#all he ever wanted was to help people...

[glassrunner]

"That which inspires us to our greatest good... is also the cause of our greatest evil."

VIKTOR, THE MACHINE HERALD | ARCANE S02E06

[kagoutiss]

pelican town, ‘72

[demaparbat-hp]

YOOOO DEMA YOU LIKE ARCANE???!! omg who's your favorite character??? and favorite moment(s) from s1??? (and fav ship too 👀 👀) will you draw for Arcane in the future???? (peak show with peak art =perfection, just saying)

Anon, you have the. Best. Timing. Ever. I literally just finished an Arcane artstyle study with Katara of the Undercity as a subject!

My favorite Arcane character is and forever shall be Ekko (best boy). Other faves are Viktor (chronic illness baby) and Jinx (trauma gremlin).

As for the S1 scene... Besides the finale and that breathtaking Guns for Hire sequence? The Ekko/Jinx fight from ep 7. It broke me. (And turned me into a Timebomb shipper. Which was arguably worse.)

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Choi Han, for a test from a god, is sent to an unknown land with "Cale."

Choi Han, upon arrival, realizes something is strange about this Cale. He's got a similar appearance to his own Cale but the eyes are sharper, with a witty bite to his tongue and a quick sneer always at the ready.

He's clearly confused and distressed about being in a strange place with a strange person but he does his best to not let it show. His hand reaches for a bottle of alcohol that isn't there.

Choi Han thinks that this Cale isn't like his Cale at all.

Choi Han has a hunch that this Cale is the one from before Kim Rok Soo's possession. It makes sense. So he isn't his Cale.

However, though Choi Han wants to become cold to this stranger version of Cale, when he looks into those red-brown eyes and sees fear, he draws back. It's an instinctual feeling that he gets, right as Cale is spitting more vile words to cover up the trembling in his hands, that he doesn't want to see even a terrible Cale be afraid of him.

This doesn't stop them from arguing. Through towns, forests, deserts, they both learn on an intimate level that they would never, ever get along. Cale is too loud, too threatening, and Choi Han can't resist from debating with this strange Cale about morals, of all things. They argue constantly.

Though they argue, Choi Han can't help himself from sometimes mistaking this Cale for his own. He tells himself it's because they look alike.

They're both in the midst of an argument when a noble-like individual approaches them with cloying words, which seek to lure them inside of the noble's home. Choi Han is suspicious, but before he has the chance to decline, Cale steps in front of Choi Han and demands to speak to the noble who wants to see them.

The noble-like individual turns out to be the servant of a more powerful man, something that Cale saw through immediately.

Choi Han is stunned.

How did this, this trashy Cale with no moral upstanding, clock the intentions of a person so quickly and accurately?

He asks him directly. Cale shrugs. Choi Han believes he's mistaken when Cale's eyes flicker with calculating intent. They don't discuss it further.

Little moments like these keep occurring. Cale does something impressive, Choi Han inquires, and Cale downplays it with a sneer or an insult and refuses to speak about it again. It's weird and strange but it's familiar. Extremely so. Not the insulting, and the sneer is too odd to be his own Cale's face, but it's familiar in the sense that they both underestimate themselves. They both refuse to acknowledge what lies under the surface of their visage.

This Cale is a strange individual. He swears and laughs and grins, he's too calm about their situation, and it's difficult to get through to him when he makes up his mind about something. But the strangest thing is that all of these things remind Choi Han of his Cale.

Finally, it all comes down to a final battle. One more fight and both himself and this Cale can go back to where they belong. Choi Han is ready.

Cale receives a power from a book before the battle and it's unlike anything Choi Han has ever seen. But the coughing up of blood makes him have Cale swear to never use it. Cale swears.

Choi Han makes Cale promise to stay on the sideline and not approach. Cale easily agrees.

They get to the last stage, the last time they'll see each other again, and the villain of this world is too powerful. It's as if he weren't meant for them to fight. It's as if he were made so that they struggle.

Choi Han swings his blade to block a blow that he knows he can't block, knows might end him, and he thinks about how he can't possibly die right now and leave this Cale behind... but he's too weak.

He wonders what his Cale would do in this moment, when everything seems hopeless and nothing is working.

Cale steps in front of him and uses his power to its fullest extent.

White light is shining everywhere, blinding Choi Han who keeps his burning eyes open, desperately keeps his eyes on the Cale that's bleeding from his mouth and his nose and his eyes and his skin is starting to crack, crack like he is about to turn into dust and disappear.

Cale turns to look at Choi Han.

"Ah. I was worried it wouldn't be enough to take out the villain." His eyes stained with blood curl up in a smile. A ball of dread sits in Choi Han's stomach. "I'm glad. I'm really, really..." eyes drifting closed, his body begins to shatter further and further. "Happy for you, Choi Han."

This is why they felt familiar.

It's with a cry of grief and anger, anger at himself, that Choi Han reaches out to hold Cale, hold onto even a piece of him.

Cale's eye, the only one left as he is disintegrating, widens.

Choi Han grasps a fragment that's about to vanish from Cale's chest, somewhere next to his heart, and this piece doesn't break, doesn't disappear from Choi Han's hand. It stays solid and firm and real-

And it's all that Choi Han is left with when the gods test ends.

Choi Han wakes up, surrounded by his family, with a red, glass marble in his hand. He holds it to his chest. It hurts.

It hurts.

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”

[seagreenstardust]

I always thought that by the end of the story Katsuki just wasn’t focused on topping the charts. It wasn’t about the number for him anymore, it was about the chase, the competition, the ‘for the rest of our lives’ of it all. He spent years working on that suit and getting Izuku back into the game. That’s what mattered to him

As soon as Izuku was back in action, Katsuki was right there with him, and the rise in ranking and popularity was just a happy side effect

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.

[starssoblue]

"the reason adrien is just instantly good at everything he tries is because he is programmed to be that way as a senti" aside from the fact that i don't think that's how it works (and also while he was decent at everything he tried with marinette he wasn't instantly good at all of them, and what marinette actually said to him was that he could improve in anything with practice but it was a great first attempt) did we all collectively forget about how adrien actually canonically isn't the best singer?

[a-host-of-dancing-daffodils]

And because I recently read the Chocolate Box...Please enjoy one of the only things I feel like the show did right with this particular story...

Poirot looking super dapper in his Belgian police uniform:

The cut of this uniform is very flattering on him, I must say...especially with the way it accentuates his chest, his waist, and his ''''''''seat''''''''

And I love the design on the collar/sleeves. Very fancy/official

also. please look at his very silly official hat

Gotta say. Hugh Fraser may have been the eye candy of this show, but. David Suchet sure knows how to be pretty, too

[lyxchen]

My thoughts on whether Gi-hun calling for a vote during the last game would have done anything and also voting in Squid Game in general:

So first of all I don't think it would have been allowed because he would have had to refuse to play for another vote to happen and the consent form states that if you refuse to play you will be eliminated. Also they already had a vote on wether to leave or continue to the 6th game which got a majority vote for continuing so I hardly believe they would have allowed him to vote again. Unless there was a tie but as we know, there wasn't.

But also like in general the voting isn't actually the players' way out. The voting, while technically "democratic", is inherintly unfair because it disregards the fact that people Will Die if one side wins the vote. People shouldn't be allowed to vote on other people's lives!! (That is also made clear again when the other players decide to vote on Gi-hun and the baby and Min-su's lives in the last game and then call it "fair")

So why would you think that voting is the ultimate way out? We have seen that the voting is not taken seriously. In-ho even told the VIPs that after hearing about the next game the players would vote to stay. Because they rigged it!! Never before have they told the players anything about what the next game might include. They only did so now to make sure that enough players voted to stay.

We even see the players themselves disregard the voting. When they already have a majority vote before the last game they tell the last player who was going to vote next that he doesn't have to vote anymore because it's already decided. The other players don't care about fairness or making sure every vote is counted. They only care that they won, beyond that they don't take those votes seriously at all.

They also show the players the amount of money they added and how much of that would be theirs if they left. That is a way to psychologically manipulate the players into being more willing to want to stay in the games.

It's even unfair in the way that the votes aren't anonymous!!! Everybody knows and we even see it in the show that peer pressure will make people vote differently if other people can see what they voted for.

It's even unfair with how when there's a tie they decide to wait through the night before they have another vote, Clearly knowing that O players will be much more likely and willing to kill other X players at night, so that for the next vote the O voters will be in a majority again.

I mean fuck, they handcuffed Gi-hun to the bed and told him if he didn't vote then that would be seen as him abstaining. As if that's fair!? The votes are a fucking joke and Gi-hun Knows That and I hardly think him calling for a vote during the last game would have done Anything for him.

The people in charge only give the players the option to vote to make them feel like they have a choice when in reality they Know not enough people will vote to leave and if there is the chance that they might, then they just manipulate it so that a majority X vote never actually happens!!!

Is the voting in this show supposed to at least partially represent voting in today's societys and countries? Probably. But even if we don't talk about that, the voting in the show itself clearly doesn't mean Anything and only exists to give players a false sense of control. So even if Gi-hun had called for a vote, I hardly believe it would have ended with both him and the baby getting out alive.

Playing by the rules doesn't do shit when the people who make and keep up the rules specifically designed them to have them work in their favor

[bitchfitch]

I had a shrink appointment today and while I could not see it I knew my doc was going through the five stages of grief while I explained my fool proof strategy for doing my t shots despite a crippling fear of needles: By abusing my vastly more crippling fear of being an inconvenience.

My mother and I play phasmophobia together every week. she usually has a pretty limited time to do this bc she's like. a doctor and a college professor whos always busy. So I asked her to just. hold me to doing them. We don't start playing until the shot is done. so my needle fear doesn't matter because now it's Wasting™ her time and I have to do it quick. Using one neurosis to defeat another.

It's a horrible coping mechanism because it's feeding the inconvenience fear, but it is definitionally a coping mechanism.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 14

content warnings: unhealthy ideas about food (I'll put a more detailed warning about this in the comments but I don't want to spoil stuff here), brief discussion of religion, mention of death, begging

prev chapter | masterlist

“Here you go, bud.”

I stared at the plate in front of me. It was ceramic. Less detailed than what we’d had at the house, but breakable all the same. I would have to be careful, then, but I knew how to do that. The crepe itself was a different story.

“Thank you, sir,” I said anyway, beginning to scissor a piece off with my fork. Crepes were meant to be eaten with hands, I remembered, but that wasn’t how a servant was supposed to act. Not in front of other people. Really, servants weren’t supposed to eat at all in front of other people if it could be helped, but exceptions could be made when food was handed right to me.

Dubhe sat down on my left, a bowl of fruit in front of him. There was mango in it. There was mango in my crepe, too, if Dubhe had really put everything he’d said he would. Prince Ryan didn’t let me eat mangos when he could help it. They made my cheeks red, my lips puffy, and my throat itch, but they weren’t so bad that I could refuse them. Not by a long shot. I’d have to eat egregious amounts before I was in any real danger, so I took a small bite of the crepe.

That was- shit, that was good. It wasn’t the strawberry jam that I was used to, but the combination of flavors more than made up for it. The mangoes that I was not supposed to eat practically melted on my tongue. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the gnawing feeling in my stomach, because of the tiny portion of dinner I’d received the night before.

“I’m assuming you don’t know much about who I am,” Dubhe said from his spot next to me, reminding me that he was there. I dragged my fork back and forth as I swallowed.

“His Highness Prince Ryan talked about you last night. When we were on our way to your room.”

“Yeah? What did he tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I shrugged. “He said that he is more fit to run a country than you, sir. He is more fit to run a country than most people.”

“Because of his qualifications?”

“Because the Rao family has held the crown for sixteen generations. Sir. That is all the qualification they need.”

“I don’t think-” He hesitated. “Okay. Let’s take this in a new direction, actually. What’s the point of having royalty?”

The point? What was the fucking point? Did it matter? I was a servant. I wasn’t supposed to understand things like this. The point of having a ruler was for them to rule. And that’s what the Rao family did, which meant that they could not have been unfit for it.

“Um,” I said slowly. “The point of having royalty is to make things easier for people who aren’t royalty, right, sir? Like… they make decisions about important things that other people don’t understand. They protect their subjects.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and I sighed in relief, cutting another bite of my crepe off with the dull edge of my fork. It would take longer this way than with a knife or my teeth. It would give him a longer time to have this conversation in an environment where eye contact was not expected. I wondered if he’d noticed me staring at the tablecloth while he’d asked me questions with Blue. I would have to be less obvious next time.

“Yes,” he repeated, “they are supposed to make things easier. And if every citizen gets together and decides that the royalty is making things harder, why shouldn’t they pick new royalty?”

“Because that would make them traitors, sir.” That was an easier question. I knew the answer just fine for that. I took another bite of my crepe.

“Not if they succeed. If they manage to overthrow the previous royals, and put new ones in and adjust the laws, it’s no longer treason.”

“Treason is illegal whether or not you’re punished for it, sir,” I said, covering my mouth while I chewed. It had been a long time since I had eaten in front of anyone except Jayden, but I couldn’t let my manners slip now. “Even if you’re the only one who knows about it, you aren’t supposed to think treasonous things.”

“Hm.” I did not turn my head to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. These were different questions than he’d asked with Blue. Those had been about me. These were… philosophical, maybe, or a test of some kind. “I am the current king of Sathenn. DId you know that?”

I stared at the table. I was supposed to behave. Prince Ryan had told me to behave. But Dubhe was wrong.

“Do you have an objection to that?” he asked.

I stared intently at the crepe. “... No, sir.”

“Right. You’re supposed to listen to people. I keep forgetting, sorry. If a… a well-meaning subject who was loyal to the crown had an objection… what would that objection sound like?”

“Um. Well. Sir. The royal family has the divine right to their power.”

“Divine right?” he repeated, and he almost sounded like he was holding in a laugh.

“It’s, um, a theory from hundreds of years ago, sir. Monarchies are passed through families because their bloodlines are superior.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. The most recently I’d heard, the Raos aren’t religious, though, so I’m surprised that they taught it to you. The word divine in that phrase implies that their right to rule was given to them by some sort of god.”

I frowned. I supposed that technically, Dubhe was right. I hadn’t thought about that before—or rather, I hadn’t been told. I wasn’t supposed to think through it the way he was doing, I was just supposed to listen to what I was told.

“It’s not about a god, sir,” I said eventually. “Divinity is not just from religion. The first Rao royal brought back the stars. They are the reason any of the kingdoms are able to exist at all.”

“Brought back the stars, yes, because they were one of the most brilliant scientists we’ve ever seen. But there are plenty of brilliant scientists we haven’t seen.” He took another bite of his fruit, giving me a few moments to wonder what the hell he meant before he continued.

“I used to know a person who was accepted to college at the age of fourteen, but xe died before xe could graduate because Lucia had xem killed. Xe could have been brilliant, too, if xe’d been given a chance to become that. Instead of giving xem that chance, Lucia nipped it in the bud. The first Rao may have brought back the stars, but fast forward a couple centuries, and Lucia was pulling shit like making it illegal for angels to fly at playgrounds without something attaching them to the ground. When the royalty does not serve the subjects, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with starting over.”

I swallowed another bite. My tongue was starting to feel awkward in my mouth. That was fine. It would swell a bit and probably get itchy, but it would not put me in actual danger, so it was fine. It wasn’t lethal. It didn’t even affect my breathing. It was fine.

I did not see the issue with what Dubhe had clearly listed as a failing of the queen. She knew better than I did what was safe at a playground. She knew better than any subjects what was safe at a playground. That was the problem with subjects deciding that their country was in need of new royalty. If the Raos truly had been unfit to rule, that was up to the Raos to decide. Not the subjects.

“It’s not technically illegal to be loyal to them,” Dubhe said when I didn’t respond. “Legally, you are free to have that opinion, as long as you don't try harassing people who don’t or something. But it’s ignorant at best to pretend that they did not hurt people while they ruled.”

“Their job isn’t to help people or hurt people, sir. It’s to rule, and to make decisions that no one else does. That’s what they did.”

“I guess.” He shrugged, taking a bite of his fruit. “They could’ve ruled much better than they did, though.”

I did not look at him as I mumbled, “Yes, sir.” He started staring at my face anyway.

“Is your… mouth swelling, Onyx?”

“Yes, sir. As is the usual result of me eating mangos.”

He grabbed my hand on its way to lift my fork to my mouth. “Please tell me you’re not allergic to mangos.”

I blinked like a deer caught in headlights, glancing between my crepe and Dubhe's face. “I’m… not… allergic? Sir?”

“Please tell me the honest truth about whether or not you’re allergic to mangos,” he amended, and I nodded. His mouth set in a tight line. “I asked you if you had dietary restrictions. Why didn’t you say anything?”

How was I supposed to know this is what he’d meant? “My apologies, sir. I thought… um, my mango allergy is included in the list of foods that the royal family did not allow me to have. I was under the impression that you did not care to know what they did not give me.”

“Well, yeah, but-” He released my hand, running his own hands through his braids and tugging on the ends. “I mean, I asked if there were foods you couldn’t eat. You said you could eat whatever I saw fit.”

“And if you saw fit to give me food I was allergic to, sir, I could eat it. I am grateful for any food I receive.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he hissed.

My eyes traced the grain in the table to avoid looking at him. “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to misinterpret your command.” Would Dubhe punish me? Was he allowed to, out in public, in the middle of the day? Prince Ryan wouldn’t have tolerated it. Prince Ryan was in jail at Dubhe's order.

“How allergic are you? Are you risking your breathing ability when you eat mangos? Are- are you risking your life?”

“No, sir. I’m only mildly allergic. Previously, it hasn’t resulted in any more than mild swelling and itching.”

“I don’t have angel medicine,” he said through gritted teeth.

I was frustrating him, I knew, but I didn’t know how to respond to his questions. I knew how to respond to things Prince Cardan said, or Prince Ryan, or Her Majesty, but I did not know Dubhe. I did not know what he wanted from me.

“My apologies, sir,” I said again. He shook his head sharply.

“It’s fine! It’s fine. I’m glad that your allergy isn’t worse than it is.”

His shoulders were tense, and when I glanced at him, he was glaring at the table too. It was not fine. I had messed up, and I hadn’t even said all the things I was supposed to say. “My sincerest apologies for not informing you of the allergy when you wanted me to, sir. It won’t happen again, and I would be grateful if you would punish me to help me remember.”

Dubhe turned his glare toward me. I flinched back. How had I forgotten already how disapproving he had been when hearing about my punishments? Of course this was not what he wanted me to say. What was I supposed to say? I could fix this. I could still fix this, couldn’t I?

He started talking before I could, reaching out and taking my plate.

“I am,” he said, and his voice broke, so he cleared his throat and started over. “I’m going to take this back to the kitchen. Stay here until I return, please.”

I stared at him in horror as he stood up with the crepe. The royal family did not permit me to beg, didn’t permit me to want things enough to beg, but this was not the royal family. And it wasn’t want that I felt as he took my plate—it was plain old hunger. I had slept for maybe four hours the night before. I had been tired and hungry before, but the royal family was careful. Prince Ryan paid attention to my body’s limits. If I continued to be deprived of both sleep and food, I would collapse soon, and then I wouldn’t be useful to anyone at all.

“Please,” I blurted out when Dubhe began to walk away. “Please, I- my apologies, sir, but I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I can eat it.”

“Onyx, I’m not going to force you to eat something you’re allergic to.”

“But you could, sir,” I insisted. My heart was racing, and I knew my words were too fast, not making sense, but I needed the crepe back. “You wouldn’t even have to force me. I appreciate you going out of your way to have breakfast made for me, and the mango really isn’t that bad, and-”

“Onyx.”

“Please, sir,” I repeated, trying not to cry. Her Majesty hated when I did that, when I tried to make other people feel guilty about my own body’s failings, but I couldn’t quite get rid of the pinch behind my eyes. It worsened and twisted until it turned into a familiar wetness building up behind my eyes. I couldn’t cry now, not if I wanted to convince him I deserved the crepe. “Please. I didn’t even eat half of it. I’m so hungry.”

Dubhe stared at me for a long moment, eventually bringing his free hand to rest on my shoulder. I held as still as I could. It was okay if he punished me. I had broken so many rules in the past few hours, he had every right to correct me, but all he did was gently squeeze my shoulder.

“You’re going to eat breakfast,” he told me softly. “I am taking your crepe back to the kitchen, and I’m having them make a different one without mango for you. Okay? I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear about that. I’m not going to punish you, and I’m not going to starve you. I know I seem frustrated right now. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

A different one, he said. Without mango. For me.

He’d just apologized to me while he explained that he was making me a personalized breakfast. People weren’t supposed to apologize to me. People weren’t supposed to give things to me.

I stared up at him. I remembered what he had said about how royalty is supposed to help subjects, about how he was the king.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

He nodded, and then he turned around and briskly walked back toward the kitchen.

~

taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606 @jay--o

[scintillatingstarz]

v………varian………………….

screenshot i used fur the 1st img :3

[dukeofthomas]

"Angry robin" "violent robin" "misbehaving robin" shut up and accept my alternative; spunky Robin. Determined and head strong, can out-stubborn the Batman, has a strong moral-backbone and does what he thinks is right regardless of what anybody else says, Robin. Jason who was sassy and quippy and made crude jokes with a smile on his face. Jason who hid in Bruce's cape and whispered gossip to him. Jason who, if Bruce refused him something, could keep bothering endlessly until Bruce caved. And also dramatic Jason. If Bruce tells him no, it becomes a whole theatrical show; a monologue, a narration, embellishments, and falling onto the floor in his grief upon the fact his cruel father has denied him once again.

(Jason who has suffered through abuse and homelessness and poverty and starvation, who is the Fight out of Fight or Flight, who's built up defenses and walls and when pushed and triggered responds with the thing that's always protected him; anger. He's sweet and kind and funny, and when he sees a pimp hitting a prostitute he gets furious and responds with violence.)

[justmenoworries]

Lex ranting and raving about how Superman has all this power that he will obviously abuse and that even now he's using it to fly above humanity as though he's better, all while he's literally floating above Metropolis in a specialized aircraft he built solely for himself and those who serve him after causing a dimensional rift that is destroying people's homes and endangering lives as he speaks. Cinema.

[sweetevoltrap]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.