#patron dani

[spacedace]

Here be the first little bit of the new DP x DC AU I warned about earlier where Tim, due to his constant repeated attempts at cloning Bart & Kon, accidentally summons slightly eldritch Elle who is very interested in what he’s up to.

As always feel free to run with this as a prompt if yall find anything here interesting :D

*

Tim didn’t mean to summon her.

He’d been in the lab, staring at the data on the latest failed attempts at cloning Kon and Bart and feeling like he was cracking in two. Eyes burning, chest tight, world spinning out into shifting impossible shadows around him as his mind and body struggled to push him forward into another day without sleep. The hush of water in the tanks, his unsteady steps on the cement floor, the chill seeping into his bones.

He stumbled and swayed through the maze of the lab, numbers dripping like blood down the screen as he tried to stare at the figures. He needed to try again, needed to bring them back, in whatever capacity he could. This time would work. This time he’d get it right.

When he saw her, feet clumsy as he rounded a corner, he thought she was just another hallucination.

How could she be anything else?

Skin like a polished mirror, hair like the white-hot flash of lightning, eyes as green as the depths of the Lazarus Pits. She floated before a tank, spectral and strange with a long wisping tail that drifted off into nothingness in place of legs, body shifting and changing before his eyes in ways that bodies should not be able to. Outside of the eyes the face was…not there. An impression of the shapes that you’d expect to see in a human face, like the Question’s. Sometimes though the features defined, sharpened. Mirror bright skin crackling as faces took shape in the glass.

In the low light of the lab, he almost imaged one of those faces was Kon’s. Dimples and freckles and high cheek bones and the slant of a silhouette that haunted Tim’s dreams at night. A flicker of her lightining hair and it was gone. Smoothed back into soft blankness once more.

He watched from the of the aisle as she lifted too-long mirror shard fingers and rest them gently on the glass as she seemed to peer in at the lifeless body inside.

Attempt 76.

One of his tries with Bart. The organs hadn’t grown right during the age-up process. Tim had cried for that one as he had for all the others. As he had for Bart and Kon when they had died. As he still did as the fact that it was more maddened grief than hope that kept him pushing forward anyway.

He closed his eyes to the hallucination at the end of the aisle. Breathed deep and steady. It might be gone when he opened his eyes again. It might not be. It might be something - someone - else when he dares look next. He’d been through this time and time again over the days and weeks he’d been throwing himself at this agonizing wall. The only difference this time was the intricate strangeness, the total lack of recognition he had for the figure, baring the moment he almost saw Kon in its face.

Coffee. Maybe some harder stimulants, if he had any left. New data to review, new attempts to be made. He didn’t have time for the effects of sleep deprivation.

Tim opened his eyes.

He jerked back as he came face to face with himself, warped and strange and green in the reflective face of the being where it now hovered so close that if it breathed he would feel it upon his face.

She tilted her head at him, curious. Hands rose to cup his face, rest on his shoulders, wrap around his arms, cradle his hands. More hands than he’d seen before. More hands than he was able to truly comprehend, stomach souring as his eyes stung and strained in the attempt to look at the impossible warping of her body. Despite the glint of shattered glass that made up her fractured palms and splintered silver fingers, her hands were soft and warm where they curled around him. Almost human in the way they held him in place, the hold pleasantly firm.

He’d never had a doting elder aunt to pinch his cheeks and demand to get a look at him, but he imagined this might be what that felt like. The way the being shifted her head from side to side, his reflection warping in the curved reflection of the planes of her featureless face, added to the strange idea. His hallucinations didn’t normally touch him, though. And never so…kindly.

Tim felt his blood go cold as he realized it might not be a figment of his fracturing mind floating before him.

Swallowing nervously, he tried to shift backwards, to slip out of the many grasping hands before the softness turned sharp and began to cut into him. He felt something cool against the back of his legs, hair standing on end as static electricity built up on his skin where he brushed the trailing tail he hadn’t noticed her curl around him. The entity leaned in close, the depthless green of her glowing eyes consuming Tim’s entire field of vision, and he was flooded by the sudden, horrible awareness of being Known.

The world fell away from him, his stomach lurching with the sick-sweet feel of free fall that used to exhilarate him when he’d first become Robin and had flown from rooftops dangling by his grapple and his belief in the magic being Robin instilled in him. The lab, the equipment, the piles of data and desperate scribbles, the failed clones, Tim himself. All swept away in the flood of green and the roar of lightning and the cool press of glass.

He came to would could have been minutes or centuries later. Gasping and sick on the cold cement floor, shivering as he dry heaved. His mouth full of salt and copper and the burning crackle of ozone at the back of his throat.

For a moment, disoriented and dizzy, he thought it had all been a hallucination after all. Or some fractious dream visited upon him by his torn and tattered mind after he’d finally collapsed from exhaustion on the lab floor. That the entity truly had been just in his mind, a consequence of his refusal to rest until his work was done.

Then he felt the glass-cool fingers running through his hair, the warm hand rubbing at his back, heard the low murmurs of reassurance in a voice that was almost, almost human.

He spasmed as he tried to jerk away, hissing with the sharp sting of pins and needles dancing over every nerve. His limbs were heavy and clumsy, and he was crashing back to the cold floor under his own weight before he could even try and drag himself away. His breathing came in short, aching gasps as he tried to twist away, only managing to roll to his back to see the entity where it sat calmly looking down at him.

She had a face now. A solid, steady one that fit her in a way that made him think it must be her real one, though what that meant exactly he didn’t know. The glowing eyes had dimmed and shifted, more human looking with black pupils and white sclera. Button nose marked with silver-tarnish freckles that spread over her cheeks too. A mouth, with lips curled into an apologetic smile. Her hair, still shifting as if caught in a wind that wasn’t there, was still the bright white it’d been before, but the lighting of the locks had settled into faint crackles between the curls. Whatever she was, whatever she’d done to him, he could look at her without feeling like his mind might just crack in two.

“Wha-“ His voice cracked, painful and hoarse like he’d been screaming. Maybe he had been. Swallowing around the burn in his throat, he choked out a hissed, “What are you?”

Her head tilted in that curious slant again, more human features giving her a bright, youthful look as she peered down at him questioningly. “You summoned me, Little Gaffer, shouldn’t you know?”

*

Gaffer is a term used for a glass crafter, as well as light technicians for stage/movie productions. I’m using it as the term for the person who creates a Clone, with the clone themselves being a Mirrorborn, and the person they are cloned from being called the clone’s Reflected. Gaffer is probably a bit of a stretch for this, technically I think someone who makes mirrors would be called a Glazier (Glaziers are glassmakers) but I wasn’t vibing that as much. Besides I like the vibe of glass + light = mirror in a way.

Anyway, opening volley of a new AU where Tim ends up becoming like a warlock to Elle to get his loved ones back, while Elle is just having the time of her sorta eldritch little life watching this absolute mess of a human wreck shit and cause so much chaos even without the powers she starts giving him.

(Elle in this is both the God Queen of Clones/Mirrorborn as well as the Ancient of the Speedforce (which I’ve decided is called the Ever Onward in the Infinite Realms, because I literally can’t be stopped from trying to make normal DC things sound mystical because spooky Infinite Realms aesthetics haha)

Have a tiny bit more written for this, but don’t know how much I’ll end up writing for it with all the other projects I have currently lol, so if anyone is interested feel free to run with it as you so desire haha

[daeneryscel]

no, ‘girlboss’ is not a valid criticism of a female character, *especially* if you’re only using it in relation to women who fight outside the constraints of an inherently corrupt system. you’re just a misogynist.

[atopvisenyashill]

a feast for crows was about adults who are terrible at being in charge. a dance with dragons switches this up by making like half the book from the pov of one of two teenagers who are, get this, TERRIBLE at being in charge as well.

[fistfuloflightning]

Valery Kovtun as Viserys Targaryen

[danieyells]

. . .is a small fico. . .a ficcino? A ficetto? A ficello? A ficuccio. . . .

[blueiight]

I think the fact that the anne rice vamps r functionally, alien bluetooth devices, r why i like them. they have an (albeit, tangential) connection to space.

[nightingale-prompts]

Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

[demonic0angel]

DC x DP prompt: Zeus is a dick, as is most of the Greek pantheon. As such, Cassie Sandsmark is looking for a new patron god. Dani hears this, and introduces her to Danny, the Ghost King and new god like being.

(I haven't finished reading through the Young Justice run, so I actually don't know too much yet. So just beware that this will probably be incorrect.)

Cassie snarled as she straddled the dummy to beat it with her fists. From a distance, the rest of the Young Justice looked at her with various amounts of wariness and worry. Dani leaned close to Kon.

“What’s going on?” She whispered.

Tim was the one who answered, “Cassie’s powers are disappearing. Something with Zeus? I’m a bit more worried about her raging though. She’s going to hurt herself at this rate.”

Dani nodded and shared a look with the other girls, who also gave her a look. Then they all stepped forward, leaving the boys behind to share a sigh of relief.

They approached Cassie carefully, who was panting and winding down from her brutal beat down on the practice dummy.

“Hey, Cassie,” Cissie began. “Wanna talk about it?”

Greta and Dani both helped Cassie up and while Greta patted her back comfortingly, Dani put away the dummy. Cassie scowled, but then her expression changed into something more sad. “My powers are leaving. I just— I just want to know why! I thought that they wouldn’t leave me no matter what…”

Dani perked up. “Wait, you need another patron god?”

Cassie nodded but then she paused, alongside Greta and Cissie. “Wait… do you know someone?”

Dani beamed. She nodded and flew forward to hold Cassie’s hand. “Yes! He’s new to being a god, but I can promise that he’s powerful and he won’t abandon you! I can promise you 100%!”

Cassie looked hopeful for the first time. She looked down, thinking to herself as she muttered, “I only wanted Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl to be proud of me…” She looked up at Dani. “Who is he?”

Dani grinned. “He’s a death god, but he only came to power a few months ago. He rules over the domain of death and everyone who is dead or will be dead. Also space.”

Cassie hesitated. “Death…? I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with that.”

Dani clenched her hand gently. “I promise that he won’t make you kill. He’s the god of death, so he only helps ferry the dead souls to the afterlife. He’s more like… Hades, if that makes sense. He was a hero himself in our world.”

Cassie brightened. “I’d like to meet him! Who is he?”

Dani grinned. Her eyes were sparkling from excitement. “He’s my brother.”

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Nothing gold can stay

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 3 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. this chapter in specific discusses themes of abuse and alcoholism.

A/N: the long awaited part 2 to ‘ad astra per aspera’! this took a lot of thinking and scrapped passages to really get this on point, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

"You’re early today!”

You smiled halfheartedly at Magdalene and Dani’s teacher, nodding at her. “Yeah, uh, I’ve gotta get to work a bit earlier today so…”

“Not a problem, I’ll see you later,” the woman responded. You gave Magdalene and Dani one last hug before returning to your car, having hope that you’d finally be early to training for once and go the day without being berated by Alexia.

You didn’t want to relive the other night’s training, not in your mind, and definitely not in person. With you, Alexia was a completely different person to the patron saint of Barça that everyone painted her as. You wanted to change that and show her you weren’t as irresponsible and careless as she thought you out to be, but you couldn’t.

It was a relief to see the training pitch parking lot barely populated as it came into sight. There was maybe two cars, which meant you were on time. How incredible.

Before every training, a hopeful feeling swelled inside of you — one of happiness, because you saw football as a means of enjoyment and something to look forward to when all else came crashing down in your life. It was short lived of course, but like a phoenix, it always came back one way or another. Were you wrong for believing in your sport to help you?

"(Y/N), you're early.. for once."

You knew that voice all too well. There was a surprised tone that Alexia's voice held as she spoke, and you knew she expected you to show up late once again if not miss practice completely.

"Yeah, surprise," you replied dully, sitting down on the bench to put your boots on.

"Why are you early?" she asked, and it was a bit of a stupid question.

'Well, after you yelled at me in front of everybody the other day, I decided that if I have to drop all three of my siblings off to school, I might as well do it as early as possible so I don't have to worry about getting screamed at and humiliated at half past nine in the morning!'

"Dropped my siblings off earlier today," you mumbled instead, eyes fixated on the ground as you spoke. You were sure that eventually, your fear would be the one to corrupt your family completely, but you couldn't tell Alexia; it was equivalent to opening yourself up to her, being vulnerable even after trying so hard to maintain a tough front.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow just barely raised but her mouth idle. You cinched your laces tightly and sprung to your feet, very aware of her gaze fixed on you as you grabbed a ball from the bag and dribbled it over to the nearest wall, preparing for the training session ahead.

More of the team started to file through the pitch gates. You could hear their bags dropping to the ground as you passed against the wall, and as Mapi passed behind you she squeezed your shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, (Y/N),” she said, a smile on her face.

For once, as training started, you didn’t feel dreadful. You were excited and motivated by the good start to the morning, which showed in the newfound pep in your step and enthusiasm around the pitch.

After a long while, the sun began to set, which indicated the end of training. You sat down at the bench, unlacing your boots and trading them for sandals. Unexpectedly, Alexia sat down beside you, saying, “Good job today. You did well.”

“Graciés,” you responded, standing up while slinging your bag over your shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

She watched you leave through the gates, her eyes unwavering on your figure disappearing around the corner.

You lived next to a lovely elderly lady named Margalida. She was a sweet woman, always saying bon día and bona tarda to you and your siblings whenever she saw you. Sometimes, after you returned from training and picked up your siblings, she invited you four into her home to share pastries with her. You always accepted, of course, because it was much better than subjecting yourself to the olfactory assault that was your home, and she was also a widow that you figured needed some company from time to time.

When you weren't home, you couldn't monitor your mother's behaviour; praying that it would stay somewhat normal would have to suffice. You didn’t know whether Margalida knew about the true nature of your household or if she thought you were all naturally raucous.

You pulled into the driveway, parking the car as the doors opened and your siblings got out of the car. “(Y/N),” Magdalene said slowly, imploring you to look at her curiously. “Who are those people?” she pointed ahead, and that’s when you noticed Margalida at your doorstep, alongside two police officers and another woman. She looked like a regular office worker, but you weren’t an idiot; she was obviously a social worker, which could only mean one thing. A bad thing.

"You three stay in the car for a bit, okay? I'm gonna go talk to these people," you said to your siblings, motioning to the car as you turned around again and walked towards the people.

You felt nothing but dread in your gut as you approached them. One of the cops, who was talking to a distressed looking Margalida, looked at you and began to speak. "Miss (Y/L/N)?"

You nodded slowly, "Before we talk, can I just send my siblings inside?"

"That won't be possible," the officer said, making you raise an eyebrow, "...Because we're here regarding a call about a person inside, which we now know isn't you."

"I heard yelling from inside," Margalida added. "It was loud, and– and it sounded like there was crashing, from things being thrown around."

She took a deep breath, looking at you sympathetically. "I thought one of you was being hurt, so I called the police."

"I know your situation with the..." she paused, gesturing to the rubbish bin. You spun around, your eyes widening at the sight of it. Cans and bottles galore filled the bin to the brim, threatening to spill out. You could count at least ten, and that was only at the surface of the deep bin. You could recall the rubbish being collected just a few days ago, and now it was basically full.

She looked at you, her eyes pitiful. You hated it, so much; pity made you feel like a kid, and it angered you that the only time you got to relive any sort of childishness was when someone noticed you were suffering, not because you actually had the liberty to behave like one again. Where was the pity when you actually were a kid, having to wake up and stay afloat to support three other kids?

"Who else lives here, other than you and your — I'm assuming — siblings?" the other cop asked.

"My mother. My dad left a few years ago," you mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Is she home right now?" he asked, and you nodded. "Yeah. She's probably asleep, so if you did knock on the door, that's why nobody opened it."

"Asleep or blacked out?" his partner suddenly added. You looked at him, clenching your jaw as you shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I've been at work all day."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a footballer."

"For FC Barcelona?"

"Buy a ticket and maybe you'll find out."

You ended up sitting across from the two officers and the social worker in a dingy, dark room scarcely furnished with only a table, three chairs and a dirty window to accessorise it. This time, the woman did most of the talking while the cops just surveyed the conversation. Magdalene, Dani and Lorenzo were sitting in the waiting room of the station — you didn't want to drag them along, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your family history that might correspond with the things reported to us today?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"My dad left when I was, I think.. 13. Cheated on my mum and left us all for another woman. My mum, uh, got out of control. She didn't take it well," you replied, not looking up once as your gaze was fixed on the chestnut-stained, chipped table.

"I see. Well, from the contents of the rubbish bin, I presume her coping had something to do with alcohol," the woman said. As if her apathy hadn't been obvious from the start, it was dripping off her every word and showing her true intents; not to help you, but to get this over and done with and throw your siblings into foster care, then consider her job done and get paid for it.

You nodded at her claim nonetheless, picking at the paint of the table. "Yeah."

"Have you or your siblings ever been subject to abuse, from either of your parents?" she continued

"No no, absolutely not, they never hit–"

"I'm not just talking about physical abuse, (Y/N)," she interrupted. It was the first time of the entire questioning you had looked up as you met her gaze, your eyes saying more than your mouth ever could.

"It was just a few arguments,” you responded coldly.

“When we asked Margalida, your neighbour, about if there’s been any incidents like this, she said there has been. Yelling, screaming, and lots of it,” the woman told you. “How many arguments are you considering a few, (Y/N)?”

The table shook from the impact of your hand slamming it sharply as you shot to your feet. "If you consider a couple arguments to be verbal abuse, go ahead. My mum is hurt and angry, very angry about her husband leaving her, so yeah, she drinks and we argue about it!"

"Listen, please sit down. I understand that you and your siblings are troubled children but–"

"I hate being a– I hate that term, 'troubled kid', you know? We aren't troubled! If we were troubled, wouldn't we be dead? Wouldn't we be troubled by an inability to continue living in these conditions, these... ruins?"

Silence. You sat down once again, your head in your hands.

"Do you have another location you can stay at?" she asked you. You shook your head, the feeling of dread burying itself deeper in your gut.

"Unfortunately, we will have to place your siblings in foster care. The living conditions are unsafe and unstable for kids their age to be living in," the social worker finished.

You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to sob and sob and sob, harder than you ever have, but the tears wouldn't summon.

"There is another option," she spoke slowly, making you immediately look up from the darkness your palms shrouded you in.

"...we contact your father and see if he wants to look after them."

It sounded just as bad as placing them into foster care. Now, you wanted to scream in her face and call her utterly stupid for assuming that a man who abandoned his kids would want to take care of them years later to keep them out of the foster system. Why on God's green earth would he want to reap the consequences of his infidelity?

"Are you hard of hearing?" you scoffed. "Yeah, so, I said earlier that he left us years ago for another woman, you know, to make another family. He didn't want us."

"He's the only other option at the moment. Unless your mother can be moved to a rehabilitation center in sufficient enough time, and you become their legal guardians, they will end up with foster families. Possibly not even the same one."

The news weighed on you like bricks. It was all so much, you couldn't think straight and contemplate possible outcomes and solutions. You put your elbows on your table and held your head in your hands once again, taking a deep breath.

"Can I at least find someone myself who's willing to foster? Someone I know?" you asked, your tone being nothing short of desperate.

She took a moment to respond, and it was probably the most nerve-wracking few seconds of your life, until the ultimatum was spoken.

"I suppose, yes. That is basically the whole principle of fostering, so I see no issue. Until then, they will be placed in a temporary home before we start looking for a permanent family. A pair of officers have gone to detain your mother and we'll review the information from this questioning to determine whether she should be charged or put straight into a rehabilitation program."

"Thank you," you almost cried, your body relaxing from the little bit of relief and reassurance you had just received. There was still a possibility that you could get your siblings back.

The problem standing in your way now was, you didn't know anyone willing to foster. You had no idea who you'd turn to, and it actually made you realise that you were pretty alone in this whole ordeal, and life in general. You really did have nobody but yourself, and clearly there came a time where that wouldn't be enough.

"Magda, Dani, Enzo, come on. We're going now," you said as the door of the interrogation room swung open. You beckoned at the kids, who stood up and ran to you, following you out of the door.

You didn't want to go home yet, just in case the officers were still there and you'd arrive to the horrible scene of your drunkard mother getting dragged of her own house by the authorities, so you drove to the training pitch. You were in search of one person in particular, and hoping to avoid another one.

Parking the car in the same spot you had parked in the same morning, you quickly got out of the car and ushered the kids onto the pitch to play for a little bit while you went into the gym.

As soon as you walked through the automatic glass doors, the person you were searching for was stretching on a yoga mat, her resistance bands discarded above her head.

She sat up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion and concern, probably achieved from your sorrowful expression.

"Vicky, I need your help. Now."

[critrolestats]

New Blood, Old Regards

Thanks to @eyeofthenewt1 for this art piece!

Greetings! Although the Stats Team is still in a state of retirement, we’ve periodically updated several of our Campaign 3 Running Stats categories and galleries thanks to the efforts of a new team of data collectors. This team, consisting of Archivists Astral, Ethereal, Fey, and Shadow, have been preparing since the beginning of the year to launch their own site, and that day has come! With that, we’re pleased to present:

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Thanks Are In Order

Outside of our final livecast, we realize we went out without the proper thanks to the community members who helped us grow. We’d like to take this opportunity to give credit where we feel it’s due.

We’d like to thank the team at Critical Role for their support over the years, with special thanks to Dani Carr for both her wonderful spirit, tenacious work ethic, and the marvelous send-off she gave us.

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We’d like to thank both our patrons and our Ko-Fi supporters for allowing us to carry on for as long as we have, and to make sure our work can continue to reach those who want to be informed and inspired. Thank you to our regular visitors, as well; traffic is supportive in several ways!

Thank you to those who have been with us, whether it’s the very beginning, sometime in the middle, or even if you’re tuning in just now. Your patronage and your expression of value in our work has been a blessing. (Thanks for the 1d4.) We’d also like to thank everyone who has continued to visit the site in spite of the lack of regular content creation on our part, and are grateful that so many of you are still finding use in the previous campaigns’ worth of data, as well as the current one.

We love you all very much. Now, back to retirement!

[spacedace]

Sat down to write more Ghosts of Gotham adn Business of Family.

Have instead written an opening bit of an AU where Tim accidentally summoned a slightly eldritch Mirrorborn (clone) Queen/Ancient of the Ever Onward (Speedforce) Elle with his whole "try to clone my two dead best friends hundreds of times" thing.

...it's slowly morphing into Tim accidentally/on purpose becoming a warlock with Elle as his equal parts delighted and confused Patron to get his loved ones back. He might unintentionally start a cult (it might be intentional I don't know how unhinged this is gonna get)

Send help, I've started world building again 😭

(Also as always take this mess as a writing prompt if any of my nonsense sounds neat to you ❤️)

[rootedinrevisions]

Two Step

SUMMARY: Not much of a plot, just a short little piece about learning how to two-step with Tyler.

A/N: This is inspired by the video of Glen and his sister dancing that was posted by @theglenaissance (thanks for the inspiration!)

The bar was alive with the steady thrum of country music and the laughter of patrons enjoying their Saturday evening. There was a slight haze of dim, golden light that hung over the room, and the worn wood floor carried the scuff marks of countless boots. You sat at a small corner table nursing a glass of sweet tea, content to the let the others on the team take the spotlight.

Boone was holding court at the bar, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a story to Dexter and Dani. Lily leaned against the jukebox a few feet away, her face lit up at whatever Boone was saying. Meanwhile Tyler was the center of attention as always, his easygoing smile and charm lighting up the room. He was sat at the table across from you, leaned back in his chair tipping his hat to someone who passed by. His laughter carried over the hum of conversation in the room. He looked completely at ease, as if the long day of chasing storms and helping destroyed towns hadn’t left him exhausted like it had you.

You swirled the ice in your glass absentmindedly, feeling the familiar comfort of being a spectator rather than a participant. The last thing you expected was for Tyler to stand and turn his attention toward you.

“C’mon,” he said, his grin widening as he extended a hand toward you.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor where couples swayed and spun in time with the music.

You shook your head quickly, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh, no. I don’t dance.”

Tyler’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more mischievous. “Don’t dance or don’t want to dance?”

“Both,” you replied, trying to suppress a nervous laugh. “And I don’t even know how.”

“Well,” he drawled, taking a small step closer, “lucky for you, I’m a good teacher.”

You stared at him, your pulse quickening. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to dance with him—it was that the idea of being the focus of attention on that dance floor, even for a few moments, felt overwhelming. You glanced around the room, but Tyler didn’t seem to care who might be watching.

“Tyler, I—” you started, but the way his eyes softened, his grin turning into something almost gentle, stopped you. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Just one dance.”

Your hesitation lingered for a moment longer, but then you sighed and placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, his grip steady and reassuring. As he led you to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to follow him, like he’d done this a hundred times before. 

Tyler turned to face you fully, letting go of your hand for just a moment before retaking it. His fingers wrapped gently around yours, warm and steady. “Alright, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he stepped closer. His free hand hovered near your waist. “I’m gonna put my hand here. This okay?”

The softness in his tone, the way he paused for your approval, sent a flutter through your chest. You swallowed hard and gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

His hand settled lightly on your waist, his touch firm but careful, as though he was hyper-aware of not overstepping. “Good,” he said with a small smile. “Now, your turn. Left hand on my shoulder.”

You hesitated for a second, lifting your hand cautiously and letting it rest over his shoulder, your fingers barely brushing against the fabric of his shirt. He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing, and his grin widened. “I don’t bite, you know.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, and the tension in your shoulders eased a little. “Okay,” you murmured, shifting your hand to rest more comfortably.

“Atta girl,” he said, giving you a wink that made your cheeks warm. “Now, the basics. We’re gonna do a two-step. Real easy. Step together, step, step. Got it?”

You nodded, even though your nerves were already making you second-guess yourself.

“Alright,” Tyler said, his grin turning a little crooked in a way that made your stomach flip. “Here we go. Step together. Step. Step.”

You tried to follow him, but on the second count, your feet didn’t quite match his, and you stumbled slightly. Your cheeks burned as you let out an embarrassed laugh, trying to step back. “I—I can’t do this,” you said quickly. “I’m gonna fall, or worse, step on your foot.”

Tyler tightened his hold on your waist ever so slightly, keeping you in place. “Nope, not letting you run off that easy,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence. His grin was steady, unshaken. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

The way he said it, like it was the simplest truth in the world, made your heart skip a beat.

He glanced down at his boots and gave you a playful smirk. “And if you step on my foot, it’s no big deal. Steel toes. Do your worst.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your nerves easing just a little as his words sank in. “Alright,” you said softly, your voice more steady this time.

“Good. Let’s try again.”

He led you once more, his steps slow and deliberate, and this time you managed to follow the rhythm for a few beats before faltering again. Tyler didn’t seem to mind, though. His hand on your waist kept you grounded, and his quiet encouragement kept you from giving up.

“See? You’re getting it,” he said after a few more tries, his grin never fading.

Finally, after a few minutes, the movement started to feel more natural. You found the rhythm, your steps matching his as the two of you swayed side to side in a simple two-step motion. Tyler’s hand on your waist guided you, steady and reassuring, and the smile on his face made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

“There it is,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Told you you’d get the hang of it.”

Tyler’s grin turned playful, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, darlin’, now that you’ve got the hang of the two-step, let’s add a little flair.”

You gave him a nervous look, the kind that silently said what are you getting me into now? “Flair?” you echoed, uncertainty lacing your voice.

“A twirl,” he said simply, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. His confidence didn’t waver for a second. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

You bit your lip, unsure but willing to trust him. “Okay,” you said hesitantly, and he gave a reassuring nod.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” he said, his hand slipping from your waist to take your left hand. His touch was gentle yet steady. “I’ll step back, you’ll step back. Just like this.”

He guided you, both of you taking a step back, your hands the only thing connecting you now. The distance made your heart skip—it felt vulnerable and thrilling all at once.

“Now, I’m gonna spin you,” Tyler said, his grin widening as he lifted his left arm, keeping hold of your hand.

Before you could overthink it, he gave a gentle pull, guiding you forward as he lifted his arm higher, creating a perfect arc for you to twirl under. His right hand hovered just behind you, ready to steady you if needed.

You stepped forward, turning under his arm, your heart pounding as you completed the spin without stumbling. Your hair swung lightly with the motion, and when you stopped, you looked up at him with a grin, surprised and thrilled.

“There it is,” he said, his own grin matching yours. “Told you it’d be easy.”

Before you could reply, he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “Now, let’s make it a little more interesting.”

He pulled you into another spin, the movement a little faster this time. Your laughter bubbled up as you twirled again, but this time, instead of releasing you back into the basic steps, Tyler’s left arm slid around your waist.

You gasped as he caught you in a slight dip, his right hand steadying your back to make sure you didn’t fall. The world seemed to tilt for a second as you stared up at him, his face inches from yours.

“Easy,” Tyler murmured, his voice low and reassuring. His left hand gave your waist a gentle squeeze, grounding you. “I’ve got you.”

The way he said it made your pulse race, his confidence never faltering. For a brief moment, it was just the two of you—no music, no crowd, no bar. Just Tyler, his steady hands, and the way he made you feel like you could trust him with anything.

He pulled you upright, his hand still firm at your waist, and guided your left hand back to his shoulder. His right hand found yours again, bringing you back to the original position.

“See?” he said, his tone laced with teasing pride. “You’re a natural.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your heart still racing. “I don’t know about that, but…that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

With Tyler’s steady guidance and easy charm, you began to relax into the rhythm of the music. The initial nerves that had made your steps hesitant faded as you let him lead, his movements so natural it felt like he could do this in his sleep.

One song melted into the next, and before long, the two of you were gliding around the dance floor like you’d been doing this together for years. You even found yourself smiling more, the shyness that had initially made you resist slipping away. Tyler’s confidence was contagious, and every time you stumbled or faltered, his reassuring squeeze or playful grin reminded you that it was all just for fun.

At some point, the pace of the music picked up, and Tyler added a few spins and flourishes, pulling you close one moment and letting you twirl away the next. You laughed freely now, the sound blending with the claps and cheers of other couples on the floor.

“Look at you,” Tyler said over the music, his voice low but full of pride. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re a good teacher.”

“Or you’re just a quick learner,” he teased, spinning you again and pulling you back to him with an exaggerated flair that had you laughing so hard you nearly tripped.

By the time the current song faded into another, the two of you were breathless, the warm energy of the room making your cheeks flush. Tyler finally slowed, his hand still resting at your waist as he leaned in close.

“How about a break, darlin’?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, realizing just how thirsty you were. “Yeah, I think I need one.”

Tyler grinned, his hand lingering at your back as he guided you off the dance floor and back toward the bar. The cool air hit your skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth you’d felt out there with him.

As you leaned against the bar, Tyler ordered drinks for both of you, his easy confidence as natural here as it had been on the dance floor. When he handed you your drink, your fingers brushed for just a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest again.

“See?” he said, lifting his own drink in a mock toast. “Told you you’d have fun.”

You clinked your glass lightly against his and smiled, a little breathless but feeling more alive than you had in a long time. “Okay, you were right.”

“Gonna remember that,” he teased, his grin turning mischievous.

The rest of the night stretched ahead, full of laughter and the promise of more moments like this. You might have been reluctant at first, but Tyler had a way of making even the most hesitant steps feel like second nature.

[atopvisenyashill]

do you have any idea of how jon’s ending is going to be? 😄

me answering this two months later should tell you that i have no fucking clue alsjfdlk. i mean...i have some guesses but i'm not completely sure on any of them and i reserve the right to change my mind as soon as 3 seconds after i post this answer and i actually had to psyche myself up to post this bc i crave validation and i feel like i'm talking out of my ass here lol.

jon's story is honestly the one that trips me up more than everyone else's. for one thing, the show is basically no help at all here - i think a lot of the stuff they did with jon in the show they mostly did because it looked cool and fit the action hero trope they were trying to fill even though "action hero" isn't really what jon's story is about or even follows. for another thing, the fandom just differs soooo much on what's going to happen to him that it's hard to sort of sift through how everyone feels and come to a specific idea on how EYE personally feel. there's a few things i feel strongly are or aren't happening so i guess i'll just ramble on a bit here:

there is one thing i am absolutely sure is going to happen and it's this:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on." If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged.

I really think this is foreshadowing Jon and Bran's ending wrt each other - building up holdfasts and raising up new lords and ladies not as a shield against the Wildlings but to help the Wildlings as well as the large amount of Northerners in need of somewhere safe after the destruction of the Long Night. Land and resources to help this group of people desperately in need of a new homeland - it's Brandon's Gift to his brother!

the other thing i'm mainly convinced of is i think a bit spicy of a take not just amongst the greater fandom but even amongst the jonsa side more specifically - jon isn't going to be king nor is he legitimate. it's not to say that I don't think the crown will be offered to him because I definitely believe that jon is going to have several other moments similar to stannis offering him winterfell where someone is offering him a crown and a way to jump ahead of the other starklings in the line of succession. i do not believe he will say yes. not only that, but i think his story is going to end with him leaving Winterfell and KL specifically because he doesn't want anyone building a faction around him and his name to topple his family members' claims. like maester aemon, his beloved mentor, he is going to purposefully take himself out of the succession AND get himself out of sight and out of mind so Sansa and Bran face no real backlash.

the thing is - i just don't know when that is going to happen. i generally fall under the idea that this ending will come about halfway through a dream of spring - after sticking by his siblings, supporting their claims, dealing with his identity crisis, doubling down on making Sansa QitN and Bran King on the Iron Throne, he's going to realize there's a political faction building around him and just peace out to the Gift to deal with resettling the Wildlings. Completely out of politics, completely cut off from most of Westeros.

THAT. It's the only thing I'm sure of in his story. All my other theories are a lot more vague and I'm a lot less certain of them but Jon helping resettle refugees from the Long Night (whether it's displaced people from the Riverlands and the North, perhaps the remnants of the Unsullied even, as well as Wildlings and former Night's Watch members) and purposefully going there to make sure no political faction builds around him to usurp his brother and sister's claims after rejecting a crown, that is the one thing I would bet money on happening at some point in the series.

But the other stuff...I'm gonna bullet point because I'm less sure:

Jon as Hand/Regent - there's a lot of foreshadowing about Bran having a Regent for awhile and while I'm not sure Bran is going to have a lot of say over his regents, he will have more say over his Hand and I think if Jon does access any sort of power, it's going to be as Bran's hand. But once he realizes people are still kinda itchy about the new political structure (a parliament style rule with a disabled king), that's what prompts him to leave entirely.

Jon as the Mummer's Dragon - Dany is going to show up thinking he's a "proper dragon" because she's already killed the mummer in Aegon VI (or so she thinks) and rumors have started about Jon's parentage (part of why Jon is going to refuse the Winter crown will be because any claim he has comes through Lyanna which puts him at the bottom of the rankings anyway! No way Howland is just going to let Jon get crowned without pointing all of this out!). But Jon isn't a dragon, he is a wolf in dragon's clothing. I don't fully believe he's going to stab her a la the show - I think it's more likely Arya kills her and Jon takes the fall for it to protect Arya.

Jon as a Romantic Hero - we all know I go back and forth on whether Jonsa will be canon or not. IF it does go canon, I think what happens is they fall in love through TWOW, find out about his parentage so it's surprise not incest, and then broach the topic of marrying (maybe they even do get married secretly) only for it to get put on pause because of like, ice and fire magic plot reasons, then Jon's reputation is ruined by "killing" Dany, and he leaves. I THINK that's how the story is going to end - with them separated due to the politics but with some hope of one day reconciling. if they DO end up together though, it will be after he builds a reputation for himself in the Gift (maybe even colloquially referred to as King of the Gift by the people there, the way he's called King Crow by the wildlings in the show), Sansa broaches the topic of them being together once again and this time they can because of how his reputation has built, and because it combines their claims without usurping Sansa's (and I think it's likely Jon insists on being called Prince-Consort and not King-Consort). That's the only way I see it ending happily for them but tbh I vastly prefer the idea that he lives in the Gift forever and secretly marries Sansa maybe but they are never able to live together due to the politics. But that's because I love a bittersweet romantic ending, I want those two full of longing for the love that could have been!!!

Jon as a Dragon Rider - also something i waffle on. part of me feels like you don't have a dragon named after a main character's secret father and not have that character interact with that dragon. another part of me feels like the set up of all three dragons have defined, loving relationships with their riders might be set up for dany's feelings on losing her dragons to enemies (euron/victarion and aegon) than for those dragons actually getting relationships with main character riders. i like the idea of jon, like nettles, having a close relationship with his dragon because he's serious about keeping this dragon away from other people, and treating the dragon like a pet (the way he treats ghost) instead of a war machine but i'm not sure george finds that compelling, ya know. Don't ask me which dragon he could possibly ride, i have no strong opinions one way or the other.

[pengold]

If Danny Phantom was set in a modern D&D world.

Tucker is a Gunslinger / Artificer multiclass, picking up old tech from Danny's parents and improving it.

Dani is the princess of ghosts and was so excited for Danny to join her and become her actual big brother.

Danny originally found Dani's skull in Vald's dungeons, he brought her to life with his awakening ghost powers (sorcerer).

Sam would be a Warlock whose patron was Danny but has moved to Dani as they work forward to save their friend/brother.

(these are just some ideas I had while working on the piece)

[roseandxanderfics]

“Training Ground Moments” Roy Kent x reader

Summary: Roy Kent doesn’t do soft—except when you’re around. The team notices. Jamie teases. And Roy? He just grumbles and lets it happen. Maybe even likes it.

------------

Sure, Roy was a grumpy bastard to just about everyone, but that wasn’t exactly news.

But then someone noticed that with you, it was different.

Not softer, exactly. Just… less harsh.

Like how, when you asked a question, he actually answered instead of just grunting. Or how, when you walked onto the training pitch, his usual scowl didn’t seem quite as deep.

Jamie was the first to call it out.

“Oi, gaffer,” he drawled during a water break, shooting Roy a smirk. “You only grumble half as much when she asks a question.”

A couple of the lads snickered. Sam raised an eyebrow like he was taking notes for later.

Roy glared at Jamie. “Fuck off.”

He turned back to his clipboard, but not before you caught the slight tension in his jaw.

Interesting.

⸻

You started hanging around training sessions more often.

Not on purpose, really. It just sort of… happened.

You told yourself it was curiosity—that, as someone now involved in the club, you wanted to understand how things worked. But the truth was, you liked watching Roy in his element.

There was something different about him here.

Still gruff, still swearing every other word, but focused. Passionate. And, in a way, protective—not just of the players, but of the entire team.

Roy noticed you watching.

At first, he didn’t say anything. Just a glance in your direction, a small nod, nothing more.

But then, one day, when you were lingering near the edge of the pitch, arms crossed, he stomped over.

“You keep standing there looking confused, someone’s gonna mistake you for a lost tourist.”

You blinked up at him. “I am confused.”

Roy grunted, then gestured at the field. “What’s confusing?”

You hesitated. “Everything?”

He exhaled through his nose, then—without any prompting—started explaining.

Not in a patronizing way. Not like he was dumbing it down for you. Just in his usual, blunt way.

“This drill’s for counter-pressing. See how they’re shifting? That’s to close space. Otherwise, they get fucking walked through.”

You nodded slowly, watching as the players moved across the pitch.

Roy watched you watching them.

Then, as if realizing he wasn’t annoyed by your presence, he muttered, “You should sit in on a strategy meeting.”

You glanced at him in surprise. “Really?”

He shrugged. “If you’re gonna hang around, might as well fucking learn something.”

It wasn’t exactly an invitation. But coming from Roy, it might as well have been.

⸻

One day, after training, you wandered into the locker room while the team was still filtering in.

It was empty enough that you didn’t think much of where you sat—on the bench, near the back, just needing a moment to collect yourself after a long day.

The second you did, however, the entire room froze.

You didn’t notice at first. You were scrolling through your phone, half-listening to the players chatting, until the sudden, eerie silence made you look up.

Every single pair of eyes was on you.

“What?” you asked warily.

No one answered.

Colin subtly jerked his chin toward the seat beneath you. Jamie’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

Confused, you looked down at the bench, then back up. “What?”

Dani winced. “Ah… that is usually Coach Roy’s spot.”

Oh.

Oh.

You swallowed. The weight of your mistake hit you immediately.

Roy Kent was a man of routine. Roy Kent had habits. Roy Kent had a very specific way of doing things, and sitting in his usual spot in the locker room was—apparently—high on that list.

You weren’t afraid of him, exactly. But you weren’t exactly prepared to be on the receiving end of one of his infamous death glares, either.

Just as you were debating whether to move, heavy footsteps approached.

The team collectively held their breath.

Roy stopped in front of you.

You glanced up at him, expecting—bracing for—a gruff Get the fuck out of my seat.

Instead, he just looked at you for a long moment.

Then, to everyone’s shock, he exhaled, muttered, “Move your fucking legs,” and dropped onto the bench beside you.

The silence in the room was deafening.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. “Comfortable?”

Roy grunted. “Shut up.”

From across the room, Jamie stared at you both like he’d just witnessed the second coming of Christ. “Nah, this is mental.”

Isaac, still gaping, smacked him on the arm. “Don’t fuck this up for them, bruv.”

Roy shot them both a glare, then turned his attention back to you. “You staying for the meeting or what?”

You tilted your head. “Is that an actual invitation?”

Roy’s expression didn’t change, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Take it or leave it,” he muttered.

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I’ll take it.”

————————

After the meeting, you lingered in the locker room longer than you intended.

Not that you had any reason to be there—technically, you weren’t a coach or a player. But Roy had invited you, in his own Roy Kent way, and something about that made you want to stay.

The meeting had been interesting, even if most of it had gone over your head. Roy had led the discussion, his voice low and gruff as he analyzed the team’s performance, pointed out weaknesses, and gave suggestions that sounded more like orders.

You had expected him to ignore you entirely.

Instead, a few times, he’d actually glanced at you, like he was checking if you were following along.

And once—just once—when you furrowed your brows at some technical jargon, he’d muttered, “Means they need to close space faster,” without breaking stride.

No one else seemed to notice. But you did.

And it made something in your stomach flip.

Now, as the team started filtering out of the locker room, you stood to leave as well. But before you could, Roy’s voice stopped you.

“Oi.”

You turned. He was still sitting on the bench, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

“You got plans?”

The question caught you off guard. “…Now?”

“No, next fucking Christmas.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, now.”

You hesitated. “Not really.”

Roy exhaled like he was already regretting what he was about to say. “Come get food.”

That definitely caught you off guard.

You blinked. “Food?”

Roy’s jaw flexed, like the word physically pained him. “Yeah. Food. You eat, don’t you?”

“I… do.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t exactly an invitation. More of a statement.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself following Roy Kent out of the locker room, into the parking lot, and—before you could even process what was happening—into his car.

⸻

Dinner (Not a Date, Definitely a Date)

Roy didn’t take you anywhere fancy.

Which, honestly, made sense.

Instead, he drove to some quiet, hole-in-the-wall pub on the outskirts of Richmond. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of regulars, a bartender who greeted Roy with a nod, and a cozy atmosphere that felt oddly comfortable.

You had barely settled into the booth when Roy grunted, “What do you drink?”

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Right. Wine,” he interrupted, like he had already decided for you. “Red or white?”

“…White?”

Roy nodded and got up, leaving no room for discussion.

You watched as he strode to the bar, barked out an order, and returned a few minutes later with two glasses—one of wine for you, one of beer for himself.

When he sat down, he leaned back against the booth, studying you for a moment. “So.”

“So,” you echoed, taking a sip of your drink.

Roy huffed. “This is weird.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re having dinner with someone who isn’t yelling at you about football?”

“Exactly.” He took a long sip of his beer. “Don’t usually do this.”

“Go out to eat?”

“Go out to eat with people.” He frowned. “Except Keeley, sometimes. But she forces me.”

The mention of Keeley made something flicker in your chest. Not jealousy—just curiosity.

You knew their history. Everyone did. But whatever they had once been, it was clear that they had moved on.

And yet, the fact that you were here now, sitting across from him, sharing drinks, having a conversation that wasn’t just grumbled insults—that felt significant.

Roy cleared his throat. “You gonna tell me why you’ve been hanging around training so much?”

You tilted your head. “Why? Does it bother you?”

He scoffed. “If it bothered me, you’d fucking know.”

Fair point.

You traced the rim of your glass. “I guess I just… like watching.”

Roy gave you a look.

“Not like that,” you added quickly, rolling your eyes. “I just find it interesting. The way you coach, the way the team listens to you. You don’t just yell at them—well, okay, you do—but you also know them. You know how to push them without breaking them.”

Roy was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, he muttered, “That’s the fucking job.”

You smiled. “And you’re good at it.”

He didn’t say anything. Just grunted and took another sip of his beer.

But the tips of his ears were pink.

And for some reason, that made you want to stay in this moment just a little while longer.

[jedimaesteryoda]

While the show mashed Gendry and Edric Storm together, they are the only two of Robert's sons who we've ever seen. They were born to different circumstances, raised differently and have different attitudes towards their father.

Edric benefited from the fact that his mother was a noblewoman, so that meant Robert had to acknowledge him. It also meant that Robert saw to it that he was cared for. Edric was raised at Storm's End, and given an education and trained at arms, and the staff at Storm's End seemed to love him. Robert would even see him from time to time. He got birthday gifts from King's Landing, but they were always sent by Varys. Gendry, on the other hand, being the child of tavern worker meant that he was unacknowledged and Robert never even knew he existed. He is largely uneducated and he lost his mother at a young age, and Varys saw to it that he was apprenticed to Tobho Mott to learn a trade.

Their backgrounds show completely opposite opinions of Robert. Edric mentioned that Robert would train with him when they visited, and even learned to fight using a war hammer, Robert's signature weapon. He worships Robert to the point he gets defensive it gets pointed out that Robert lost one battle. He likely had the same dream as Jon Snow to be legitimized by his father and accepted into his house. Of course, the sad thing is as much as he craved his father's affection he overlooks that as Stannis pointed out, Robert never really cared that much about him. Robert was a negligent father to all his children.

Gendry only saw Robert once, and that was when he nearly ran him down on his horse while drunk. It left him an unflattering view to say the least of Robert as a "big fat sot" and his only compliment was that Robert was "a better king than these sons of his." He does not romanticize Robert that way Edric does, having seen firsthand his flaws and the effects of his negligence.

They both take after Robert in their appearances with Brienne having almost mistaken Gendry for Renly. However, Edric resembles his father in spirit, having his charm and pride, but he still plays "Monsters and Maidens" with Shireen despite thinking it's a kid's game because she wants to and wanted to say goodbye to her before he left. He seems to be sensitive towards the feelings of others, and isn't shitty to the women in his life so far.

Gendry resembles more his uncle Stannis in personality in being serious, brooding and having a chip in his shoulder as well as an affinity for the Lord of Light. But he joins the Brotherhood without Banners to protect the smallfolk of the riverlands during the War of Five Kings that began during the end of Robert's reign. He also wields a hammer like Robert, but for constructive purposes in blacksmithing. He is a literal Smith to Robert's Warrior, a creator as opposed to destroyer. He lost his mother as Robert lost his parents, but he avoided his father's vices towards wine and women. Gendry's childhood experience witnessing his mother bringing home drunk patrons to hook up with hardly left a favorable impression on him. He is what Robert could have been.

Robert didn't really do much for them as a father, but the fact that he fathered them combined with his failures as a king meant they have targets on their backs. Gendry was forced to leave King's Landing to avoid Cersei's men taking his head. Edric was forced to leave Westeros to avoid being burned by Stannis at Melisandre's behest. Even posthumously, Robert's legacy put them in harm's way.

As for where their stories might go, that's speculation. Unfortunately for Edric, I think he will be brought into the game of thrones again. If Daenerys crosses, she might come across him in Lys. Tyrion might suggest legitimizing him as a puppet lord of Storm's End. Any concerns by Daenerys could be blown away by the question: How many dragons does he have? Edric's claim would be dependent on Dany's victory. Of course, bringing him back means he is back in the line of fire. I could see an Addam of Hull parallel for him. :(

As for Gendry, that fact that his heritage hasn't been publicly revealed yet likely means that it has a role to play in the story like Jon Snow's. Staying out of the game of thrones likely ensured his safety, and he might by a twist of fate be legitimized into the next Lord of Storm's End. I could even see him and Arya getting together, fulfilling the promise of a Stark-Baratheon marriage.

The two boys represent different parts of Robert's legacy. One is the memory of Robert as the larger-than-life warrior who won the Iron Throne with his war hammer, and the other is the reality of the consequences of Robert's personal and political failures as king. We will see how they deal with Robert's legacy as the story goes on.