doesn't work as neatly as it should in theory is big ongoing problem for all of them.

okay, now coming to the actual point around the subject of 'facilitating sexual violence'.

for this i actually have to make another point that i haven't gotten into yet, but something that is important about tommy is that he starts out with a very rigid "them vs us" mindset (@deadendtracks pointed out that this also is a result of the shelbys being particularly marginalized as romani/travelling people, even among their equally poor working class peers) - he actually makes a sharp distinction between family and not-family. it's a fairly fascist rationale and it's not an accident that once he enters politics, and comes up against mosley, he starts to expand his scope (though it is incomplete as of yet), to care for more than just his family's safety and success. non-family people are those he tends to use or exploit, often with little consideration or guilt (or the guilt is compartmentalized: there is a reason he sees the pile of anonymous dead bodies in his bathroom when he has the seizure in s6), those are who he sees as investments and who he would "sell out" if it benefits him and the family. this is not true for his family members, actually. my guess is that fandom conflates these two things, because there seems to be a lasting misunderstanding of what happened in s3 with the arrests - which didn't happen, because tommy "sold them out", but as a consequence of things tommy had a limited amount of control over (i'm not at all suggesting that tommy is blameless here, but it's a little more complex than that). and this actually starts in s2, after his mock execution (a form of torture) he is told that churchill/the government will make use of him when the time comes, the events of s3 are predicated upon this (actually the entirety of s1 and s2 are the building blocks for the s3 arc and fallout (tommy being arguably hubristic in the beginning plays a minor, rather than a major, part)): under the threat of his family being executed, they are coerced into the russian plot - this is not something tommy chose to do. what he does is demand payment for it, however, but you can see a logic in this: if he gets fucked, they should at least compensate him. (this is an aspect of tommy's "everyone's a whore" thesis as well). tommy repeatedly warns and cautions is family over the season: it's absolutely not in his interest that any of them get arrested, or that he "sells them out" or that he sacrifices them (i could also get into the fact that even if one makes the point that he doesn't care for his family beyond seeing their utility, sacrificing them would be dumb, economically, because tommy knows he can't do things on his own, he has to delegate, and willingly sacrificing people profoundly loyal to him through familial and love relations for some middle-term goal, that might not work out at all, is ... a silly thing to do - who could he possibly replace them with?)

i somewhat understand that the initial perception would be that tommy is capable of this, tommy is possibly somewhat opaque in the beginning - but it never actually happens in the show, certainly not in the way people talk about it, and at some point i think the distinction (family and not-family) tommy makes should become clear to the audience - because it's a thematic element that underlines tommy's arc from s1 to s6. i also think you have to make a difference between arthur and john as soldiers/gangsters and polly and ada (and finn) who are "civilians". they are all part of a criminal organization, voluntarily as far as it goes (ada, of course, makes a point of distancing herself from the family at first, which tommy doesn't really fight her on). john and arthur are soldiers like tommy, and they make up the "illegal" musclework of their business efforts; beyond the moral injury around killing (sustained in the war), they are also aware that what they do could end badly for them: they are not blue-eyed about it, and they agreed to this. it's not forced upon them by tommy, setting aside that tommy himself gets his hands dirty; he does not treat them as disposable goons who do all the bloody work while tommy sits back and keeps his hands clean. (tommy does have goons he doesn't care about, though). he is not exploiting his brothers - which is another aspect of "selling them out", i guess. i think that is diminishing the agency they have, and the fact that they act on their own and why they do so and they certainly don't always follow tommy's orders. and then of course, ada and polly (and the wives) are kept out of the line of fire (which tragically doesn't always work), both as women, but also because they don't have the experience of killing/war. finn is an different can of worms, and probably deserves it's own separate meta.

okay! i'm getting to the part about sexual violence. now.

sexual violence - the allusions to past trauma, the constant threat of it and the actual acts we see happen on the show - permeates the narrative fabric of the show. as another smart person once pointed out, it's not a mistake that the show's (powerful) antagonists, simultaneously representatives of institutions (the police, the clergy, the aristocracy) that shape and order society, tend to be perpetrators of sexual violence as well: campbell is a rapist, hughes is an abuser of children and while mosley and mitford are not shown to be either of these things, their depraved sexual predatoriness still stands out.

of course, tommy here, as a "middleman" or medium is a subject worthy of discussion, then, but i also think we have to look at these instances where it happens separately (because they are not the same, despite the connecting thread).

grace and kimber: this might be a subjective impression, but i think what tommy does here is the most calculating (and in that sense the worst if just going by his motivations) out of all these examples. he takes note of kimber's obvious interest in grace and at this point likely already plans to make her part of his deal at the race. a big point here, in fact, is that grace is not only not-family, but she's a complete outsider to small heath/birmingham as well, and tommy very quickly clocks her as an upperclass woman on top. while he doesn't suspect her of being a spy (instead he manufactures his own explanation for her presence that grace cleverly adopts), she's still suspicious to him. initially, while also being attracted to and intrigued by her, tommy sees her as an intruder still at the point of episode 3 (where the race happens). in a way, she means nothing to him here, and given kimber's visible attraction to her, it seems like an easy quick way to let him proceed in his efforts. that he changes his mind - perhaps his conscience kicking in after all, perhaps because he already likes her more than he thought - is important conclusion to all this. he can't go through with it. and this is the beginning of the show where i think he's still reeling from the war, in that sense is the most ruthless/shut off (barring s4 where he's deeply cynical and depressed), and simultaneously on a high, because things are generally going well for him and the family (besides campbell's pesky presence).

lizzie and the marshall: it's somewhat important to note tommy genuinely didn't want to her to get hurt - that he needed her to lure the marshall away, but not to actually engage in sexual activity, is true. and tommy acts on short notice - he's desperate to get the assassination done while fearing that at the end of it he will be executed (he doesn't get out of the situation through any scheme of his, but rather is "spared", but of course, that he's spared only means is continued exploitation by the government). all of that is pretty worthless to lizzie, to be sure, who gets assaulted anyway, and none of that would have happened if tommy hadn't wasted time to brag to campbell that grace loves him. this disregard, though not exactly cruelty, towards lizzie (instead of ensuring her safety, he opts to talk about the woman he's in love with) constitutes a tragic element of their relationship. he doesn't hate her, nor do i really think he as a "complex" around her being a prostitute, but he tends to spare her little thought, and this is certainly influenced by her class (and sex) most of all. connected to this is also a mindset that "she can take it", and in that way tommy does relate to her, because he can as well, but of course, it's not the same either; their relationship doesn't start out as a very equal one, and on top of this, lizzie is not-family as well. here it's important to note that this is not a fixed, but something that changes: he very much starts to see her as part of the family and which brings me to another point that underscores tommy's family/not-family delineation. in s5, mosley basically asks him to hand lizzie over - given what tommy's trying to do, complying with mosley's request would actually make things easier for him, but he very brusquely (and remarkably so, because tommy is afraid of this man and never really finds himself capable of saying 'no' to other things) tells him off, and eventually gives lizzie room to reject him herself.

arthur and tatiana: while i included them in my post, i think it's a bit different than these other two situations - not because arthur's violation here isn't awful, or to suggest the sentiment that women can't sexually assault men, but this is the contemporary assumption and it would be anachronistic for any of these characters to actually think along these lines. tommy knows that his brothers are going to have to strip in front of izabella and tatiana, and characteristically only tells them of it last minute; arthur is unwilling, but "obeys" in the end. at first, tommy's visibly amused by it - part of this is petty revenge, because both john and arthur prior made fun of him for "working" with tatiana - but when she goes too far and starts to molest arthur, tommy's entire demeanor shifts; he grows horrified and dissociates. tommy couldn't have predicted that the situation would get out of hand, but he did wrong by arthur to not try and tell him earlier (then again, this is all under the big context that tommy doesn't actually want to be there either (and all this in the aftermath of his assault and hughes breathing down his neck) and arthur himself has shown to be somewhat fickle and unreliable throughout the season so far; he doesn't want to take any risks here, but of course, that doesn't entirely justify it either).

another sidenote: arthur and sacrifice is also an interesting subject, because i know the fandom has a tendency to assign a vast power imbalance between tommy and arthur, where tommy has all the leverage, and poor, loyal, traumatized arthur has no choice but to obey his brother. arthur is expendable to tommy, arthur is too good-natured and naive to see it. this is non-sense, of course, but it seems like no amount of meta or attempts to even the scales here will ever change this misconception. i won't get into it too much right now, but what i'm going to get at - and this is actual an important aspect when it comes to this sexual violence continuum and tommy as "middleman" theme in the show - is arthur and linda. arthur's behaviour towards linda escalates into abuse from season 4 onward and while not explicit, it seems to be that part of this abuse is also sexual in nature (linda tries to appease arthur with sex in s4, he kisses her against her will and to her palpable fear and disgust while grabbing her throat in s5, and in s6 linda makes "not sleeping with arthur" a part of her deal with tommy, it's an attempt to insure herself as she accepts tommy's request to help him) - tommy likely doesn't know this, but he does enable arthur's abuse of her. mind you, "enabling" doesn't make him the culprit or the instigator, that is all arthur. while linda is technically family as well, there is a hierarchy at play, and her imposed role is that of arthur's caretaker, if linda leaves, so tommy fears, arthur might spin out of control and self-destruct (or go destructive on others). it's not only that he worries arthur can't be of use to him anymore, he genuinely cares for and loves him, and if it means he has to stuff linda into the meatgrinder he'll do it. the decision tommy makes when relaying the information of linda's whereabouts is not one he makes gladly - he's fiddling with his cyanide capsule during the conversation - but it's triage between arthur and linda/her friend (it doesn't help that arthur insistently and aggressively threatens tommy over the phone while using textbook abuser talk concerning linda ("i just want to talk")). he makes the choice and gives arthur the information, knowing that arthur will likely do as arthur does. it's another instance that illustrates tommy's family vs not-family mindset (or more intricately, that there's also a hierarchy within his family). i'm also bringing this up, because through arthur's threats he also makes use of tommy - tommy tries to bargain with arthur and arthur steamrolls tommy (it's not an accident that this conversation is sandwiched between tommy and lizzie's deal and his attempts at making a deal with mosley, who similarly steamrolls him ("it's not going to be that kind of relationship"),

now having written all that down, my tentative conclusion is a) tommy has a habit of sacrificing people, but those are not his family members and b) the middleman theme is important, but a lot of this ruthlessness has to do with his experience in the war rather than something he strictly learned in his childhood (at the hands of his father) c) the aspect of sexual violence - and sexual violence as an ongoing theme in the show - factors into this and tommy, around whom this theme is constructed, is not free of guilt here, but that he is not the perpetrator is an important qualitative distinction. there are also other points i made, but my brain is about to explode lol

i'm trying to keep the last part short re: characters people who conduct themselves like tommy. using experience of sexual violence as the lowest common denominator doesn't actually translate into a lot of shared behaviour among these characters in my eyes. polly shares tommy's sense of familial responsibility and has vested interest in their success and safety, but she doesn't operate the way tommy (and arthur and john) does, because she's lacking the war experience. michael's big tragedy is that he never comes home - he remains alienated within the family, due to the traumatic events of his adoption, but another part of this is also that, despite this, he was afforded a relatively privileged middle class upbringing with access to a good formal education. he doesn't understand the criminal world the way tommy and the rest of the family do (he's also a little audacious about it all) grace is a true believer in her cause - she is an agent of the crown and therefore someone who furthers the interests of her class. the law is on her side, that makes her the opposite of a criminal (of course, the thesis of the show is the hypocrisy of legitimacy: what's the difference between an upperclass person/aristocrat who sits on generational wealth and power, achieved through the subjugation of an impoverished and marginalized majority and colonialism, and the shelbys who commit violence in a very direct way in order to move up in the world, but the effects of their violence are on a much smaller scale and in the beginning not structural (that the peaky blinders become a sort of institution by the end of the show is Another point)) nelson ... is tommy if tommy was completely amoral and apolitical: he's the perfect business man in that sense and they may have a shared understanding of where they come from, but the trajectory of these people is vastly differently (nelson is probably an amalgation of both arthur and tommy's worst potential, he could be tommy if tommy was, as i said, actually amoral and apolitical and he has perfected, with his lack of conscience and guilt, arthur's sadistic streak) alfie also doesn't really operate like tommy in my eyes, and i think this is mostly due to him possessing no familial ties (i mean, he seems to have a family, but there's in implication of closeness, the mother he mentions is dead, if i remember correctly). it's fascinating to me that he attaches himself to tommy the way he does, to the point of wanting tommy to euthanize him.

all these characters have somewhat different motivations, philosophies and experiences - it makes the commonalities they share interesting, but i think little of it is actually built on experience of sexual abuse, especially as it seems that this is, amongst other things, what makes their points of view so varying.

as i've said, i can see your points, but my feelings are that a lot of it is being conflated and that it requires more nuance when looking at these details. working out the themes of something - which a story is built on - doesn't quite make up for looking what this concretely means or how exactly it plays out/what actually happens

[deskgirl]

Actually, I’m not done with my Everyone is a Time Traveler AU. To follow up, everyone being time travelers explains all the historical anachronisms. It’s all intertemporal pollution and debris. Crocs and studded belts and songs from the 1940s and buttercream and living in someone’s head rent free. This is what happens when too many time travelers converge on the same point in Spacetime.

And yes some of the crew still believe in curses and fairies and crystals and gremlins. So do real NASA scientists and plane pilots. Anyway, if time travel exists, who’s to say other things can’t? Best not to risk it. Some of the crew might also be from even earlier time periods, pulled into the 1700s by wormholes or the Bermuda Triangle.

By the way, I’m putting Buttons down for believing in the theory that all moments in Time, past, present, and future, are equally and simultaneously real, and we merely experience these moments in successive order, creating the sense of a passage of time(B-theory more or less). He describes Time as a “great sea.” The crew never knows, when he’s talking about his love of the sea, if he means the actual wet thing or Time.

I’m also putting Izzy down for believing Time is set in stone and can’t be changed. The details may vary, but the big things always happen. It’s why Stede Bonnet and then Ed going off-script disturbs him so much. It’s why he pushes Ed, why he’s resigned to the raids, why even when he tries to finally talk Ed down and change the direction things are headed, a part of him already knows he’s about to be shot. Finally, finally, finally, he figures it out. It takes turning everything he believed for the last several decades on its ear, shaking the foundation of everything he knows, but he finally gets that some things don’t change—can’t change—but some things can. Some things do. And you have to accept when it does.

Also, I’m going to double down on Ed and Stede having to become time travelers for Plot Convenient Reasons because then they can split up and each hit a different moment in time.

More about Ed and Stede’s Excellent Adventure under the Read More because this is getting wordy. I basically wrote a fic under here. Enjoy.

Picture Ed in a terrifying metal box as lights flash and things make scary noises, or perhaps being outfitted with a fancy time travel bracer with lots of fancy buttons and knobs he’s not to touch under any circumstance—and then suddenly he’s dropping into the ocean. He pulls himself up onto a ship to find himself witnessing the tail end of a raid. He sees Ivan on the deck unmoving amongst the bodies. He sees himself boarding the Revenge, back turned.

He thinks for a brief moment about ending it all right then and there. He could kill his past self. Change everything. Save everyone. It’s not like he exactly likes the guy, right? He’s had this exact dream before even.

But then what happens? Buttons—who was admittedly a seagull at the time but Ed is trying not to question it because he’s already half-convinced it was a dream—warned him about this. He can change certain events, but things might not work out the way he expects or wants. What if Izzy picks up the mantle of Blackbeard and dies for the legend? What if Stede never finds him and keeps searching until he ends up hung by the British or on a Chinese pirate ship with an ominously ticking clock? What if—

Ivan. What he can do is save Ivan. That’s why he’s here. The crew wasn’t sure exactly where or when Ivan died, the raids were all a blur after a while you know? But Ed knew. He remembered Ivan died on the 82nd day of consecutive raiding two hours after noon bell, and he remembered he made everyone get back on the Revenge because he couldn’t stand to let himself or any of the crew show weakness and he didn’t want to watch Ivan die. So he doesn’t know what’s about to happen next. He doesn’t know Ivan survives or that he’s disguised as the sole surviving sailor of the raided merchant ship which somehow miraculously limps its way to a village coastline. The folks say the ship sailed itself. Others say it was Calypso or spirits. Certainly couldn’t have been the half-dead man who apparently hauled himself down to the surgeon’s quarters and patched himself up in the nick of time.

Stede, meanwhile, is also unceremoniously dumped in the sea beside a vacant Revenge anchored in the bay of the currently besieged Republic of Pirates. He wants to charge in and save the day, but, well, he’s already doing that in a sense. For better or for worse. Instead, he hides down in the kitchen and waits. He waits until a harried and very familiar blond man in a naval uniform comes barreling in looking for medical supplies. He’s not looking for a rolling pin to the back of the head. Stun move.

When Stede comes back up, his clothes are rumpled, his hair is a mess and doesn’t quite look the right cut, he’s hauling a covered box, but no one notices. They do notice when he drags Roach over and tells him to save Izzy, interrupting him in the middle of his very important last words to a distraught Ed.

Stede tells a pale, sweating, dying Izzy that he hasn’t been given permission to retire yet, and if he’ll kindly recall, Stede is the captain now and he’ll follow his orders.

Roach tries to explain there’s nothing to be done, he doesn’t have the tools (because they don’t exist yet), only to have Stede start pulling out said tools to everyone’s confusion. A scalpel and forceps from a one-man spaceship escape pod, sunk off the coast of Jamaica. Sealed packets of gauze from an apocalypse survivor’s hidden bug-out bag. Vials of antibiotics, tetanus vaccine, and pain killers from a boat caught in a strange storm years ago. an IV drip from a one-man vessel built to test a spacefold engine. A glass tube with a plunger and a big, wicked-looking needle on it that really is quite awful but it was the best anyone could hope to fashion in 1720 based on provided sketches and descriptions. Stede asks if this will work. Roach lights up. It’s a little concerning. But a good sign. Hopefully.

Ivan finds Ed and Stede a few months later.

He’d heard about the inn. He tells Ed about how he remembers seeing two of him. He waves off any attempt at an explanation. He doesn’t need it. Probably for the best he doesn’t know. He’s just glad Ed got his shit sorted out.

He’s relieved to hear Izzy survived, too. He thinks it’s funny Izzy would go and give a big dramatic death speech only to survive. That’d just be his luck. No wonder he’s run off with the crew instead of sticking around.

Ed admits he doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. Izzy is alive, but for a while there he wasn’t and neither was Ivan. He bottled up so much of the pain, hung onto it. At the same time, he did grieve. They were gone. But now they’re alive and what’s he supposed to do with it all?

Ivan figures there’s probably a world where they did die, and it’s alright for Ed to hurt over that, but they’re alive here and now and so he can put that pain aside. In a parallel of the lesson Izzy learned, Ivan points out you have to recognize what you can change, accept what you can’t. That’s all anyone can do.

Meanwhile Stede has an idea he got from the crew for a big outdoor bath as an amenity for the inn. A pool, Lucius had called it. Very popular in the future. A must-have for any successful hotel. Big tiled thing like the Romans used, with reclining wooden lounges and umbrellas all around. It’ll need plenty of cleaning, though. Lucius made sure he knew it was the done thing in Rome and thus in the future as well to have attractive men in very little clothing attend to such duties. Well, when in Rome!

[subzerosongie]

LUCIFER SFW HEADCANNONS

Omnisexual and Demiromantic, Lucifer finds beauty in just about everyone. 

Struggles with affection, Lucifer's rank as an Angel wasn't known for being overly affectionate. Lucifer can come across as suffocating and controlling when he shows affection. 

Has deep tissue scars where his angel wings used to be, he did rip them clean off his body.

On the rare occasion he misses his old life but that's a rare feeling, usually when he's heavily intoxicated 

He's aware that he misses the memories and not the Celestial Realm himself

His feelings towards the Celestial Realm are mixed at best and negative at worst. 

He wishes he could goof off like the others, but understands his role

Struggles with emotions, both others and his own. 

Admittedly self indulgent, he makes no effort to hide his fondness for alcohol 

Knows how much he has to drink to get to the level of intoxicated he desires

Insists he's not addicted

Smokes when he's particularly stressed out.

Was a leading example of virtue while in the Celestial realm for most of his time there. 

Had a rebellious teen phase

Thinks about having kids more often than he'd even admit to

The idea of Romantic relationships with him makes him uneasy, he hasn't been in one in ages and the last one didn't end well. 

This is because despite all his good traits as a romantic partner his struggles with affection and general tendencies to be protective, even overprotective at times make him worry about chasing people away

This said, Lucifer loves simple pet names like Darling, My Sweet, Love, Babe/Baby, Honey. He does have a few special ones he's fond of using towards his lover.

Scars litter his body, most are superficial but aside from the wings one, other deep scars are on his chest, lower back, neck, face, arms and legs. 

Finds humans endlessly fascinating 

Fangs adorn his top and bottom jaws where human canines are located. 

Has a beastly demon form, he's rarely had to use it and are a mix of a demon and his symbolic animals of Peacock and Bat. He also hates this form.

Likes the harder musical genres outside cursed records. Metal and Rock are his favourites

Cat person, dogs can be too demanding for his tastes

Likes Salty foods

Winter is favourite season

Heat is actually hard for him to deal with

Devildom's natural climate is perfect for him

He regrets his fall, if he could do it again he'd make sure his brothers got to stay.

Had a decent singing voice, he doesn't sing very often though

Slightly an ambivert, heavily leaning introvert. 

He craves social interaction but it drains him pretty fast

Mammon is as much his favourite brother as Mammon is the bane of his existence 

Easily flustered when it comes to personal matters

One of his few fears are dying and being called back to the Celestial Realm and losing his family

Likes True Crime

Has PTSD the worst of his Brothers

Also has Depression, it presents through anger and bouts of despondency, he rarely cries or expresses his emotions any other way

He doesn't like this, but doesn't know any other way.

However one way to loosen him up to cry is again, make him intoxicated.

Pride, Lust, Wrath, Envy, Greed, Gluttony and Sloth are the sins ranked in order of intensity 

Workaholic

Rarely eats, when he does he eats larger portions to counteract the frequency 

Has a hard time sleeping, usually naps throughout the day or when everyone else is sleeping

Lucifer has fallen asleep at his desk more than once.

Gifted in Mathematics 

Actually doesn't like to use his powers outside of necessity 

Tries to get into or research his brother's hobbies to try and bond with them, with varying rates of success. Works out with Beel, Reads what Satan is reading, lets Asmo paint his nails, etc

More compassionate and caring than his demeanour shows 

Wishes to amend things with Satan but understands that to do that, it is on Satan's terms to do so and not a moment sooner

Lucifer's favourite holiday is Halloween

When not working, he's usually reading or corralling his brothers in someway

Takes comfort in Diavolo

Probably needs glasses 

Unhealthily relies on Coffee

One of the other brothers have to go in and give him food/drink or drag him from his desk from time to time

Bad at charging his phone

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I’d love to know about how Lucy’s first oneshot with Hellfire went (sorry if you’ve answered this before 🫣)

A/N: Oh God, I need to actually write this scene out. I've played a lot more D&D now, I can actually write it. Add it to my list of WIPs. Here's the basic run down though.

Pseudo sequel to "Welcome to Hellfire" for reference.

Okay, first things first, Eddie would warn the rest of Hellfire that a girl will be joining them, this is met by general confusion and suspicion

They all immediately think it's a gag until Eddie mentions it's Lucy Henderson

I doubt any of them know who she is immediately, but maybe one, lets say Jeff, remembers she was in one of the school plays; she was actually pretty good

Still their reaction has Eddie's guard back up; cute or not, he still can't fully trust Lucy

Lucy is blissfully unaware of any of this when she arrives after school with Tupperware full of cookies (she knows from Dustin that snacks are always necessary)

She's also been studying her sheet backwards and forwards so she is sure what she can do and how she can do it

The guys are a little unsure and look to Eddie for their cue on how to treat Lucy, but the cookies are certainly a step in the right direction (even if they want to be "macho" and pretend it doesn't)

I must also remind everyone that teenagers, especially teenage boys trying to be cool, are idiots

Eddie's mask is back on at this point and plays Lucy's arrival as no big deal while also emphasising to her that he's not putting kids gloves on just because she's new

The guys in turn try to play up the tough guy act to varying success

Lucy is a little put off, but figures everyone is just a little nervous; she is the new girl coming in after all, she's been the new girl before, it's always a little awkward

Eddie would have this be essentially session zero of the campaign; going over everyone's sheets/characters, going over anything people aren't cool with and just having all the characters properly meet each other

Admittedly Eddie kind of skips lines and veils since they've all been playing together for a while and Lucy isn't about to say anything that rocks the boat so doesn't bring up anything that would bother her on the first day

(Yes, I do have a WIP about Lucy getting triggered by a demogorgon, it is on the list)

Lucy pulls out her sheet and the guys are openly surprised so chose a halfing instead of like a pretty elf maiden or something; Lucy then points out that halfings are much better thieves and that gets a nod of appreciation from the table

Eddie doesn't immediately put Lucy on the spot, giving the spotlight to the guys first to introduce their characters and consequently get themselves locked up in the local jail

This isn't to ice her out, but rather give her a chance to see how everyone plays so when it gets to her turn, she has a better sense of the tone

Lucy is absorbing all of it like a sponge

Everyone is playing more serious characters as I got the impression Eddie likes running more serious/horror games with heavy combat

It's then Lucy's turn and she does try to be serious, up until she gets her first bad roll

Lucy: I'd like to pick-pocket the merchant. Eddie: Cool. Roll for stealth. Lucy: That's a 2? Jeff: With your modifier? Lucy: That's a 5? Eddie: The merchant immediately calls for the town guard. Lucy: Wait! Do I have a moment to say anything? Eddie: Sure. Lucy: I'm sorry, I thought these were my pants! The Table: ... Eddie: You want to convince the merchant he's wearing your pants. Lucy: ...Yes. Eddie: Roll deception. Lucy: 4. Eddie: The merchant immediately calls for the town guard.

Lucy feels pretty embarrassed, but the whole table loves it

Once Lucy's character is placed in one of the cells she's able to shine with good role play and everyone starts to loosen up

It's clear Lucy really does care about the game and is fully invested in everyone else's characters

Years of doing theater has trained her well at listening to her scene partners

Maybe it's cliche for the party heart to be the girl, but Lucy fills the role happily

She even redeems herself by actually rolling high on another sleight of hand and being able to get them out of the cell

Overall, a little rough, but fun and a general agreement that Lucy is welcome back at the table

Lucy even stays behind to help Eddie pack up rambling to him about some ideas she has about the campaign and her character and she's going to run it by Gareth, but maybe they had a run in some time in the past etc.

Eddie just kind of listens to her talk, jumping in when he has something to say, but mostly letting her ramble

He attributes the warm feeling in his chest to the gratification of a player clearly enjoying his world and not...other things

It ends up just being him and Lucy walking out into the cool September night air; the sun has been down for hours

Eddie then notices Lucy is going to the bike racks

He's not sure what comes over him, but before she can get to far he asks if he she wants a ride; there is plenty of room in the van for her bike

Lucy hesitates, but only out of politeness; she wasn't exactly looking forward to riding her bike so far at night

Eddie ends up learning a few more things about Lucy Henderson in those extra fifteen minutes; one, she likes country music, two, she has never heard of any of the bands in his cassette collection, and three, she turns a very cute shade of pink when she decides to get confrontational, clearly she hasn't had much practice

He also decides he wouldn't mind if she needs a ride next week

[eyefocusing]

It's so true that so much of what fans are into is present within the Aerialbots. That annual story "The Return of the Transformers" in which they're struggling so much and Optimus orders Jetfire to pit them against each other to test them and Jetfire covers for their issues (Jetfire's a real one), or that time Silverbolt's fear of heights caused Superion to go berserk and he kind of enjoyed it so Galvatron wanted to target Silverbolt to unleash that warrior side of him, or how the Aerialbots were kind of like MTOs way before MTMTE/LL introduced that idea... there's so much there. I feel like Marvel made me appreciate them a lot. -arceespinkgun

@arceespinkgun

yes!!!! im admittedly more of a g1 cartoon girly when it comes to my preferred Aerialbot Lore, but ive always appreciated how theyre so much more messy and hardheaded in marvel. that they're kind of failures at the beginning makes them feel very similar to the stunticons in a way i really like. and that annual especially is one of my favorite pieces featuring them!! i think its one of the few bits of canon story that actually goes into their individual personalities and how they do (or dont) work as a team. marvel also going into literally Any depth about how superion is influenced by his components is another thing i really love about it! he doesnt feel nearly as one-dimensional as he tends to come across in other things (not that most combiners get much attention as characters, but still! gotta take what you can get!)

and that mto thing!!! i think about it all the time. not just in regards to the aerialbots, but for basically any character that just gets built and tossed out into the story. its an easy way to introduce new toys into a comic or show, sure, but it definitely poses some questions if you think about it for a bit. i feel like now that mtos are pretty established as a concept among fans, it's not really paid much attention to, but thats one of those things that ive noticed was a gap that pre-idw fanfic tried to fill in to varied levels of success. but like, in general i find the things that tended to get covered and fanonized in earlier fanfic really interesting. they way people really tried to piece these conflicting bits of Toy Advertisement into cohesive narrative (for better or worse) is always fascinating to me

[endlich-allein]

If you could describe Till with just five qualities, what would they be?

Till has many qualities, even if he doesn't always realise it himself. I could tell you that he's perfectionist, hard-working, sensitive (even if he hides it very well), thoughtful, intelligent, independent but also attached to the group, supportive, down-to-earth, full of humour (ironic and often dark, very teasing), extremely loyal in friendship (I specify in friendship because in love he's not, in his own words), very very creative (I'd even say that artistic polymathy describes him perfectly), ultra charismatic, etc

But I'll choose five to answer your question :

• Humble : Till is often described as "a humble human being" (Olaf Heine). Despite his fame, he shows a great deal of humility, confessing that he welcomes success "with a lot of humility. And it also scares me a little. It brings responsibility and extreme pressure". He also knows that he is nothing without others, without his friends at Rammstein, without his teams, without the many people he works with, and he never hesitates to put them forward, to recognise their importance and their contribution, to make them feel good and to make sure they don't need anything. As Flake says, "He never pretends to be a great artist who needs to express his deep feelings. He prefers to think about what else can be lit on stage." It reminds me of when Joern Heitmann was doing the video for "Mutter" and Till didn't want to be alone in the video before giving in and saying "Why me ? I'm not special"... Yes, Till, you are special !

• Generous : A man with a big heart, Till shows generosity in his life as an artist, but also in his personal life. As Zoran says, "Till has a heart bigger than a football pitch". Till is very committed to charities and various social causes: sick children, the fight against cancer, Ukraine, refugees, LGBT rights, and so on. He also supports young artists by offering them opportunities to make a name for themselves and by encouraging them. Till is also very generous to us fans. One of the things that means the most to him is giving us the best shows possible, and he puts his heart and soul into them, a true conductor and master of scenography. And this has been the case since the beginning of his career, as Flake says: "An effective and well thought-out stage show was always more important to him."

• Dedicated and willing : Till is extremely dedicated to his art, even if it means compromising his well-being. We've already talked about the fact that he's done a few shows while ill or injured, that he'll do anything to make his videos as realistic as possible, even if it means getting punched in the face. He puts a lot of time and energy into making sure that everything he does is a unique experience. Till is a man of action, he's very pragmatic and prefers to act rather than talk. He is able to turn ideas that were initially theoretical into tangible facts. It is no doubt thanks to this pragmatism that all his projects come to fruition with varying degrees of success. Man of action, he is also very strong-willed. Admittedly, Rammstein has no leader and Till has never wanted to take over the leadership of the band, but we know that he is an authority figure and that when he speaks out, he is listened to. He's capable of making decisions when others are still dithering. Paul said : "We are very lucky with him - I should actually kneel down every day and thank him that we have him."

• Resilient : Throughout his life, he has faced and overcome a variety of personal and professional challenges, including criticism, controversy and media pressure. From an early age, Till has faced major challenges. First the swimming school, separation with his family, long training sessions, iron discipline and intensive doping. Then came the serious accident that put an end to his swimming career and plunged him into uncertainty. The various jobs he took on, and his rebellious and provocative behaviour, didn't help him to find stability. His eldest daughter, Nele, whom he brought up alone, dropping her off at school in the morning before going with his friends to steal and sell cars on the border with the Czech Republic, and picking her up again in the evening. His career as a musician, playing wherever he was needed, sometimes bass, sometimes drums. His violent relationship with his father and their inability to understand each other. And then there's Rammstein. A band for which, despite his shyness and introversion, he occupies the roles of singer, frontman and songwriter. Roles that he assumes, despite the enormous pressure and violent criticism, for better or for worse. A band he believed in from the start, and during the second concert he shouted : "Remember the name Rammstein !" And there's everything else we don't know, many other things, and of which Paul said : "We are lucky to have a man with life experience at the front. He went through things that none of us want to experience. Very bad things, but they are useful to us now." Yes, we're lucky that you're here, Till, that you're still here.

• Authentic and unconventional : Till is someone who, off stage, is known for being himself, not conforming to the expectations of others or society. He addresses you with polite honesty, his clear gaze plunged into yours, never twinkling. This honesty is very frank, sometimes sharp but always realistic. Till shows himself as he is, unpretentious, sincere, passionate and sometimes vulnerable. He remains a simple man, attached to his roots, his family. Gitta, his mother said : "Home, that's Mecklenburg. His homeland, his roots, his source of strength." He does not give in to the commercial demands of the music industry, preferring to retain his artistic freedom. And this artistic freedom is expressed with the provocation that has always stuck with him. But this provocation is never gratuitous, it always provokes reactions and reflection. Till is an artist and a man who doesn't fit into any box, prizes and awards leave him indifferent, what he prefers is to do what he loves in his own way...

[merbear25]

I don't know if this is something that has ever been done before, but now when you opened requests again, you have a chance to do it: Judge x reader fluff. Yes, you read that right.

Female reader, who is a personal assistant for Judge.

Preferably, Caesar has a cameo appearance, but Judge is the focus of the story.

Hey, hey! I was thrilled to get a request for Judge! He's one of the few characters in One Piece that truly fascinates me. This was my first time writing for him, so I hope you like it. 💜💜

After years of convincing himself that emotions weren’t necessary, that they got in the way of the pinnacle of success, he was reminded of another reason he’d buried them. A familiar ache that was first felt long ago was now seen as a nuisance, and yet he chose to suffer through the displeasure because it meant being near you.

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, pining, takes place during Egghead, reader is Judge’s personal assistant, includes Caesar

Pangs of a forgotten heart (Judge)

Beakers holding liquids varying in color lined the work station. The bunsen burners’ flames ignited in a pattern crucial to the concoction being formulated. He leaned down to examine them more closely, allowing their array of colors to tint the white walls behind them. Jotting down each bubble, puff of smoke, and subtle change in pigment, he was immersed in a world where only work filled his thoughts. Yet, somehow you were the only one able to pull him out of it.

The sound of the door sliding open fell on deaf ears. Coming into view behind the beakers accentuated your beauty, each curve being captured even under the boxy lab coat.

“I’m in the middle of something.” Firm but not rude, his tone never crossed into cruelty when it came to you.

“I know, but these reports came in and contain information you may find useful.” A softness that didn’t mask obvious hints was a specialty of yours. 

With a slightly agitated sigh, he straightened his posture. The extension of his hand was promptly greeted with the reasonably thick stack of papers. A barely concealed groan left him once feeling the weight of them.

“I’ve already had a look and marked them by relevance.” You gestured to the color-coded tabs, each one carefully placed to draw in his attention to the applicable bits.

Thumbing through it, his expression remained void of praise and gratitude. Such adoration wasn’t for anyone’s eyes—deemed unfit to share freely or at all. His humph was the extent of approval typically, although you didn’t mind. His gaze fell on you: a woman who’d given nothing less than her full competence and admittedly still continued to surprise him even after the years working for him. 

A lump formed in his throat; your eyes held a sincerity in them he couldn’t find anywhere else. A tightness arose in his chest; no matter how cold his stare was, your smile never fell. A sense of dread dawned on him because he remembered this feeling all too well. With a nod, he dismissed you and was left alone once again.

Those pale walls only felt cold after he met you, and the hours spent alone conducting research only felt agonizingly long after sharing conversations with you. Placing the stack of papers on the table, he rubbed his eyes. They felt heavy and stung from the teasing bitterness he reserved for himself when moments of weakness threatened his very foundation. Cracks had already formed though, and they deepened the longer he kept you around, spreading across every pillar of his philosophies:

Vulnerability—he wouldn’t be so low as to subject himself to that. The weak must be weeded out, leaving only those born to lead to create a world worthy of living in. A reality as cruel as this one, the meek would never inherit the earth, instead being destined to pave it.

Weakness—it came in the form of tears, regret, and even compassion, things which took years to rid himself of. However, his discipline still wavered, which threatened to send the walls he built tumbling down. The softer side to humanity refused to leave his side, pestering him at the most inconvenient times.

Strength—a firm stance he took to bear his ideals. The brains and the bronze: strength started with the psyche and trickled down to the muscles that would carry out each finishing blow. Trampling on the feelings that kept one in the dark to then free them from their shackles. Untethered and untamed: the world was now theirs to claim.

But no matter how sure he thought he was, your mere presence sent his mind whirling and that pang in his chest to coil around his heart. A gasp escaped him as he held himself back from embracing the humanity he lost with the death of his wife. Dismay kept him at bay, riddling him at any chance of forming connections, and yet he would catch himself looking for you. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk to one another, instead sitting within the other’s general proximity, working together in silence.

Intrusive thoughts flooded his already chaotic mind. Snippets of you refused to leave him in peace. That lump in his throat grew. Suppression of his deepest desires were resurfacing. The lid that’d been placed over them wasn’t what it used to be. A moment of clarity flickered so quickly he nearly missed it.

Hesitantly, he pushed forward only to hear that nails on a chalkboard laugh billowing down the corridor. A grimace was half-heartedly concealed when the gangly man who’d gone through phases of colleague and a thorn in his side veered into the lab once spotting Judge.

“What's with the face?” Caesar demanded. Clicking his tongue, Judge turned his back to the horned man. The cold shoulder irked him more than a retort would have. “Fine, be that way. I only came in here to get something that useless assistant of yours forgot.” 

Looking up for a split second, Caesar’s eyes met Judge’s—daggers pierced the Clown to his very core. Startled at first, the initial reaction faded as a smile spread on his purple lips. “Oh, I see. Hmm, I can’t say I blame you.” He flipped through the folder he needed as he casually stepped towards the door. “Though, she is a bit too soft for my liking.”

Why did that bother him so much? It wasn’t untrue to call you as such, but that word was like venom to him. No, he knew exactly why and he loathed that you held the same qualities as her. Loathing your tenderness was a defense to keep him from feeling more than necessary, and that sweet smile that came with it made the burn singe that much more intensely.

The only way out is through kept echoing in his head.

Long stretches of brick walls lined the rug paved hallways. A mission that was guided by his heart but chaperoned by logic, he convinced himself that this was the solution to the current madness wracking his brain. Not following his routine of berating his own and others’ emotions opened his heart to fear: of rejection, humiliation, and the return to loneliness with his tail between his legs.

But there you were, working diligently like always. A subtlety of concentration on your gentle complexion gave a contrast to the deadly chemicals you were handling. You had a keen eye for spotting complimentary compounds. Self-taught which left him stunned, but under him you’d made remarkable progress, fine tuning your skills to perfection. 

While he loitered, that word repeated the longer he looked at you. Perfection— it suited you nicely. Goggles still secured over your eyes and gloves covering those delicate hands, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. When you noticed him, your expression softened.

“Are you going to come out of the doorway?” Your light tone tangled with an airy laugh. He kept his arms crossed as he approached you, not quite willing to open himself up entirely. Despite him avoiding eye contact and his stiff stance, there was something different about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

You paused as a question rolled around inside your head, but ultimately, you decided it wasn’t important. He wasn’t the type to openly express himself, you knew that, so instead you updated him on the most recent bits of information he needed to stay informed on. You inched closer to him, allowing your body heat to mingle with his, which to your surprise, he did the same. After a few more minutes of discussing work, he lowered his arms and permitted the budding interest he took in you a chance at something more.

[spemtang]

Everything You Do & All I Try To Do

A DrakGo Fanfic.

Artwork by: Me!

Read on AO3

Summary: Drakken loses the medal he received at the ceremony months prior. He and an annoyed Shego have to go look for it. Hopefully, nothing bad happens.

Drakken tossed aside another overturned drawer, papers scattering across the floor. He had torn through the lair for over an hour, yet still no sign of it. Stupid, foolish mistake to misplace something so important.

His eyes examined the room, taking in the varying layers of dust settling on old doomsday devices. A small part of him was relieved at his own current failure. The thought of failing at something had him reminiscing, a nostalgic feeling. When was the last time he had used any of them? Weeks? Months? He couldn't remember. Time after time he had rebounded from failure; ironically, it was success that he found himself unable to recover from.

Drakken slumped into a chair. He’d foiled himself for once.

Kim Possible, his teen archnemesis, had always been the one to put an end to his plans. But lately, though no fault of her own, nothing. No thrilling chases, no banter, no imminent sense that his adversary could burst through the door at any moment to stop his world-dominating schemes.

Though not the burst he expected, the sound of a metal door sliding open was enough to alert him that someone had come in. He could quickly tell who simply by the way she walked.

“Lose something, Dr. D?” Her ever-sardonic tone permeated the quiet room, peering around at the ransacked environment that had once been the study.

“Shego.” He acknowledged under his breath, letting out a heavy yet admittedly reverent sigh at the familiar voice. “Obviously. I can’t seem to find that medallion from a while back-” His voice trailed as he tossed another book off the shelf.

Shego watched it clatter by her feet, then snorted, “Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me you actually lost that thing?” She said, forcing a snarky grin. Yet, she found her cunning remarks coming less naturally than they used to. She turned her eyes away temporarily, trying to brush it off; perhaps it was the lack of recent schemes that kept her out of her prime... mockfulness?

She's pulled from her brief introspection by the sound of a grumbled response followed by his voice, “Yes, yes. Don’t remind me.” he said, turning to Shego. “Any ideas from you as to where it could be?” She paused to think, “Uhh, not that I can remember, sorry.” She said, giving a nonchalant shrug.

A small device sitting on a nearby desk caught Shego’s attention.

“What’s up with this thing?” She asked. Drakken peered over his shoulder to look before turning back.

“It’s an electronic dog whistle I’ve been making. Commodore Puddles has been tearing up the furniture lately, I figured I should focus on training him for once.”

Shego gave him a look, “Wow...What a responsible owner you are.” She mocked, “Y’know, I think that’s the most ambition I’ve seen out of you in months, Dr. D.” She added, tone a little bitter about the lack of action recently.

He didn’t reply.

With a quiet scoff, Shego made a show of plopping herself down into the nearby armchair, whipping out a magazine. Yet, she was too distracted by the whole “missing medal” ordeal to focus on its contents. Peering over the top of her magazine, she watched Drakken scramble around the lair, tossing things aside haphazardly. He was clearly obsessed with finding that medal. Seeing him so distressed stirred a hint of emotion she couldn't quite place. Concern? Sympathy? She didn’t like thinking too hard about it.

“Y’know, hate to sound like a broken record, but you’ve really turned this place upside-down, Doc.” She commented, noticing many more books lying around than she had initially observed.

“Not without reason, Shego.” He replied bluntly, shuffling through neighboring rooms, increasing and lowering his tone to match the proximity. “If I were none the wiser, I’d think someone took it! But what business would anyone have stealing that thing? There are plenty of fancy gold vaults to steal from; why me?”

“Not sure,” Shego replied, entertaining enough weak conversation to keep him going.

Drakken deactivated the study’s remote-controlled fireplace and examined behind it, “I could’ve sworn I had it just the other day. It’s my fault I hadn’t checked on it in a while.” He continued with a sigh, “I mean, it’s got to be around here somewhere...”

He halted briefly,

“Er- Well-”

Shego peered up from her magazine to look at him,

“What?”

“Let’s say...hypothetically, a few days ago, I felt a little bored and nostalgic and was taking it to a lot of our old lairs, and I may or may not have left it at one of them-”

Shego groaned loudly, “You can’t be serious...How many is ‘a lot’???”

“About 14 of them.”

She gave him a long, hard look. Then, she sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose in frustration.

She stood, marching for the door.

“Whatever, let’s just get a move on.”

On their way out, Drakken nabbed the device he’d been working on. Despite his confidence, it’d be best to keep himself occupied if this–like Shego probably predicts–is a total waste of time.

Thrusters hummed smoothly beyond distant, quaint villages and ski resorts as the hovercraft rocketed over the landscape. They flew high above the valley below into the jagged, sky-piercing peaks of the range. Thick, perfectly white snow blanketed the steep mountainsides, gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. The pair were blasted with its thin, frigid air, which held a crisp alpine scent.

“Come to think of it, this might just be the place.”

Shego glared, her hands flickering a threatening glow, “Are you telling me we didn’t have to go to the other 13!?”

Drakken tensed up and raised his hands defensively, “No, no! Your services are appreciated, Shego! It was perfectly likely for it to be at the other ones as well.”

Her palms fizzled, and she relaxed slightly before turning away, “Good. I can’t believe you revisited the wreckage of that stupid underwater lair.”

“I felt like scuba diving then, alright?”

“Yeah? I didn’t feel like scuba diving today .”

The two of them approached Drakken’s freezing lair in the Alps, still standing tall with its many pointed, almost pitchfork-like spires — yet decorated in a dense shrubbery of flowers, they looked to be two, no, three times as thick as the last time he was here. Surprisingly, they were not dead from the cold, though he supposed they were super high-pollinated . It wasn’t often he returned to old lairs; it would be the fourth time for this one in particular; it almost made him feel bad about the conditions he left them in.

As the two landed swiftly, he thought back a bit more. In truth, he was lying about being so sure only to make Shego feel more motivated; he wasn’t even sure if he went inside this one, the later details of the day having betrayed him.

“Do we really have to scout this garden of yours, Dr. D?” Shego asked with a noticeable irritation in her voice. Drakken hesitated, “Well, not particularly, no. But I’d appreciate it if-”

“Forget I asked. Let’s get in and out of here, and we’re done.” Shego remarked sourly. She was just about done with all the running around she’d been doing that day, and the freezing temperature certainly wasn’t helping his case.

Hiking up the side of the tall, icy glacier, not helped by the dense vegetation, Draken saw something in the distance.

“H-hey! Look! It’s one of those alien drone things!” He proudly announced, looking at the dismantled Lowardian machine in a distant snowy crevice. Shego sighed but didn’t look back, “Yeah, good job on saving the world, Doc. I’ve spent all day being reminded of your accomplishment.” Drakken almost opened his mouth in retaliation but decided against it, eyeing Shego as she trudged ahead. Frankly, he owed her for putting up with this wild medal chase. Hopefully, he could make it up to her once this was over.

For now, he decided keeping quiet and getting this search done quickly was probably the best course of action. Drakken hurried to catch up, the frigid wind biting through his coat. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

A faint green glimmer lit the black interior of the lair for a moment through cracks in the door. It was moments like these that Drakken was especially grateful for Shego. It’d be a real hassle getting all the vines off the handles without the use of her glow. There were... a lot of things to be grateful for when it came to Shego, actually.

The rickety door crept open, striking a small amount of light into the dark chamber, large patterns of vines and branches scaling its enclosure.

“A bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Drakken whispered, stepping across the cold floor and crunching leaves.

Shego looked around before spotting a faint light, “There,” She replied, blasting her glow at a dense gathering of vegetation, revealing the large hole the Lowardian Walkers had made in the wall. Sunlight poured in, brightening the room and showcasing a large shrub of flowers and vines.

“Much better.” Drakken acknowledged with an approving nod as he scanned the ruined lair.

His gaze wandered over the vibrant floral blooms now bathed in sunlight that beamed through the hole Shego had blasted. He watched, transfixed, as the petals seemed to perk up, stretching and unfurling as if soaking up the long-awaited rays.

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. His, albeit mutant, plants had endured, bringing an unexpected vitality to the ruins. He admired the new growth sprouted from the weathered walls, winding through broken glass and overturned debris.

Then he looked back at his henchwoman, getting her hands dirty, and frowned a little. Stepping over to her awkwardly, he started, “Shego-”

Yet before he could start, a deafening crash drowned out his words. Shego’s head whipped over as their combined attention turned to a giant metallic claw that had formed a large crater before them — a booming, animal-like screech ruptured from the shrubbery across the room.

The ruined Lowardian Walker's limbs shuddered and jerked as if pulled by unseen strings. What once appeared as a mound of overgrowth stirred, vines cascading off metallic parts as the robot arose on rigid legs. Shambling forward awkwardly, its shattered frame moved with an awkward organic gait rather than mechanical precision.

Dull metal peeked through a living patina of roots and vines that clung to its body. Strange leafy tendrils protruded from joints like parasitic growths. It appeared much less a machine granted false life than a creature born of steel bones now overtaken by flora.

“Dr. Drakken? What is that thing?”

Drew paused in imminent fear; what was that thing?

Shego’s pupils thinned as the beast stirred, and she turned for the entryway. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think I get paid enough to deal with that so–!” She exclaimed and decided to hightail it out of there. Drakken nodded and quickly staggered to follow.

The pair burst out of the lair; their feet slipped on the snow-covered rock as they descended the icy cliff. The building effortlessly crumbled behind them as the giant mechanical monster stirring from a long slumber shook its already plant-weakened foundation. The reanimated monster smashed through the same entryway, letting out another piercing metallic shriek.

Before they could reach the Hover-car parked below, the Walker bounded past with alarming agility. Whether by cunning strategy or mere primal impulse, it pivoted sharply and kicked the Hover-car with all its might. The vehicle went sailing over the horizon, spinning end over end until it vanished.

The beast reared back on its hind legs, giving another enraged screech. Puppeting vines twist around its limbs, writhing in anticipation.

"And...there goes Plan A," Shego muttered, igniting her glowing green fists. "Guess we’ll have to go with Plan B." Her voice held an uneasy confidence. She leaped into action, hurling blasts of green energy at the lumbering monster. They sizzled against the metallic exterior but barely slowed its advance. It roared, charging at Shego. “Any plans, Doc?” she shouted his way, rolling away from a giant stomping leg.

Drakken blinked, "Right, yes, good call," Drakken said, peering around nervously for anything they could use. His scrambling was interrupted by the monster, quickly turning to rush his way. Shego hastily shot at a joint with another strong blast, knocking it off course with a squeal.

The two split up, trying to divide the creature's attention. Shego nimbly evaded each lumbering swipe, countering with bursts of plasma. Drakken ducked behind icy boulders, fumbling for any gadget in his coat that could help.

"Could really use one of your brilliant ideas anytime now!" Shego yelled over her shoulder.

“Ngyeehh, I’m working on it!” He yelled back.

To his credit, he was working on it. He dumped a variety of incomplete doodads from his coat, using little pliers and screws to put random pieces together. He had a raygun he’d constructed a while back on him as well, but knew it’d be useless against the exterior of one of those things.

“Think, Drew...you just have to come up with something.” He muttered to himself.

Then, he had it! Using parts from a magnetization ray he had been working on and a few emergency batteries he kept on him, he could construct some type of electromagnetic frequency emitter, totally frying that thing’s remaining systems! He just needed a few minutes to-

His momentary pride was shot down by the sound of a scream, followed by a loud crash. He’d be relieved if it weren’t for the fact that the scream was human, and Shego’s.

Quickly peeking around his cover, he saw only the aftermath — Shego tumbling through the snow before she lay limp against a clump of snow.

She didn’t seem to be getting up, either.

“S-Shego!” He called out in worry, the creature’s lumbering form snapped toward him the moment he chose to raise his voice.

Drakken quickly ducked back behind the cover, he needed to crunch those minutes into just seconds now. He rushed to shove the parts of his mechanism, pausing on the battery slot.

“Come on...! Which way, which way?” He muttered frantically, looking at the plus and minus symbols. “There!” He beamed, before throwing the device out into the open and taking cover.

Large, booming frequencies of electromagnetic energy pulsated from the device. The robot winced, slightly, but seemed largely unaffected. It stomped the device into oblivion before continuing its pursuit.

Drakken froze in fear. He was sure it would’ve worked! The machine’s systems should’ve been...completely fried.

Then, his eyes focused on its limbs, vines sliding and gripping. Overgrowth pulling and directing the Walker’s monstrous limbs.

Was it a machine at all?

No.

Its body was merely a husk, the shell.

It wasn’t a robot holding onto its functionality through botanical means. No, something lived inside. That something was orchestrating the remains of what was left in that place months ago.

Drakken, at his wit's end, did what he was best at: running away.

Drakken's legs pumped faster than they ever had before, fueled by sheer adrenaline as the monstrous walker bore down on him. He zig-zagged desperately, boots slipping on the icy terrain, but couldn't shake the thundering steps behind.

Just as a giant metal claw swiped at where he'd been seconds earlier, the beast suddenly halted. Drakken risked a frantic glance back. The creature swayed, vines writhing along its frame as if uncertain.

Drakken's mind raced — was it confused? Losing his trail? Or toying with him? He didn't intend to wait around to find out.

That thing was back to pursuing him a moment later, he ran into what he thought would be his saving grace, a crevice through the mountainside. Unfortunately, the monster was easily capable of turning its frame to follow him in. And, if things couldn’t get any worse, a towering wall at the end marked a dead-end for him. Regardless, he ran to it with no other option.

Coming to the path’s end, he whipped back around to see it looming over him.

Was this how he was going to go out? At the hands of the plants, he played a part in creating?

He pulled the dog whistle out of his coat as the Walker neared.

Tears of despair welled in his eyes, regardless of his feelings were meaningless to the simple beast before him. He hadn’t even fine-tuned the device he was going to make for his dog today.

Yet, as the device slipped from his shaky hands, it wasn’t Commodore Puddles that was on his mind, it was Shego.

Just as before, and just how things had always been. He was caught up in proving himself, proving his worth. It was the Bebe robots then, the medal now. All just to be in the disapproval of his peers by the end of it. It was his colleagues then, Shego now. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d let her down, of course. But it was looking to be the last.

He winced, taking a pathetic step out of the way as if to delay the inevitable. And as the Walker raised its claw for one final strike against its prey.

It stopped, it recoiled, and it writhed. Its heavy claw clattered to the ground out of the way as roots shivered along its metallic form.

Drakken almost thought it may have felt sympathy and spared him were it not for his eyes turning down and finding the cause: it was the dog whistle! He must’ve stepped on the activation button, and the creature was sensitive to the sound it made! He wasn’t sure why that was, but he took the opportunity to nab the device and dart away while it was stunned.

His feet slipped and stumbled as he fled through the deep snow. Behind him, a deafening roar shook the mountainside as the walker freed itself from the crevice, hellbent on pursuit.

Glancing back, Drakken noticed a gaping hole blown in the monster's armor from Shego's earlier attack. Green “flesh” writhed within, exposed. He just needed time to exploit that weakness!

But as Drakken turned forward again, his stomach dropped. Mere feet in front of him, the snow gave way to a sheer cliff plunging hundreds of meters down. Another dead end.

Whirling around, he came face-to-face with the monstrous Walker looming over him, escape cut off. Drakken desperately held out the screeching whistle, but if anything, it only aggravated the creature more.

Vines twisted furiously around the ruined parts of its metallic body. The monster's large flower appendages looked like two judgemental eyes staring down at him. A mass of leaves and petals shook, vibrating with something akin to rage. Time was running out.

Drakken's eyes darted around the narrow cliff edge. There had to be a way! He just needed to buy a few precious seconds against this unbridled fury...But it appeared there was no last-second idea he could pull to escape this situation.

The Walker reared back, shadowed by the sunlight as it prepared to deliver a final blow. Drakken stood with uneasy anticipation, but a flash of green exploded against the creature's back before the strike fell.

"Shego!" Drakken cried out in relief as the monster staggered.

She huffed, "Miss me, Dr. D?" Shego quipped, though looking a bit battered.

The monster whirled with a metallic roar, vines twisting furiously. As it charged Shego, Drakken seized his chance. He pulled out his raygun and fired at the damaged spot.

The creature screeched, whipping back toward Drakken. But Shego was ready, striking it again with her glow. They fell into a pattern — it would turn to attack one, only for the other to blast its weak point from behind.

With a final, piercing wail, the unbalanced Walker lurched toward Drakken. He braced himself, but Shego was faster.

"Hope you packed a parachute, you overgrown weed!"

She launched a powerful flying kick to the creature's back. And, unable to support its own weight, the monster tipped over the cliff's edge, plunging into the misty depths below with a fleeting, monstrous scream.

The two looked down into the gorge as the Walker plummeted into oblivion, equally releasing a heavy sigh.

Shego broke the exhausted silence first after catching her breath. "Glad that's over with."

Drakken turned to her, relief washing over him. "Shego..." he whispered.

He stepped closer, just needing to see her okay with his own eyes. "I was so worried about you. I'm glad you're alright."

Shego softened slightly, an uncharacteristic sincerity coming over her. "Yeah, I'm glad you're okay too, Dr. D."

She straightened, regaining some of her usual casual confidence. "That was some quick thinking with the raygun. I Didn't even know you had one of those."

"What sort of self-respecting villain wouldn't have one?" Drakken replied with a flashy grin.

Shego smiled warmly, head tilting. A moment of understanding silence fell between them.

Drakken broke it this time, voice heavy with remorse. "Shego, I'm...I'm so sorry about all this. For dragging you along over a silly medal."

Shego blinked, having nearly forgotten their reason for being there. "Hey, don’t worry about it. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made me do something stupid. Nor the second, or the third..." she ribbed lightly.

Drakken rolled his eyes but smiled, “No need to rub it in, Shego.”

He noticed her windswept hair.

“Let me-”

He gently brushed a loose strand behind her ear. Her eyes closed momentarily as he did so.

"There," he murmured.

Shego blinked and met his eyes, her gaze lingering. "I can make an assumption or two but," She started, “What made that thing so special to you?”

Drakken sighed lightly.

“Maybe it was pride,” He paused to think, “But, it meant a lot to me as a sign of victory, I suppose. I haven’t done a whole lot of winning in my life.” He confessed.

Shego smirked playfully, “I think I’d know that more than anyone, Doc.”

Drakken gave a weak smile, the expression vanished from her face.

“Sorry, that was-”

“No, it’s alright.” Drakken assured her, “I like your edge, Shego. You know how to keep me in check.”

Her cheeks flushed just a little, and she smiled again.

“Thanks, Dr. D.”

Drakken turned his head up and to the left, he looked over at the overgrown lair for a moment.

“I don’t think I appreciate you enough.” He admitted, “I mean, I pay you to work for me, but still. I’m not sure if I ever got around to telling you this, but I really appreciated you coming to save me from the Lowardians back then.”

Her head perked up and her cheeks grew just a smidge redder, “Oh- It was nothing, Dr. D, honest.”

“Even if it was nothing, Shego, I still appreciate that you did that for me. I owe a lot to you, a lot more than money can pay for, anyway.” He relents, “For sticking around, that is. Even when I do stupid things all the time. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Shego felt a shiver run up her spine, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Hey, uh, sorry we couldn’t find your thing.” She muttered, trying to ease the tension.

Drakken smiled.

“I’ll be alright, Shego. I feel I...found something better anyway.”

She swallowed, and without thinking, wrapped her arms around him. A sudden need enveloped her heart.

"Dr. D," she whispered.

Drakken turned to meet her gaze, taking in every detail of her face. Her fire, her strength, her loyal persistence through it all suddenly struck him. She was incredible.

His eyes fell half-lidded as he lost himself in hers. The frigid air faded away in the warmth of her embrace. Timidly, his hands came to rest at her sides, drawn in helplessly.

"Shego."

She took a small step closer, snow softly crunching underfoot. Time seemed to slow, the space between them electrified. It felt right.

Drakken leaned in hesitantly at first, then, as was routine, surrendered himself when Shego picked up the slack, confidently sealing the gap.

In the moment, he felt as if the world had fallen away. Her kiss enveloped him in an indescribable warmth, a tingling sense of belonging spreading through him- newfound purpose excavated from the depths of his timid heart. His hands moved from her sides and delicately cupped her face as he savored the intimacy. Her lips were so soft, and inviting.

Shego drew him closer, her aggressive edge giving way to tenderness. She never wanted this moment to end.

When they eventually, reluctantly parted, Drakken kept his forehead resting against hers, noses still touching. A faint smile played on his lips. Both were resistant to leaving the other's arms. Right now, they had each other- perhaps as they’d always had each other. And for them, that was enough.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He breathed.

“Yeah, I got the impression.”

Drakken clicked his tongue, catching Puddles’ attention once more. The whistle had proven quite effective for training after just a little tweaking, working out the odd frequencies.

"Come on boy, just a few more times around the lair," Drakken encouraged, pacing backward as his pet obediently waddled after.

Shego peeked up from her magazine and watched as Drakken and his dog scurried around the corner. The corners of her lips tugged upward, though she hid her expression. She gave him a bit of crap for it just the day prior but found it sorta endearing after everything.

She stood and followed after him.

“I can’t believe you’re just now training that thing after you’ve had him for...how many years now?”

Drakken scowled, some things never changed about her.

“He’s not a thing , his name is Commodore Puddles.” He remarked, pridefully lifting his pet, “And...world domination schemes get in the way, alright?”

She laughed, “Does that imply you’re retiring from world domination?”

He froze up, “Maybe...maybe not. But don’t think I’m going soft, Shego!”

She snickered still, and he grumbled at her.

“How’s this:” He started, “I’ve scouted out a museum with quite the rare artifact. What do you say we steal it together sometime?”

Shego raised a brow, “What do you plan on using it for?”

He shrugged, “I was thinking about stealing it just for the heck of it.” He admitted.

She grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

Notes: I don't write very often, but I made this. I hope I got their character right. IDK... Here's a concept sketch of the Lowardian Walker-plant monster thing. Maybe one day I'll make a proper drawing of it, but consider this the canon-fanon for now.