Some goblin Astarion things.
He pinches you when you toss and turn too much in your shared bed. “Wake up and stop flailing! Gods. I’ll have bruises from your pointy elbows in the morning.”
He sews “kick me” on the butt of Gale���s trousers in dark, dark gray after the Wizard pisses him off. Karlach sees it with her dark vision when they’re in the Underdark and promptly knees him in the ass.
He steals all of Halsin’s wooden ducks and plants them in Wyll’s tent, for shits and giggles.
He tries to line a tripwire across the front of Lae’zel’s tent entrance, but ends up pricking himself on a blow dart booby trap he failed to perceive. Incurs -3 hit points and the bleeding condition for 10 turns.
He nips your neck like a disgruntled cockatoo when you tease him in front of the other party members.
He puts swamp green clothing dye in Shadowheart’s bottle of hair dye when she’s not looking, causing her to endure some sickly green highlights for a fortnight.
He steals Wither’s staff while he’s speaking with Jaheria and hides it among Lae’zel’s armory. Gets hauled over by the ear by Jaheira to apologize to Withers. And Lae’zel.
He hides in the bushes near camp and makes god-awful wailing noises to keep Scratch and the owlbear cub barking while the party is trying to get some sleep.
He fabricates some ridiculous story about how the Weave is really a hoax designed by Big Magic to control the masses, just to see Gale go purple in the face while arguing against this “utter tripe.”
He loudly proclaims that he overheard Shadowheart telling Wyll she could beat Lae’zel in unarmed combat with a hand tied behind her back, then scampers away cackling when the two lady warriors start yelling at one another.
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This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis
Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.
He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."
He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."
He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.
Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.
But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.
According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.
So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.
At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."
Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.
Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”
When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.
We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.
Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.
He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.
Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.
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invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)
[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."
Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”
Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.
At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.
"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.
Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”
Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."
In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]
Credits for ID here and here
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I actually thought of this prompt like forever ago and i rly wanted to write a whole story for it but i couldn't think of a plot that would stick to it and make sense without adding too many outside elements and in my opinion over saturating the story. BUT i do have a bunch of scenes of danny and damian in my head about this also also some danny and other batfam members.
So anyways your order has been delivered...
original prompt: Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program
scene two: tim's arch nemesis
table of contents
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scene 01: damian's not-so-very-bad day
“Father, you wanted to speak with me.” Damian said, trugging into his Father’s study late into the afternoon per Pennyworth’s behest.
Father looked up from his work at Damian’s arrival, Drake gave him a look of annoyance that Damian returned with a sneer. “Damian.” Father greeted as he reached Father’s work station. “I spoke with your principal earlier today.” Damian huffed and crossed his arms in defiance at whatever accusation he was about to be handed, “Put your frown away, you're not in trouble.” Father chuckled lightly.
Damian frowned. He was not a child, he did not need to be treated like one.
“There’s a mentorship program at your school.” Father started, Damian raised an intrigued brow at him.
Perhaps Father had succeeded in seeing his potential, “Well I suppose I wouldn’t mind mentoring one of the many underlings at the so-called academy.” Damian sighed, letting his arms fall to his side, as he looked up at his Father.
Father blinked at him, processing what he had said, then glanced at Drake who looked like a fraying rope length away from bursting into laughter. “The mentorship program… it’s for you.” Father tried hesitantly.
“Yes.” Damian nodded in understanding.
There was an uncomfortable silence from Father.
“He means that you're the one getting mentored.” Drake laughed at him, shoulders shaking.
Damian turned to Father. But the denial never came. “What!” Damian couldn’t help scream in outrage. “You want me to get mentored by some hillbilly civilian who can't tell a katana from a wakizashi?” He slammed his hands on Father’s table.
Father looked at him with disapproval, but said nothing, not caring enough to discipline Damian.
“Hillbilly civilian.” Drake croaked from the corner of the room, draping himself dramatically over one of the side sofas.
“You’re to meet him first thing tomorrow when you get to school. Here’s his student profile, if you're interested.” Father handed him a singular paper.
“Father I do not need-”
“It’s already been arranged Damian, atleast give it a try.” Father said with a sigh, picking up his files again in a silent dismissal of Damian.
The paper crumpled slightly as Damian stormed to his room.
Daniel James Fenton.
“Let’s see how long you last.” Damian eyed the picture of the smiling teen.
---
“Have a good day at school Masters Tim, Thomas, and Damian.” Pennyworth bid, as they all got out of the car.
“Later, Alfred.” Thomas waved at the butler as he drove off.
They all walked in the same direction to enter their classrooms, when Drake stopped him in his path. “Ohoho, and where do you think you’re going Damian?” he asked cheekily.
“Tsk.” He was hoping to be able to make it to his class before the others noticed, then continue to evade the principal and other faculty if need be required. To be foiled so early into his plan, furthermore by Drake, was humiliating.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the principal’s office?” Drake continued to smother his victory over Damian.
“I was just on my way.” He huffed, turning around annoyed. Drake and Thomas snickered as he retreated.
Damian knocked on the familiar oak doors. “Come in.” Mr. Carson called from the other side. Damian entered, and plopped down on the same chair he sat in every time he had been sent here. “Ah Damian. Goodmorning.” He waited for a reply, but when he realized he wouldn’t be getting one he continued on, “Mr. Fenton should be here any minute, but I’m glad you were able to come here on your own accord.” Mr. Carson talked as he hung up his jacket and took a seat at his chair.
Damian could only watch the seconds tick by as he sat in that office. He wondered absentmindedly if Fenton didn’t show up would he be free. The knock at the door decimated all hopes Damian had for that.
“Ah, that must be Mr. Fenton.” Mr. Carson mused out loud, “Come in.”
Fenton entered the room hesitantly, greeting Mr. Carson with a small smile. Fenton was a scholarship student and held reasonable grades so his intellect was not to be underestimated, though often simply being able to score well on tests did not translate to having adequate life skills. Fenton was taller than Drake, but still average, dark hair, tanned skin, gray-blue eyes. When Damian’s supposed mentor looked at Damian for the first time since he had entered the room, Damian couldn’t help but feel like he was caught in a stare off with a beast.
The way Fenton examined his surroundings reminded Damian of the League of Assassins. Careful, analytical and tactical. All things Damian had excelled in. But there was something different about Fenton than what Damian had often seen in the League. His eyes were softer than those that had trained Damian. Damian couldn’t understand why his eyes looked like that.
Fenton smiled at him in a way that was likely meant to be kind, “Hi, you must be Damian. I’m Danny.” He stuck out his hand for Damian to shake.
Damian did not take the hand, instead he turned to principal Carson, “When can I leave?” He asked board, subtly eying Fenton’s reaction in his peripheral vision.
“We have to iron out the finer details and the both of you will be free to go until we see each other for our weekly check in every Friday.” Principal Carson started, “Mr. Fenton why don’t you take a seat.
Undeterred by Damian’s lack of interest, Fenton took a seat. Mr. Carson explained to Fenton his responsibilities as a mentor and what would be expected of him, Fenton in turn nodded along attentively. After his long explanation of the whole program the both of them were free from his office, and excused from classes until lunch to “get to know each other better”.
Damian translated that to having until lunch to show Fenton that he was out of his depth and have him running with his tail between his legs.
“So…” Fenton drawled trying to buy time to think of something adequate to say no doubt, “How about we go to the library to hang out?” Fenton offered.
Damian simply huffed in agreement as they made their way to a pair of sofas tucked between the many rows of books.
“So, Damian, uh, what do you like to do after school?” Fenton asked unoriginally.
Damian turned so he could meet Fenton eye-to-eye. “Train.” He said honestly. If he plans on scaring him off then leaning into the superficial things he learned in the League would do him well.
“Oh, you do sports?” Fenton asked inquisitively. Damian was momentarily thrown off by his show of genuine interest in his personal life, but Damian quickly collected himself. Fenton was merely putting on an act to get him to open up, Damian would be a fool to fall for it.
“No.” He scoffed at the thought of sports, “I train for battle,” He made sure to put as much confidence as he could in his voice. Oftentimes in the past when he had told his peers of his activities they had brushed him off and laughed at him, Damian wondered if Fenton would have a similar reaction.
“Hardcore.” Fenton nodded in awe.
Damian blinked, “You believe me?” He found himself whispering.
“Well, yeah.” Fenton responded as if it were the most obvious thing, in fact, he seemed confused as Damian’s bafflement.
Damian quickly collected himself, “Well of course you should believe me it’s the truth, I’m a highly skilled blade user.” He nodded to himself.
“Blade user, huh? Do you prefer katanas or wakizashi? Or a classic long sword maybe.” Fenton asked eying Damian as if it would help him find the correct answer.
“Katanas obviously.” Damian scoffed, “They’re incredibly balanced, strong, and give you incredible control over your attacks. Wakizashi are also a good option if you prefer close combat and if you’re fighting in an area with a lot of obstacles.” Fenton hummed and nodded at his explanation, and Damian found himself continuing, “Long swords are originally from the Bavaria and Switzerland regions during the medieval times-”
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