#his face has ''hook line sinker'' written all over it. what a fucking bastard

[vaggieslefteye]

Hazbin Hotel (2024): Season 1 ⤷ Alastor being FAKE vs Lucifer being REAL

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel edit #dad beat dad #charlie #lucifer #the show must go on #the more i watch that part in hell's greatest dad the worse i feel every single time #i mean just look at how she looks at him. she BELIEVES HIM 300%. and he KNOWS she believes him. just look at his fucking reaction. god. #his face has ''hook line sinker'' written all over it. what a fucking bastard #HEY ALASTOR UR MOM GAY!!!! #song: finale #song: hell's greatest dad #parallels

[rockscanfly]

Concept: the little eel faces on Kaldur's hands change their expression depending on his mood

Being a good archer means having a good eye for detail, and Artemis has never been anything but excellent.

So it’s understandably galling when she realizes, three years into their friendship, that Kaldur’s tattoos are more than they seem.

They’re at the annual League Winter Solstice Party when she first notices, snatching his wrist as he’s about to hand Harper (on a short break from his fruitless quest to find whoever-the-fuck, Speedy, the first Roy Harper) a glass of mulled wine.

“Why are your tattoos happy,” she slurs, squinting through the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The Watchtower falls under international rules when it comes to alcohol–everyone eighteen and over is legal, and like any self-respecting American teen, she’s taking advantage while she can.

“Can they be happy? Harper, hey, Roy,” she says, and shoves Kaldur’s hand in Roy’s face. She gestures to the smiling eels that adorn Kaldur’s hands. “Am I drunk? Why are his hand snakes so, so smiley?”

Roy hmm’s, faking intrigue while shooting Kaldur an amused look. He probably thought Artemis didn’t see it, which she totally did, because detail, but she chooses not to mention it. Because, well, answers.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Blondie,” Roy says, smirking. “Does someone need a glass of water, kiddo?”

“Fuck your water,” Artemis murmurs, dropping Kaldur’s wrist. She steals the mulled wine first, downing it in one gulp to prove a point.

Roy throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Careful, Kal,” he jokes, “Looks like we got a badass over here.”

Kaldur smiles, warm with amusement at their antics. “A badass who I sincerely hope doesn’t think that a hangover will be getting her out of training tomorrow,” he teases gently, eyes dancing.

It’s a look that she doesn’t get to see on him often, Artemis realizes with a pang. Suddenly nostalgic, she throws her arms around the both of them, drawing them together.

“We should dance,” she asserts firmly, gesturing drunkenly with one heel-clad foot at the impromptu dance floor. Zattanna and Rocket are already up there, swaying drunkenly to Nat King Cole. “C’mon.”

She manages to pull the two of them to the floor, all three rocking gently in awkward tandem before Wally comes and pulls her away for a dance of their own–Kaldur I can understand, but don’t tell me you’re leaving me for Harper of all people, babe–and as she’s pulled away she sees Roy throw Kaldur’s arms over his shoulders as he leads the other man in a drunken waltz.

As Wally spins her around the room–he’s had three times the number of drinks as her, at least, but speedster metabolisms and so on–she catches a glimpse of Kaldur’s face tucked over Roy’s shoulder, blush flushing his high cheeks bones. She can see the little eels, too, grinning, where they rest on the strong muscles of Roy’s neck.

Well I’ll be damned, she thinks, and resolves to tease the two of them with this story when they finally get their shit together.

Its two years and a hundred leagues under the ocean later, and no one’s shit is together, least of all Kaldur’s.

Then again, Artemis thinks ruefully, exhausted, watching helplessly while he trembles apart next to her on their shared bed, caught in yet another nightmare, what could you expect?

Gritting her teeth, Artemis grabs her own wrist, restraining herself from touching him. The last time she tried that, tried shaking him awake by the shoulder, it didn’t go well.

The bruises from being flung against the wall hurt, yeah, but not as much as his face did when he woke up and realized what he’d done, or the way he shied from contact with her for a whole week afterward. She’s touch-starved enough as it is, down here, away from Wally and his fever-hot body, his Speedster warm hands. She doesn’t need Kaldur’s guilt driving him even further away than the distance he already kept.

Sighing, Artemis forces herself up, out of the bed, and pads around to Kaldur’s front. Kneeling, she tries calling his name, hoping that will wake him from sleep. “Kaldur,” she says softly, voice too rough and too gravelly in her own ears. “Kaldur, wake up, it’s okay, you’re here.”

He twitches wildly, hands coming up to cover his mouth, muffling a hoarse scream. She thinks, exasperated, that it’s just like him to silence his own pain, even in dreams.

Her eyes flick to his hands, and she notices the eels are snarling, twisting and writhing in agony. Small shocks of electricity leap from finger to finger, and she backs further away.

“Kaldur, Kaldur, wake up,” she hisses, desperate. His face is a snarl of misery, brow drawn tight. “Kaldur—” she yells, and his eyes snap open, wide and terrified.

He sits up instantly, chest heaving, gills flapping in dry air. “Tula, Tula–epanélthei, na epanélthei, parakaloúme na érthei píso–Artemis–”

“–Is dead,” Artemis says quickly. She’s too familiar with the shadow’s to believe that there aren’t at least seven bugs hidden in this room of their quarters alone. “You killed her, you avenged Tula. Its okay, Kaldur, I’m here. You’re home.”

Kaldur looks up at her, shaking his head, clearing the clouds. He straightens, shoulders going firm and tight in a way she hates. “Of course,” he says, breathe slowing. “Thank you, Tigress.”

She grabs one of his hands in hers, pulling him in for an embrace. This, the need to comfort him, is one of the only things she doesn’t have to fake down here, and she treasures the cool press of his skin to her own. “Anytime, Kaldur’ahm,” she says, and it’s one of the only things she’s said in a month that wasn’t a lie.

—-

By the time the Invasion is over Artemis considers herself an expert in Kaldur speak. The secret, she will later divulge to Zattanna, who drunkenly asks her just how the hell she always seems to know what’s really going on in their stoic friend’s head, is to look at his hands.

Two weeks after Wally’s death and the expulsion of those bastards from her planet, it’s this little known fact–that the faces of his eels will always reveal the emotions that Kaldur himself buries under ten metric tons of emotionally repressive rock–that tips her off to the fact that Kaldur is not okay.

They–meaning herself, M’gann, and Conner, who are at the moment the only members of the original team who are really coping with what’s happened–have gathered the original team together for a beach day. Like old times, M’gann says, as she lays a plate of snicker doodles–Wally’s favorite, Artemis remembers with a hollow pang–on the picnic table.

As therapy days go, it isn’t bad, but it’s also isn’t great.

“Come on, fishsticks,” Artemis shouts across the net to Kaldur. It’s him and M’gann against herself and Conner. Dick sits on the side, ostensibly playing ref but in reality brooding over a strawberry margarita. “Spike it! I dare ya!”

Kaldur smiles at her, challenging, and does exactly that. Conner, as expected, manages to dive low, catching the ball with a fist. It goes soaring, high, high, before an invisible force catches it and drives it back into the sand on their side of the net.

“Hey!” Artemis shouts, pointing at M’gann. “Blatant cheating!”

M’gann grins, eyes fading to their normal color from their tell-tale glow. She turns to Dick. “What does the ref say?”

Dick, the brooding idiot, looks up from trying to find the meaning of life in his margarita. “Umm. No foul?” He says uncertainly, guilt written across his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artemis mutters, and trudges through the thick sand to Dick’s spot underneath the umbrella. “Okay, break time. Let’s get in the water, bird boy,” she says, pulling him out into the sun.

Dick hisses, pulling non-committaly against her grip. “I thought cats hated water,” he gripes, and she can’t help but grin. It’s a stupid joke, yeah, but it’s also the first one he’s made all day.

“Tigers actually love water,” Connor interjects, pulling his shirt over his head. Casually, he wrests Dick from Artemis’s grasp, holding him over his head and walking calmly over to the sea. M’gann floats sedately after them, shifting her cloths from a shirt and shorts to a one piece.

“Traitors!” Dick yells, laughing despite himself, wriggling pointlessly. “Ruffians! Kaldur, help!”

“This is a battle you must fight alone, my friend,” Kaldur says solemnly, sitting down in the sand to watch the chaos.

Artemis settles beside him, watching as M’gann and Connor pull their struggling friend into the water. The scene quickly devolves into a splash fight–a fight in which Dick, who lacks both super strength and the ability to psychically create walls of water, is hilariously outmatched in.

“Why don’t you join them?” Artemis questions, not unkindly. “You’d kick all of our asses in a water war.”

Kaldur sighs, crossing his hands over his chest. Her eyes flick down to the eels, noting with a sinking stomach that, despite his relaxed demeanor, their expressions are twisted in anxiety and, she thinks, sorrow.

She looks back up as he prepares to speak, something sour building in her throat as she sees that none of these feelings are portrayed on his own face.

“I feel that would be unfair,” he says with a gentle smile.

Artemis frowns. The smile manages to reach his eyes. Anyone who didn’t know about the eels would buy this, hook line and sinker, and she hates how good he has gotten at acting.

“They would love to have you,” she prods, gesturing. “I’m sure Dick would appreciate the backup.”

Kaldur’s smile tightens, but doesn’t drop. “I am sure he will be fine,” he says, evasive.

Artemis frowns. “The point of this whole thing is for us to have fun together,” she says, standing. She leans down, reaching for his hand. The eel’s expression twists tighter, though Kaldur’s smile remains the same. “C’mon,” she wheedles. “Join us.”

Kaldur flinches away, finally allowing the smile to drop. He goes blank, showing nothing. “It would not be a good idea,” he says, firm. “But thank you.”

It’s not until later, when she overhears an argument between Black Canary and Aquaman, that she learns that Kaldur has been exiled from Atlantis and is no longer welcome in any ocean.

—

“You’re an idiot,” she tells Roy Harper, while they sit on a roof top and watch the sunset behind Star City’s horizon.

“What’s new,” he grumbles, throwing back the last slug of his beer. It’s the only one he’ll have tonight, responsible adult that he is now. She thanks the universe every day that Lian has him as a father.

Now if only he’d be as good a boyfriend to her best friend as he’s been a father to her neice, she could rest easily.

“Seriously though,” Artemis gripes, poking him in the side with her own beer. It’s her third, because she doesn’t have a kid to look after, and it is a Friday. She dodges his half-hearted swipe at her head, grinning. “Why don’t you go for it? He’s been in love with you for years.”

Roy sighs, lying back on the warm concrete, legs kicking in the open air. “It’s not that simple.”

Artemis kicks his shin. “Yeah, it is.”

Roy props himself up on his elbows, squinting at her in the fading sunlight. Small lines crinkle in the corner of his eyes, signs of age brought on early from a life hard lived, and she kicks him harder. “Fucking ow,” he gripes. “Look, it’s not–It’s not about what Kaldur feels. He doesn’t want it.”

Artemis scoffs. “The fuck gave you that idea?”

“Do you know anything about Atlantis?” Roy snaps. “Like, at all?”

“I know his tattoos smile whenever you’re around,” she snaps back. “That doesn’t happen for just anyone, asshole.”

“Not about Kaldur, you doof, about Atlantis. In general.”

“Not really,” Artemis shrugs. “I know they exiled him for a while, like, a couple years ago. And that Garth got the exile repealed. I know about Purists. What else is there?”

Roy sighs, curling his body back up to look her in the eyes. His gaze is tired, and she suddenly feels a little bad for disrupting what was probably one of the only relaxing moments he’s had in days, at least.

“Atlantis isn’t the greatest, when it comes to people like you and me,” Roy says, blunt. “We both know Kaldur’s as queer as a three dollar bill, same as, like, half the fucking team. Atlantean culture? Not so cool with that. Kaldur’s gotten better, but he still has issues.”

“Atlantis is homophobic?” Artemis repeats, honestly shocked. “But Garth, and Tula, and La’gann—“

“—Don’t know,” Roy finishes for her. “He’s not exactly vocal about it. How do you even know?”

“From the way he looks at you,” Artemis replies, something cold settling in her stomach. “And back in twenty-fourteen, at that Solstice party. His tattoos gave it away, more than anything, the way they grinned while you were dancing with him.”

“You’re annoyingly observant, you know that?” Roy grumbles, thumbing the label off his beer bottle. “Look, you’re probably one of the only people in the whole League who has noticed either of those things. And Kaldur—he’s gotten a lot better, than he used to be. He doesn’t hate himself like he used too. Can’t, considering who his friends are. But I don’t know if he’ll ever be in a place where he wants to act on this…thing, we’ve got.”

“What about you?” Artemis presses, nudging her foot gently against Roy’s own. She looks over her shoulder, eyes widening briefly. Carefully, she raises her voice ever-so-slightly. “How about you, Roy? Do you want a relationship with Kaldur?”

Roy scoffs, eyes fixed on the horizon, the setting sun. He doesn’t notice Artemis’s distraction, and raises his volume automatically to match her own. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with him for years. If I thought for a second he’d go for it—“ Roy finishes with a shrug. “You’d never get me off of him.”

Artemis grins over her shoulder, feet kicking against the roof’s ledge in glee. “That’s great,” she says, cat’s grin curling her lips, smug. “Kaldur? What do you think?”

Roy curses, twisting.

Kaldur stands on the roof, six-pack clenched in one webbed hand, the other covering his gaping mouth. He’s blushing furiously, and the eels on his hands have half-moon grins.

“I—“ he stammers, and Artemis jumps up, taking the six pack easily from his shocked grip.

“It looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she says smugly, and saunters back down the fire escape.

The next day, during the weekly League Council meeting, she can’t help but notice, detail oriented as she is, that the eels are still grinning.

#kaldur #artemis crock #seaarrow #spitfire #young justice #koy #roy harper #mine