#Enthralled!Drake

[vinelark]

i reread buy back the secrets whenever i need a pick me up it’s like the holy grail i can’t wait for the next chapter<3

!! i’m so happy it works as a pick me up for you! i know it’s been a longer wait for chapter 4 than it was for the other chapters but i have the gdoc open every day and tim is once again experiencing Situations 💪🌱💕

here is a little timkon text exchange to tide you over!

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as things that go bump in the night

So what if he’s not human?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Monsterfucking. Dubcon. Unprotected piv sex in Dick’s, Jason’s, and Damian’s. Blood in Bruce’s. Somnophilia and light breeding kink in Dick’s. Knotting in Jason’s. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Tim’s. Degradation in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Happy Halloweekend angels!

BRUCE WAYNE 🦇

A loner. A constant shadow over Gotham. A collector of all things macabre. And now, he has his sights set on you. You’re a pretty thing, dressed in all black at a late-autumn gala, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you even when your back is turned.

So it’s no surprise that, when you tempt fate by rounding a corner into a deserted hallway, you are not alone.

Stepping out of the shadows, Bruce’s hand clamps around one side of your throat, leaving just one side—the side of your pulse—exposed for his lips. He kisses you there far more than he kisses your lips, nibbling and suckling the soft flesh over your pulse. Your heart beats faster and faster as your knees go weak, but his arm tightens around you.

“I have you, darling,” he husks. His skin is cold against yours, but perhaps that’s because the all-consuming presence of a man like this makes your blood run hot.

His other hand comes up to cup your flushed cheek, thumb dragging along the shape of your face as if he’s trying to memorize you.

“So warm. Such soft skin,” he murmurs, bending his head low and kissing your neck. “Such a beautiful creature.”

Something twists in your stomach when he says that—creature. An instinct tells you to run, but you quickly realize that the look in his eyes has you completely enthralled. He’s watching you with purpose, always keeping your eyes locked as if looking away from you will break the spell he has you under.

“I have to taste you,” he whispers, voice raw with a strain whose source you cannot place. He inhales deeply and lets out a low, feral noise before you feel a twinned shock of pain that makes you gasp: blood rushes to your neck and spills from your broken skin onto his waiting tongue, which greedily laps at the sweet nectar he just stole.

DICK GRAYSON 🦇

You never remember what happened the morning after your nights with your blue-eyed visitor in black, but you can’t stop the way your body aches for the mysterious stranger. At first, you thought he was a dream, but even you know that your unconscious can’t conjure up something as beautiful as him.

He wakes you by laying on top of you, pushing his hot-as-Hell flesh against yours. You didn’t go to sleep naked, but you’re naked now; your clothes are gone, but you’re covered with him, his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, one of his hands painfully squeezing the other, and his red-tipped cock already bullying its way into your slick folds. 

It hurts, but the ache is so dizzying that you can’t bring yourself to care, especially when you’re aware that you won’t remember this by morning anyway. You feel as if you’re being burned alive and made new in just the way he wants you. And that feels good, doesn’t it? Why else would you have woken up with your pussy soaking wet? 

He picks his head up just enough to watch you watch him while his tongue traces the outer edge of your areola and flicks your nipple in slow strokes, teasing it into hardness with just the tip of his tongue. He’s kneeling between your legs, and his free hand slides down to gently stroke your belly—which is when you notice that his fingers, like his cock, are tipped with blood-red skin.

Then comes his dark murmur, “Let me fill you, pretty thing. Let me give you a little gift to help you remember me.”

Your breath catches and, once again, he latches on—teeth first, this time.

At the same time, he thrusts into you, cock heavy and fire-hot, searing your skin and all but tearing you open while you keen and grasp at him, fingernails scraping down his back. His warmth is inescapable as he thrusts into you with inhuman force.

And you swear that, when he comes, filling you with his infernal seed, you catch a glimpse of a ruby glimmer in his once-blue eyes.

JASON TODD 🦇

Honestly, you handled finding out that your boyfriend is a werewolf remarkably well. But because you’re a human, he has one rule: no knotting. That is, until an October full moon has him more feral than usual, trapped in a rut that he’s powerless to fight against.

Jason has you hiked up against his chest, barely balanced on his thick thighs with your panties shoved aside. One finger is pressed firmly against your clit, the claws that come with his half-transformed state lightly grazing your sensitive skin. He’s already buried inside of you, thrusting so shallowly that he may as well be humping your innermost walls.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His skin rages with heat while his muscles tremble, lips mouthing along any inch of your skin that he can reach. Head heavy on your shoulder, he rasps out broken sentences, each cut off by animalistic whimpers and whines. “God, fuck— I can’t— I shouldn’t— You’re—”

You have one hand tangled in his hair, thumbing the soft black-and-white fur that crawls up along his hybrid ears. His cock, impossibly thick already, stretches you even more open than you already were, and you throw your head back to let out a moan of mixed pleasure-pain.

“Fuck,” he whispers, because he feels it too. “Baby, I’m— It’s—”

“Let it,” you gasp, feeling lightheaded with the pain of Jason filling you so completely, cockhead swelling so full that he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please, please, Jason, I need it.”

All that gets you is another guttural groan from him, a sound as close to a howl as he can make without being fully transformed. Still swelling, his cock is thick, heavy, hot—pulsing inside of you, begging to stay there, to fill you, to mark and mate with you. You can’t imagine what it must look like, but you know that the feeling is divine: this oneness, this wholeness, is something you’ve never felt before. It’s almost enough to dull how much your pussy aches.

“Jason,” you moan, tears filling your eyes.

“I know,” he soothes, trying to stay sturdy and stable for you even though his whole body is trembling. “Fuck, it— Baby, you feel so good. Such a good fucking girl, letting me mate with you. Gonna make you feel amazing, I promise.”

TIM DRAKE 🦇

“Stay still,” Tim teases, clawed fingers clamping down on your hip. “Or no rewards.”

Your back is pressed against the chilly, damp wall of the bat cave, and your clothes are shreds around your feet. You know this is all your fault, that you should have avoided the man who has only made his obsession with you painfully clear. As soon as the half-dragon spotted you—his treasure, his paramour, his little human love—he pounced. 

Half changed with pewter green scales climbing up his skin and pupils narrowed into reptilian slits, Tim wastes no time in turning your clothes into ribbons of fabric in effort to get to you.

And then he drops to his knees, burying his face in between your legs.

The forked tongue laves up and down the folds of your pussy, skirting along the outside of your sopping hole until you’re shuddering, clinging to him. His hand digs in harder, talons piercing the soft skin of your ass, scaly palm forcing your cunt against his mouth until you feel the sting of sharpened teeth against your mound.

Even though his teeth sting your pulsing flesh, even though his licks are too fast to be completely pleasurable, you feel yourself grow slick around his tongue. Your head falls back against the wall and you begin to pant, heart beating so fast that you start to feel faint, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

His forked tongue reaches impossibly deep within you. The fleshy muscle feels wrong but also so good, skin fading from soft pink to greenish-black, its texture rough and bumpy, stimulating you from more directions than you have ever felt at once. 

He licks all the way to your cervix—a thing no mere mortal man could ever do to you—greedily biting, sucking, and growling against your throbbing, abused pussy until finally you come with a pitiful, worn-out scream.

You feel his ice-cold lips pull into a smile as he breathes, “Good human. Now give me another—or three more. Maybe five.”

DAMIAN WAYNE 🦇

You go to the guardian of an ancient library for help but, poor you, the sphinx’s riddles prove too challenging for you. In accordance with the legends, you expect to be smited on the spot, or at least banished, but instead—the sphinx shifts to his human form and decides that you are his.

How lucky it is that Damian decides he likes you enough to keep you captive instead of simply killing you as punishment. How lucky it is that he is clever enough to find a use for your frail human form. How lucky it is that he doesn’t find mating with you as repulsive as he originally thought.

“At least work for it,” he drawls, stifling a yawn while he leans back on the emerald-green settee. His arms are spread, powerful shoulders and biceps making him look even bigger than he already is. No, he never touches you—that would be demeaning—but he does offer you the privilege of riding his cock until you make yourself come.

You close your eyes and drive your hips forward and down, trying to strike the spot inside you that only he can reach. No sooner than your eyes flutter closed, though, he snaps his fingers in front of you.

“Look at me, pet.” His head rests on the back of the chair, lips parted with every breath that makes his chest slowly rise and fall. His face looks warm and you wonder what it might feel like to kiss those plush lips—but you’re also coherent enough to realize that he’s measuring his breaths on purpose.

You’re getting to him. You think. You hope. Maybe if you please him, he’ll let you go. 

He shifts his hips up and you cry out, nearly losing your balance on his powerful thighs, but a warm hand suddenly cups your ass to drag you back into place. He leans forward, stomach flexing, and murmurs in your ear, “Can’t even do this without help, can you? Useless little human.”

[crsssie]

sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

word count: 8.8k

summary: "Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face— you're in love with him.

حبيبتي.

You trace it on your skin each morning, gentle smile on your face, dumb like a lovesick idiot. It reminds you that you're loved, even if you have never met your soulmate, ever, in your life. Even when you didn't know, you had panicked and asked your friends if they knew what it was, in which the next seven hours after your seventh birthday was spent crowded around a computer on your iPad, trying to imitate the foreign language on your skin.

After seven hours, your mother, bless her, had noted it was in Arabic. Your father returned home shortly after, helping you translate the word.

Habibti. It meant beloved in Arabic.

Your young heart swelled as your friends gushed over it.

Beloved. Your soulmate calls you beloved at first meeting.

You had clung onto it, heart full and spinning. You told yourself that your soulmate must be a romantic just from the fact that he would call you his love first meeting. You had dreams of a fairy tale meeting, falling in front of him in the hallway during school, accidentally bumping into him while out, a stranger offering you an umbrella in the rain, the list goes on. Your friends had gotten tired of you after the second week, all of them off to find their own soulmates. You didn't know anything about him.

But the passion for finding your soulmate wears off just as fast as it had arrived, quickly realizing that you wouldn't be able to find him if you were in a town where you knew everyone. No one would call you that upon first meeting. Even if it was halfway across the world, you stopped dreaming about meeting your soulmate after you started college. If you wanted to meet him, you'd have to travel. You don't know where, but wherever you were allowed, you went. Even if it emptied your pockets and left you desperate in the streets, you had some of the best experiences of your life, all in the name of looking for your soulmate.

Even at graduation, when you're throwing your cap into the sky with your friends, wrist out for the world to see, the characters traced and colored in gold thanks to your friends, the green of the letters shimmering, you're thankful for everything you've poured your soul into. Your soulmate was someone you no longer craved, the world at your fingertips, a job in your pocket, your life set out before you. Fate was strong in your hands, another string in your life. You followed it with fervor, spinning and chasing after it with some childish will in your life.

You push everything related to your soulmate mark back when you step foot into Wayne Enterprises, nodding slowly at the three men as they welcome you to the team. You had expected the older boys, but you didn't complain. Not when Bruce Wayne himself was part of the three men.

"These are my two sons. Tim Drake, he's my third," You shake Tim's hand. "And Damian Wayne. My youngest."

You smile at him too, taking his hand.

"Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face. Damian raises a brow at the way you react, breath catching in his throat at how enthralled you are with him, features pulled back, eyes sparkling.

"Woah." You manage, a smile breaking onto your face as the words slip past. Damian does not know you. Hell, he's just met you, yet you were staring at him as if he was your world. You had that lovesick look that he had seen on Dick's face way too many times, and he was getting a little uncomfortable. It must be some sick joke. There's no way his soulmate could look at him like that the first time they meet. Yet, as you stare into his eyes, sun sparkling in your eyes, he finds himself breathless. Shit.

Bruce clears his throat behind the two of you.

"Sorry!" You let go of Damian's hand, the loss of contact knocking the air back into his lungs. "Not many people can read my soulmate mark here in the States. I was just surprised."

"So? Is he your soulmate?" Bruce's lip quirks upward.

Damian lies through his teeth. "No. My words are different."

Tim raises a brow behind Bruce, and Damian gives him a warning look.

"Well, regardless," Bruce hums. "You'll be working closely with my two sons for the next couple of weeks. We're very interested in the medical research you conducted while an undergrad in your major, so we'd like to sponsor your research. Your updates would go to my two sons, and I'll meet with you at the end of the month to see if you need more time."

You nod. "An honor, sir."

"The honor is all ours." Tim smiles, shaking your hand.

"Damian will lead you to the lab."

You follow behind his youngest, eyes still wide, trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy. Even if he wasn't your soulmate, he had called you beloved first meeting. You were enthralled. The two of you step into the elevator, and you wait for the door to close before speaking up.

"Are we really not soulmates?" You blink at him.

He shows you his wrist, your words in brown. "We are."

"Oh." You smile at him again. Damian grimaces at how bright you are. The universe sent him a sun because he was grouchy, didn't it?

"This is the lab you'll be using. It is all yours." He hums. "Requests can be sent through the computer, just type it on the notepad."

You nod, glancing around the room, fidgeting.

"What is it?" He raises a brow.

"You're not big on soulmates, are you?" You smile apologetically.

"Not really."

"Alright. Thank you."

Damian is half expecting you to pester him to the moon and back just based on how you looked at him the first time you met. Instead, you spend most of your time holed up in the lab, desperate to replicate results from your previous study. He can't deny that his heart sours a little at how easily you respect his boundaries, but he asked for it himself, so he finds no reason to complain. Huh, he would have to register the soulmate mark with you.

He knocks on the door to your lab, silence answering him. After a couple of minutes, you open the door.

"Sorry, did I make you wait? I had to put everything back." You blink at him.

"We need to register our soulmate bond."

"Ah. Right." You furrow your brows. "When are you available?"

"Tomorrow after work."

"So like... three?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Should I meet you up at the office?"

"I will come down to find you." He glances at the way none of your hair is visible from the cap.

"Alright." You hum. "See you then."

Damian is grasping at anything he can to try and talk to you. He can't believe he's like this, lovesick like some teenager, desperate to talk to you as if you were the only person that mattered in his life. He feels like Dick. It's awful. He loosens his tie as he stands on the elevator, irritation all over his face.

"You look like shit." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Be quiet, Drake." Damian grumbles.

"Registering your soulmate bond?"

"Yeah." He mumbles. "How did your registration go?"

"Smoothly. I told you."

"If only we had met under better circumstances."

"My soulmate didn't stare at me like I was God." Tim shrugs. "Good afternoon, Mr. Strawn."

The man nods.

The two men shut up as Damian steps off at your floor.

"Hey!" You've taken off all the clothes you wear in the lab, dressed for a date. Damian wonders if he's dressed too formal for this. "I brought all my documents. Do you have yours?"

"The city hall has all of my files on hand."

"Forgot, billionaire and all that." You laugh. "Let's get going."

The two of you hitch the next ride down, Damian taking you to his car, opening your door for you, head racing.

"There is always the possibility of us being platonic soulmates." Damian finds himself speaking up as he fastens his seatbelt.

"Yeah." You purse your lips to think. "Would you be alright with that?"

"We are soulmates. The universe obviously has something planned."

"Then what if we're romantic soulmates?"

"Then I suppose we would have to try." Damian pulls out of the parking garage, handing the guard his ticket, driving off. "Are you against it?"

"Oh, definitely not." You smile. "There is no downside for me."

"Not even the public's eye?"

"I've been scrutinized by my family my whole life." You smile. "I blew all my excess scholarship money on travelling because I wanted to meet my soulmate."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to Palestine, Israel, dropped by at Dubai, Egypt, and then my friends and I drove from Istanbul all the way to Western Europe." You count on your fingers. "I had a lot of people greet us first and then notice the writing on my wrist. The emerald green really stands out. I hadn't expected..." Your voice trails off, eyes staring into his, Damian unable to stare back because of the road. "I hadn't expected your eyes to match so nicely. They're breathtaking."

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." You hum, looking back outside your window. "But I have been told I have a way with words."

"Yeah?" He stops at the red light, turning to stare at your eyes. "I wonder what your eyes look like under the sun."

"Weren't you staring at them a couple days ago?" You pull out your phone.

"That wasn't directly under the sun." He mumbles, starting the car again.

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." He breathes. "Just to you."

You try to fight the warmth spreading up your neck to your cheeks, failing miserably as you resort to hiding your face in your hand for the rest of the ride.

"Is there any specific thing we need to do?"

"My brothers mentioned that we need our words scanned, but that was it." He hums. "You have your passport and license, correct?"

"Yeah." You hum. "Is that all I need?"

"Yes." He grabs a ticket and drives down to park, the two of you getting out of his car. "Come on." He leads the way, eyes pining down the paparazzi immediately. You glance in the direction he glared, only for him to move to block you from their view. The two of you make it into the building quicker, the elevator door closing behind the two of you.

"That was?"

"Paparazzi." He fishes out his phone, making a call." Yes. May we head up immediately? We will be there."

You blink as he presses the top floor, and for a second, you understand what it's like to live as a billionaire. A single phone call puts you at priority. You shift uncomfortably when the two of you arrive at the top floor, following Damian as he steps into the mayor's room, letting you sit down first.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne." He smiles, and you detect the lack of sincerity on his face immediately. Rather, the fake smile causes you to sit straighter, a smile lacking equal truth making its way onto your face. Damian shakes the mayor's hand, sitting down as well. "What brings you here?"

"Brought my soulmate to get our mark registered." He hums. "You have all my documents, so this should be quick, correct?"

"Of course. We just need both of your words scanned, and then the soulmate's legal documents — You're quite pretty."

You smile at him, laughing lightly. "Thank you. Here's the passport."

"Not a Gotham born, eh?"

"Nope. Moved here for work."

"Do you plan on staying?"

"Well, since my soulmate is here, I don't think moving is that big of a priority right now." You hum.

"May we have your wrist?"

You hold your wrist out, scanner registering the words, and Damian does the same, your words both popping up on the screen.

"What are the characters?"

"Arabic." Your smile turns sweet, bright, even, and the words come tumbling past your lips, like you had been proud to have those as your words your whole life, holding them dear to your heart. Damian's heart stutters in his chest at how enamored you look.

"Was the "woah" first or second?" The mayor turns to ask Damian.

"After. I had read the characters, and the only reaction I was given was "Woah."" Damian hums. "Are we finished?"

"Yes." The mayor laughs. "It's very much a romantic soulmate. Have the two of you..?"

"Not yet." Damian hums, standing up, holding his hand out for you. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Wayne. I hope to see the both of you at the Wayne gala later this year."

Damian leads you back to the elevator, music filling the air as the two of you stand there in silence.

"When would you like our first date to be?" Damian steps to the side, turning to look at you.

"Oh, um." You frown. "I'm not sure. I'd go, but I already submitted my leave for the weekend. My friend and her soulmate are getting married."

Damian raises a brow. "Not here?"

"They're getting married in the Maldives." You laugh awkwardly. "Her soulmate is loaded."

"More than me?" Damian raises a brow playfully.

"Well, loaded in the millionaire way." You smile. "Not billionaire."

"Do you have a date? Should I go with you?"

"Oh." You pause. "I could bring you, huh?" You press your fingers to your lips, pursing them. "I put down a plus one because I was expecting to bring another friend... I suppose it could be you."

"Did you put down a name?"

"No. They do not have a seating chart."

"Mm." He pauses. "is it too fast?"

"No, no!" You smile. "I'll send you the details... via email?" You grimace at how strange it sounds.

"May I have your phone? I can give you my number."

"Yes." You fish it out for him as he hands you his phone. You type your name in, typing habibti under company. You text yourself as he does with himself. The two of you trade phones back, and you send Damian the packing list and details of the wedding immediately. Damian scrolls through the list, pausing.

"Is there a specific invitation I am required to bring?"

"I have both. I will bring them." You smile. "Any other questions?"

The elevator stops at parking, and Damian leads you out. You make a beeline for the car this time, texting your friend to confirm the guest you would be bringing. She asks you if it's your soulmate, and you tell her to check the Gotham Gazette in the morning. She sends you a flurry of texts.

"Will our soulmate bond get leaked?"

"Perhaps by the paparazzi. Why?"

"I'd like for it to be a good photo of me."

"I will let my publicist know."

You check the news the next morning, beaming at how good you look in the photo. Damian looks protective of you, and as you rush to your lab in the morning, your heart is warm. You're glad he has a good eye for that, at the very least. The groupchat explodes with people looking for you, asking if it was true your soulmate was Damian, your friend private texting you to check if your guest was Damian. You only respond to your friend, confirming his attendance. She tells you she expects an expensive gift out of you, and you snort. You joke about relaying her message to Damian.

You tuck everything away as you get back to your experiment.

The end of the day comes quickly, and as you close the lab for the night, you blink when you stare at Damian at the door. You click on your phone, checking to see if you had missed any messages from him, but nothing appears. You raise a brow as you open the door with all of your stuff. "Something wrong, Mr. Wayne?"

"Damian is fine." He nods. "I was wondering what I should bring for your friend's wedding."

"Mm," You frown. "I was going to bring her a nice bottle of wine from one of my travels, but I'm sure you have something much better than that in the winehouse at your place."

"We do. We have a screaming eagle cabernet from the 90s."

"Woah." You blink. "That sounds like a lot. Isn't that like 500k?"

"We have multiple bottles." He insists. "I can bring one."

You grimace. "If you insist."

"It can be our gift. From the both of us."

"The tabloids have already started calling me a gold digger." You laugh.

"My publicist will take care of that. I will have father get you one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He hums. "Where do you live? I can drive you home."

"Um." You give him your address. It takes him a moment to figure out where you live, and then the two of you are off.

"I will send someone for you tomorrow," He hums. "We can take the private jet. I already got your tickets refunded."

"Oh. Wow." You blink at him in awe. "That's really kind. Thank you."

"No worries." He hums. "You should get used to it."

"Do all your brothers spoil their soulmates like that?"

"Grayson, the eldest," Damian grumbles. "worships the ground his soulmate steps on. Todd does the same, though less obvious about it. Drake's known his soulmate forever so the two of them click too well. Duke and his soulmate are platonic soulmates, but the two of them get along far better than we do as a family. Steph and Cass both have not found their soulmates and father..." he pauses. "father and his soulmate are... an interesting two."

"So your family all spoil their soulmates?"

"There is nothing out of reach with the amount of money we have. It is not spoiling if we are simply letting them get whatever they want because it is not a burden on us financially." Damian takes a turn. "We do not consider it spoiling."

"That's sweet." You smile. "How big were their rings?"

"Grayson's soulmate got the biggest diamond in existence. None of us could believe our eyes." Damian hums. "How big of a diamond would you want?"

"I'd like you to hand make a ring for me." You grin. "Of course, if you don't have time, I want something the color of your eyes to match my soulmate mark."

"Why not both?" He stops at the door to your apartment.

"How about you?" You open the door, tilting your head at him.

"Whatever color your eyes are."

You hate how good he is with his words.

Damian drives home, your words in the back of his mind. A handmade ring. Maybe you'd be willing to wear his name on your skin if he makes you a ring with a gem the color of his eye. Though, he'd be rushing. Even if his skin burned to touch you and his heart raced to be held by you, he did not wish to rush it. Messing up with you was far scarier than getting hurt during patrol.

He texts the family chat that he would be using the jet the next day, to which Dick had asked eagerly where he was going. Damian leaves him on read. He finds you at the door in the morning the next day, taking your suitcase from you as you yawn.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

You blink at him, rubbing your eyes. "No. Do you have food?"

"You can have some of Grayson's cereal."

You blink harder as he hands you a bowl with the cereal and milk, and you stare at the cereal brand.

"Wow. The amount of sugar in this could kill someone."

"Some days I wish it were enough to kill Grayson."

You pour out a little bit of the cereal, pouring the milk in, and then dig in. You read the ingredients as Damian goes upstairs, pulling his own luggage down the stairs, meeting you back in the kitchen when you finish. You clean the dishes, setting them to the side as Damian comes to get you.

"You did not need to wash the dishes."

"I didn't want to leave a mess." You reason.

"It's fine. We're leaving now. You ready?"

"Yeah." You grin. "Is takeoff rough?"

"It's very smooth." He hums. "I gave the pilot the address and everything already. We land in around three hours."

"Alright." You hum.

The jet, plane, was huge. You blink in surprise at the size as Damian leads you up the steps, and you blink quietly. "Woah."

"Surprised?"

"What's the use of having such a large plane? Isn't the carbon footprint huge?"

"We usually fly first class, but I figured since your friends all wanted to see what kind of a person you were dating, I shouldn't be stingy." Damian hums.

"There's really no need." You laugh.

"Also, more privacy." He hums. "I figured you deserve to know what kind of life I live outside of the tabloids."

You tilt your head at him. "Are you going to tell me you're Batman or something?"

The plane door shuts behind him, and he exhales.

"Robin."

Your eyes widen, lips pursing, surprise on your face.

"Is that too much too quick?"

"No." You pause. "No. That's. That's actually kind of hot."

Damian raises a brow.

"Are you still Robin? Because I think—"

"No," Damian shakes his head. "I run around with another name now, already graduated from the title, but I thought I would tell you since."

"Yeah." You exhale. "What about the weekend?"

"Todd and Drake are here. There is no need to fret."

"So your whole family is in on the business?"

"Yes."

"Wow." You mumble. "That's..."

Damian braces himself for the worst. He doesn't know why, your face is far from disgusted or terrified, but he still does. Maybe you would reject him or tell him to stop. That would be a nightmare.

"And you like doing it?"

"Yes." He raises a brow.

"Um, please don't come back to me dead. Ever. Please." You scratch your cheek. "If you like doing it, then I won't stop you. I'd just prefer you don't die on the job."

"Do not worry. If I were to die, my mother would simply drop me into the Lazarus pit." Damian jokes.

"That's some lore drop there." You blink. "That's real?"

"Yes." He raises a brow. "For the same reason my grandfather is immortal, by the same logic, so would I."

"Woah." You mumble. "I heard rumors of it when I was travelling. I didn't know it existed."

"Fountain of youth."

"Is that why you look so good?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that." You smile.

"And you?"

"I told you I travel." You nod. "Oh, it might be good to tell you about the friend getting married."

You tell him details about how the two of you met, telling him about your other friends at the same time, mumbling about how you thought her soulmate was actually an asshole just from the way he treated her friends, and then casually mentioning his name, Damian blinking.

"Do you know him?"

"Drake has done business with his family before."

"His family's a nightmare. The only reason I'm going is because my friend is an angel. I wouldn't go for any other reason."

Damian finds peace in the way your voice floods his senses, gathering intel on your friends, understanding who he had to avoid and who he could make small talk with. He had a feeling he'd know a couple of the people there from the groom's side, and from the way you talked about him, it wouldn't be pleasant if they found out he was your soulmate. Despite that, he finds that there is no need to worry too much. You were close to the bride's side. That's all that seemed to matter to you. You pause at some point, almost as if you were thinking of something.

"Something wrong?"

"We brought the wine, right?"

"Yes. I had the servants bring it."

"Alright." You mumble. "I'm not looking forward to what the groom has to say to me about you."

"I will stay next to you the whole time. My publicist will deal with everything."

"Speaking of which, who is your publicist?"

Damian smiles. "Grayson's soulmate."

"Ahhh." You laugh. That checks out.

There's not much jetlag when the two of you land, and you stare at the afternoon sun through your shades, hand held up. It's nice and warm, a contrast to the spring weather in Gotham. Damian leads you to the car, making a call as he does, handing you the tablet for you to choose which suite to get upgraded to.

"Are we sharing a bed?" You blink at him.

"We can order a room with two beds if you'd like."

"Would that be rude?"

"Not at all."

Damian finds that you've selected a room with a king bed instead, noticing the way your ears were flushed as you stared out the window. He confirms with the hotel on the call, putting the charge on his father's card. He wondered if you would call this spoiling. His brothers had told him that his soulmate deserved the best treatment, and Damian couldn't really tell what they had meant. He never lived a normal life. He wasn't sure if his normal was their best or if there was something better that he could give them. He opts for staring at your face instead, taking in your features.

"The upgrade." He swallows. "It is alright, right?"

"Yes." You smile at him. "It's more than okay. Thank you, a lot."

"The best, for you." He mumbles.

The two of you settle into the hotel room. Damian glances at the clothes you bring, exhaling quietly to himself when he realizes he brought a decent palette of clothes. The wedding's theme was lavender, and he was starting to get worried that he wouldn't be able to match with you at all, but he's happy to find that you've got colors similar to his.

"Do I need to call you anything?"

"It'd be funny if you call me habibti," You grin. "The bride is a friend from when I first got my soulmate mark. She was there when we tried searching up what the word on my wrist meant."

"Ah. You go back a long time."

"A very long time." You smile. "What was it like for you? Seeing your soulmate mark?"

"My family was in my room at midnight, including my mother, and everyone groaned when I got the most generic word ever. They thought I would never find my soulmate. Todd joked that my soulmate must be blown away by my face." He hums in amusement, noticing you avert your gaze. "I still owe him twenty. Dick's soulmate word was "hello" and only Drake had something remotely entertaining."

"What was it? If you don't mind me asking." You blink at him.

"I quote "We should get married." It was quite the sentence." Damian chuckles.

"That sounds funny." Your lips pull up into a smile. "I had a friend get "we should fuck" as their first sentence. Then I found out my best friend at the time had "Yo." as theirs."

"Did you like your first line?"

"I did." You beam at him, unclasping the clip for your suitcase. "I loved it. When my father told me it meant darling or my love in Arabic, I was elated. I thought my soulmate would be the most romantic man in the world, and I was ecstatic."

"Am I?" Damian raises a brow as you pull out a dress.

"Yes." Your smile stretches impossibly wider. "I'm very happy."

"I'm happy to hear that. What's the dress code for tonight?"

"You brought a polo, right? Rich boy, old money vibes. Polo shirt and khakis."

"Got it." He nods. "What color will you be wearing?"

"Everything I brought is some variation of the color palette for the wedding," You hum. "I'll be wearing this."

"I am sure you'll look dashing in it, habibti." He smiles.

You flush at the word, hiding your face in your dress.

"Is it too much?"

"No." You smile at him. "Just enough. I'll get used to it."

Damian wonders what kind of friends you had at seven. Yet, he finds himself blinking in surprise when the two of you arrive at the event.

"Woah, he's an item..." Your friend's jaw drops, patting your shoulders gently. "Damian Wayne? Pleasure to meet you. I'm your soulmate's best friend."

"No, I am." Another friend butts in.

"You're all wrong." The bride scoffs playfully. "I am."

Damian nods at them.

"We'll bring the gift tomorrow at the wedding." You smile at the bride, rushing off with them as Damian heads over to the side, making small talk with who he assumed the groom was. He finds himself with his eyes on you the whole night, only sparing glances at the people he was talking to when you would stare back at him. You look pretty. He understands why his brothers had clicked with their soulmates so quickly now. He excuses himself at some point, pressing his chest to your back, hand resting on your waist.

"Having fun? That's your second margarita, not to mention your cocktails."

You grin at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "It's actually my fourth."

"I think that is enough." He hums. "There's still a dinner."

"I can hold my alcohol." You mumble, and Damian takes the glass from your hand, downing the whole thing in one gulp. You blink at him, wide-eyed. "Woah."

"Let's get you seated, hm? Dinner starts soon. Cocktail hour is for after the dinner."

"Can I bring a drink to our room later?" You mumble.

"Yes." He excuses the two of you from the bride, settling down where your names were put, and he presses a patch into your skin, rubbing your arm as he waits for the neutralizer to course through your system. He probably should have asked if you were okay with it, but he has one on himself, so it's not like he was actively trying to drug you. You turn your head when you notice him rubbing the patch onto your skin, mind clearing a little.

"What is that?"

"Neutralizer. It helps with filtering alcohol."

"Oh, it works." You grin at him. "Thank you."

"Of course. I have one in my arm too."

"That sure explains why you didn't pass out from the sheer glasses of champagne you were having." You mumble.

"Who's at our table?"

"Two other girls and their soulmates. The two girls that were next to the bride and I earlier."

"Alright." He hums, letting his hand fall down to your side, staring at you as you wave your friends over. "Any exes?"

"Nope. I didn't date anyone that didn't greet me with what was on my wrist. It was pretty easy, considering that most people are ignorant. I also kept a bracelet around my wrist for the most part." You smile. "You?"

"Two. Maybe. I do not know if they count. I hooked up with them while..."

"In costume?"

"yeah."

You shrug, starting a conversation with your friend instead, catching up with her. Damian listens briefly, eyes focused on you instead, enamored with you. He's hopeless, he decides. He has no saving grace from you. He doesn't get to make fun of his brothers anymore, not when he was just like them. Your friends take notice of it, smiling when he notices their gaze. You're loved. Just from the way your friends had smiled at him and then at you, you're loved. He understands why. It'd be hard not to love you.

You excuse yourself early, exhaustion from the plane setting in late, Damian helping you up and leading the two of you back. You let the bride know with a hand on her back, and she shoos you away playfully, mumbling about how you should use protection. You sigh dramatically, telling her you'd make her an aunt on purpose. It was a joke from the way you had said it, but Damian wonders if you'd actually want kids of your own — shit, his brain was moving fast. He barely knows you.

"Were you actually tired?"

"Any longer and you would've seen how embarrassing my friends get when drunk." You mumble. "Embarassing bunch."

"How embarrassing?" He raises a brow. "My brothers are a nightmare when drunk as well."

"They won't shut up." You press your keycard on the lock. "About me."

"They love you a lot."

"They do." You turn to smile at Damian. "And I love them too, even if they don't shut up about my embarrassing stories when drunk. They're probably embarrassing the bride instead though."

"That would make more sense."

"They kept trying to get people to read the writing on my wrist last time." You hum. "That was after grad."

"So recently."

"Yeah. No one was able to read it." You laugh. "And the ones who could, they didn't say it to me. They called my friends habibti."

"You do not say it with an accent." Damian notices. "Habibti."

"Huh?" You pause while rummaging for your sleepwear. "Oh, yeah. I... my parents got me an Arabic teacher for a little while because I wanted to learn when I first got my mark. I've also visited... a lot of the countries? In part it's because I'd repeat the word to myself until I feel asleep until like..." You avert your gaze, going back to your suitcase. Damian notices you start flushing. "end of high school?"

"Ten years?" Damian exhales. "You whispered your word to yourself before bed for ten years?"

"Yeah." You finally find your pajamas in the baggage. "A little bit of a hopeless romantic, huh?"

Damian doesn't answer you, staring into your eyes instead, unmoving, barely blinking.

"Is it that bad?"

Damian breaks from his trance. "No. Not at all. It's..." endearing — but he can't say that, so he offers you a nod instead. He curses himself for the lack of game when it came to you, but as you rush to change in the bathroom, he sighs. It's hopeless. He's enamored. He understands why you had stared up at him with your pupils blown wide and lips parted upon first meeting. He does the same now, staring down at you like you were his everything, even if he knew barely anything about you outside of what you had told him. Well, he could always ask Drake to hack and gather intel on you. But it'd be a breach of privacy that he didn't want to cross with you. Ugh.

He pushes his hair back in frustration, opting for clearing his mind with work instead. Even if he had taken the weekend off with you, he should really do something that isn't thinking of all the ways he'd have your skin pressed to his at night — no, fuck. Damian opens his laptop, clicks on his VPN and the wifi, sorting through the emails from the WE teams instead. He barely notices the sound of the bathroom door opening and you step out with your sleepwear on. At some point, Tim texts him to get off his emails and enjoy the time with you, threatening to bench him. Damian grimaces, wondering how he could get benched in a company situation, but he doesn't argue back. He was trying to avoid talking to you, after all.

You're in bed on your phone, scrolling through something.

"What are you looking at?" Damian settles on his side of the bed.

"I'm watching my friend's wedding tiktoks." You smile, rolling over to show him. "The preparation ones. She's going to make more tomorrow."

Damian hums. "Can I put an arm around your waist? My arm..."

"Yeah." You grin. "You can touch me."

Damian's breath catches in his throat at how straightforward you are, arm wrapping around your torso slowly, resting his chin on your head, glancing down at your phone.

"Do you think about weddings?"

You close your phone, plugging it back in on the strand, settling yourself in Damian's arms. "Sometimes."

"What kind do you want?"

"I want your name on my skin at the wedding," You mumble, eyes already closed.

"Like bridal henna?"

"Mhm."

Damian struggles to sleep the whole night because of your words. Though, it's not like he's gone without sleep before. Instead, he spends the night matching his breathing to yours, wrapping his arms tighter around you, taking in the scent of your shampoo. At some point his eyes close, body betraying him and falling to the need. He wakes up to you shifting in his arms, turning around to get a look at his face better, lashes blinking on his skin, eyes staring up at him, sun reflecting in them.

Damian's breath hitches, and in his morning stupor, he rests his forehead on yours, staring into your eyes, nose touching yours, the love of the universe in the way he looks at you. His shoulders relax as he continues looking, sure that his pupils have expanded beyond repair, utterly enamored with how you looked in the morning. His arms squeeze around your waist affectionately, moving to bury his head into the crook of your neck, exhaling as he does.

"Good morning." He feels you smile.

"Good morning to you too, habibti." He mumbles back, smile mirroring yours, he's sure.

The wedding moves without too big of an issue, the two of you bring the wine and leave it at the gift table, Damian sits next to you the whole time, watching as you get the bouquet practically launched at you, catching it with a flinch, chasing after the bride with the bouquet as a weapon, messing up your hair in the meantime but getting a laugh out of it. Damian stands to the side, talking only briefly with the groom's family, introducing himself as your soulmate, not Damian Wayne. He was yours first before he was a businessman now. Yours. It rings nicely in his head. He was yours. He would be fine with that — being yours.

At some point you return to Damian's side, sighing with the bouquet in hand.

"When's our wedding?" You joke, putting the bouquet on the table.

"It'll take a while." Damian hums, smoothing out your hair for you. "We still have to date and get engaged."

"I should've dodged."

"You wouldn't have been able to. Your friend did it on purpose." Damian mumbles, finishing with your hair.

"Is it alright?"

"Yes." He presses his lips to your forehead. "You look great, habibti."

You smile at him, the moon behind you this time.

"When do we fly?"

"I booked the plane for tomorrow." Damian hums. "We can sleep in."

"Oh, bless." You grumble. "The shoes are killing me."

"Would you like mine?" He offers. "Or would you like for me to carry you back?"

You pause, glancing at the emptier hall.

"I wouldn't dare let you take off your shoes for me." You smile at him.

"Sit, please," and you do, settling down as Damian gets on a knee, slipping your heels from your feet, holding onto them with one hand, the other hooking under your knees as he tells you to wrap your arms around his neck. You yelp as he does, and you wave bye to the bride as he settles you in his arms bridal style, your arms around his neck for support as he holds onto your shoes.

"Please don't drop me." You mumble.

"I wouldn't dare." He steps toward the elevator, pressing your floor as you pull the room card out from your pocket. (you had shown him before, with a spin, that your dress had pockets. Damian made a note to remember you liked them.)

He sets you on bed, loosening his tie and placing your heels down by your shoes, taking off his blazer to hang up in the closet. He watches you shimmy out of the dress, naked form to his eyes, breath catching in his throat at the way the moonlight illuminates your skin. He doesn't move, watching as you pull the robe from next to him, body on autopilot as you step into the showers. He'd wash up after you, unbuttoning his shirt and ditching his pants, sorting through his own luggage to find a change of clothes.

You open the door to the bathroom, robe on, blinking at his bare back.

"You're built like a wall." You blurt.

"Am I?" Damian hums.

"Does this come with your family or something? All of you are HUGE." You rub the towel through your hair.

"I suppose it does." Damian stands up, change of clothes in hand. "It's also from the training."

"For night?" You try your best to be vague. Damian appreciates it.

"Yes." He nods. "Would you like to see when we get back?"

"Sure." You grin. "Is it big?"

"It's a cave." Damian closes the door to the bathroom.

"Woah." You mumble. "Wild."

You settle yourself in the bed, back on your phone, yawning as you respond to a couple texts, scrolling through your email, checking the CCTV footage of the experiment you were doing. You had someone checking to see if the experiment was working, and from what they had told you, everything had replicated perfectly. You let out a sigh of relief when you found out. It would be fine. You'd finish with it, and then you'd retire somewhere with the money promised you in the contract. You worked hard for the moment.

You feel the bed dip behind you.

"Looking at the updates?"

"The experiment is moving faster than before." You mumble. "I should be able to report to your father in around a week."

"And then?"

You blink. "Not sure. I was thinking of finding a high rise to live in."

"Not with me?" Damian wraps his arms around you, getting comfortable.

"Don't you still live in the manor?"

"It's comfortable there." He mumbles. "I also have an empty apartment of my own. Would you like to move there?"

"Would you move in with me?" You turn to face him, phone on the nightstand.

"If you'd like."

"Yes, please," You grin. "If you'd like."

"Then I'd love to." He mumbles, reaching over you to close the light.

Damian takes you to the Batcave first, having the servants take your stuff to the apartment without asking you, adjusting the grandfather clock and letting you inside the cave, shutting it behind him. The two of you arrive right before patrol, and you get to meet all of his siblings. All of them. Even Nightwing.

"Who's this?"

"Soulmate." Tim doesn't bother looking at you, pressing his mask on. "Showing her around already? And you call us whipped."

"Shut up, Drake." Damian spits.

"Are you on duty tonight?"

"We take turns." Damian hums.

"Are any of these liquids active?" You stare at the tubes.

"Those two are for Ivy when she attacks. Less these days, but she occasionally strikes us with sex pollen for fun. Those are neutralizers. That one's for Scarecrow's fear toxin, and that one—"

You nod along as Damian explains everything to you, waving at his siblings as they head off for patrol.

"Are you tomorrow?"

"Yes." He hums. "Did you want to come along?"

"That's too dangerous." Batman speaks up, and you pause.

"Mr. Wayne." You smile politely. "Didn't peg you to be the type to run around to try and fix crime."

"Desperate times call for desperate situations." He chuckles. "Damian, take care of her. The computer is off limits."

"Yes, father." Damian nods as he disappears too.

"Who's on patrol tomorrow?"

"Father goes every night, and then tomorrow is Spoiler, Orphan, Signal, and I."

"SOS..." You mumble quietly. "Sors. Ross. Ross."

Damian raises a brow.

"Your names." You smile. "You would be team Ross."

"If that makes you happy." He leads you back up the stairs.

"Do you have an intercom?"

"Oracle. She works every night."

"Is she a sibling?"

"No. She used to be Batgirl."

"mm." You nod slowly. "Oh, it's late, huh? I should probably head home."

"You can stay here for the night. I had the servants send your luggage to my apartment. I can drive the two of us to work tomorrow." Damian shuts the clock behind the two of you.

"You have the same hours as us?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of which, how come you and Tim don't go to work together?"

"Tim does not live in the manor. He lives with his soulmate." He leads you to his room. "This is my room. Make yourself comfortable."

You mumble something under your breath about how big the bed is before you head over to the bathroom to wash up. "Are there pajamas I can borrow?" You peek from the door.

"I'll leave them on the bed." He pulls a shirt and clean boxers from his closet, setting them on the bed, settling at his desk, reading through what he would be meeting about the next day. He had hoped Tim would've taken care of the meetings over the weekend, but he supposes he can't avoid everything. It's painfully boring. The meetings are always boring.

"Whatcha looking at?" You come out with a towel in your hair, maneuvering his shirt onto you, putting on his boxers. It's a size too big, and you have to use a hair tie to keep it in place.

"I have a meeting tomorrow."

You shudder. "I don't miss having meetings."

"Did you intern somewhere else?"

"I interned in England for a bit." You lean over his shoulder, staring at the meeting details. "Oh, on the product."

"Yes, the new birth control we're trying to release. The injection."

"It would be helpful. I can't say blocking hormones is good for the body." You mumble. "Does it work on males?"

"We're releasing both versions."

"That's good." You mumble. "It'd be really helpful."

"Dick's soulmate made us read through the entire list of possible side effects of birth control and scared us half to death." Damian hums. "Even father."

"I read through it once."

"Do you take birth control?"

"Nope. Never slept with anyone, didn't plan on sleeping with people." You shrug. "You?"

Damian pauses. "I haven't either."

"Oh, really?" You mumble. "You've dated before."

"Hooked up." He corrects. "I always felt bad after kissing."

You laugh. "That was the universe telling you no."

"Perhaps." He shrugs. "Let's get to bed."

You barely see Damian after that, the two of you busy with your own affairs in the company, busy with moving your stuff into the apartment outside of work. Damian drives you home and helps you with the boxes, but the two of you don't have substantial conversation. Even when you finish the trials and present everything to the board, Damian doesn't get to have a moment with you, invitations to speak at colleges and other locations flooding into your mail. Damian finally catches you as you finish moving into the apartment.

"Habibti." He breathes, arms wrapping around your shoulders, head resting on your head. "I was looking for you."

"You could've called." You smile at him, voice muffled by his chest.

"You were not answering."

"My bad." You wiggle to loosen his arms, smile on your face. "Bruce transferred the money to my account. I'll be taking a break for a bit before I go speak at all those invitations."

"I am going to retire." He grumbles. "I never get to see you."

"We live together." You grin. "You get to see me every day now."

"Not enough." He mumbles. "I will leave Drake to deal with the family business."

"You're needed, you know? They need you for all the charity you guys do now." You pat his chest gently. "All of the animal shelters you volunteer at too."

"Would you like to visit one with me? There's an event tomorrow at the shelter to bring a friend."

"Oh, so I'm just a friend to you?" You tilt your head at him playfully.

"A friend," He presses a kiss to the corner of your left eye. "Habibti," He presses another kiss to the corner of your right eye. "And my soulmate." He rests his forehead on yours, hands on your face, eyes on your lips. "May I?"

You press your lips to his in response.

You're a work of art. Damian finds himself with an arm around your waist much more than he could have ever thought, his own life mingled with yours to the point of no return. You meant so much to him. You were the world to him. Fingers laced with yours at events, lips pressed to your hair in the rays of the morning sun, there was little to complain about and everything to be grateful for. His own little ray of the sun to make his life a little better.

Which is why he finds himself checking for the quality of the diamond, discussing the price of the gem with the dealer, running it through tests just to make sure it was the best. The emeralds he picks are hand-selected too, calling his mother as she teaches him how to discern between the good ones and bad ones. You were still yet to meet her, but for some reason, she had not asked questions, only wishing him luck on the proposal. It would take a while between everything he had on his hands.

"You've been coming back later these days." You hum, resting your head on his chest.

"My apologies, habibti," He mumbles. "I've been busy."

"Even on the nights you don't patrol?"

"Yes." He mumbles. "I am not cheating, if you are worried."

"I wouldn't think of it." You close your eyes. "I trust you."

"I love you, a lot." He whispers, wrapping his fingers around your ring finger.

"I love you too." You mumble back, curling the finger.

Damian struggles with the first two prototypes, fingers too rough against the metal, groaning as he fails again, the jeweler only laughs affectionately, assuring him he would be fine. He tries again and again until the mold comes out how he wants it to look, the gold chosen so that it wouldn't rust. The chances of you wearing your engagement ring while working were rare, but he still wanted to guarantee that it would not rust quickly. You deserved the world, and he'd make sure of it, even in something as simple as the ring he would give you.

On his seventh try, he gets a mold that leaves him satisfied. He had gotten your ring finger fitted before on top of his nightly routine of wrapping his fingers around it, and he was sure it would fit. The gems arrive cut out perfectly, the green diamond compared to his eyes by Dick and his brothers' soulmates a hundred times, assuring him that the color matched his eyes perfectly. Damian almost got his eyes color matched had it not been Bruce himself stepping in, assuring him that it matched his eyes well. The emeralds would match his eyes in different lighting. He was fine. Only then did Damian let the jeweler settle the diamonds into the ring, making sure that the gems wouldn't just tumble out. Not that he didn't trust the jeweler — he was worried it'd fall out on accident — alright, he doesn't trust the jeweler.

On the day the ring was completed, Damian had checked it under the light, mumbling to himself about how he hoped you like it. He had made it by hand as you told him you wanted him to, and the gems were all hand selected and picked to match his eyes. You'd be happy with it no matter what he gives you as an engagement ring, he's sure, but he had held your words close to his heart. You deserved an engagement ring you had dreamed of as a child. On the inside of the band, habibti is written in Arabic, a reminder of your soulmate bond, his heart full.

"You're home on time for once!" You beam, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you, habibti." He mumbles, arms wrapped around your waist.

"I made dinner for us since you promised you'd be home today." You pull him along.

As he follows you, the ring in his back pocket feels lighter, your fingers curled around his, lips pulled into a dazzling smile.

He's yours.

From the known past to the unpredictable future, he was yours, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[sh1gglypuff]

Kenma Headcanons!!

���꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma is an only child, and when you get close to him it really shows. He has trouble sharing things with other people, hogs controllers, and is prone to argue.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma is a sweet boy at heart. Although, when he gets overstimulated he gets…grumpy. He’s angry when he’s tired. That’s less of a headcanon and more canon but!

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma says things very bluntly. If you ask him for his opinion on something that boy does not sugarcoat anything.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ He posts rage bait on twitter (X). When the Drake and Kendrick thing was at its peak he saw his chance and posted “Team Drake” or something just to spend a solid 30 minutes laughing at the replies until he got bored.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma is a very picky eater. We already know how small his appetite is but he’s picky with it too. Growing up he definitely would get away with only eating his favorite foods. Now that he’s grown he’s still afraid to try pickles. He asks Kuroo to order for him at restaurants too. “Yeah and he’ll get the cheeseburger. Could you do that with just the meat and cheese? Thank you.”

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ He absolutely hates PDA. If he had a partner he would definitely stay close to them, have his hand by theirs and sit next to them. His partner would be his safety net basically. He doesn’t like to be hugged in public, but he could tolerate it. If his partner tried to KISS HIM you best believe he is steering away from that kiss QUICKLY. that’s a boundary he set early on in the relationship though. Something about showing his intimate side to people he doesn’t know makes him feel weak.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma has very odd sleeping habits. He goes to bed early and wakes up very early. When I say early I mean passed out by 10 and awake before the sun rises. When he goes to bed late he wakes up late, and waking up late makes him feel just gross. He usually games as soon as he gets up, before he does anything else. Wrapped up in his blanket with his legs crossed on the bed he is absolutely enthralled with his 7th play through of Breath of the Wild.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Kenma has a fear of smelling bad. He hates cologne though, and whenever he wears some it makes his skin feel uncomfortable. He just does not want to be perceived as dirty.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ If he was dating someone, he would be extremely clingy. This clinginess would all be 100% behind closed doors. He sends texts like “can i come over” “busy?” “hi” very cute I know. He is a horrible texter which is why he loves to lay on calls and go over to his s/o’s house. He likes to call the person he’s dating and just chat while he’s playing whatever game he’s playing. He likes to ramble on about game lore and the cool mechanics of the game. Let him talk, he’s a talker once he feels safe.

i’ll be so fr i could probably cook up so many more of these, my brainrot is fatal.

reply if you would like to see more or send in a request for a specific set of scenario based hcs!!

[chairofchaos]

Letters of Love: Part I

Pairing: Azriel x Eris

Summary: “The love story of Eris and Azriel Vanserra is a tale for the ages. Their story is best told through their letters to one another and their family in the first year of their mated union. In this new newest edition, their letters are joined by excerpts of Eris Vanserra’s journal entries, as newly released by the Vanserra family.” - from the summary, “Letters of Love”

A work in which Eris and Azriel’s slightly tumultuous love story is explored through interviews, letters, and journal entries.

Rating: Explicit (not in this chapter so much, but in later parts definitely)

Word Count: 8.5k (roughly)

A/N: Got an idea, had a breakdown, bon appetit! We’ll call this my contribution to @azrisweek for Contact Day. If formatting is messy, it’s because I wrote and edited this entire thing on mobile in the span of 24 hours.

A HUGE thank you must be extended to @ninthcircleofprythian, to whom I dedicate this part of Letters of Love. This is entirely owed to her ideas. Thank you especially for accepting my all-caps freak outs that have spawned 8,500-odd words in the last 24 hours. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for your ideas, and your support of my insanity. Enjoy, have a gold star, and enjoy the extra thousand words of Eris’ journal at the end!

Letter from the Editor

Eris and Azriel Vanserra, the famed High Lords of Autumn, were not always the lockstep, solid foundations we now think them to be. This new edition of Letters of Love is the story of two great tacticians, strategists, and politicians from two previously antagonistic courts, and their journey from enmity to long-lasting marriage. The new inclusion of journal entries recently released by the Vanserra family adds a new dimension of personal thoughts by the Heir of Autumn.

The compilation of letters and anecdotes contained herein were requested by Eris Vanserra toward the end of his life. He wished to have something to pass on to his children as a reminder of the great love that he and Azriel had shared, and all that had transpired in the first year of their life together. It is no doubt that the volume was also of some comfort to him at the end of his life. The loss of his mate some hundred years earlier had significantly weakened the Vanserra heir. Their three children acknowledged after Eris’ passing that the loss of Azriel had been one from which their father never truly recovered.

Other volumes will contain details of the years following their mating ceremony and the immediate challenges they faced upon being mated, but it is this one that their eldest son Carmine assembled at his father’s request. The letters, generously provided by the courts of Autumn, Night, and Day, continue to paint a vivid picture of the High Lords in the tumultuous years following the war with Hybern, the birth of the Cauldron-born Archeron High Ladies and their own mates, and the defeat of Koschei. It was in that final conflict with Koschei that Eris Vanserra became High Lord of Autumn. Whether it was a blow dealt by the heir or by the death god himself, we will leave to you to decide, as its relevance to the subject matter contained within is only passing.

It is our hope that this new edition of Letters of Love is as enthralling as the ones which have come before. May your fires be warm, and your shadows a comfort.

***

Introduction from the First Edition

By Carmine Vanserra

Dear Reader,

Within the pages you hold are the proof of my fathers’ love for each other. Their life together was a happy one, though it was frequently troubled. It is no secret that for a great many centuries they were no more friendly than two bucks fighting over some perceived slight in the forest. The love that grew between them with maturity and age gave significant weight to that excellent phrase of Ms. Sellyn Drake: “The line between hated and love is a fine one, indeed.”

I would be remiss not to acknowledge the origins of this book. It was my father, Eris Vanserra, who requested its compilation just three years before his death. Greatly weakened by the loss of his mate some years before, he found himself more prone to reminiscing about the events of life. The love he had for my father Azriel was, to him, the greatest of all the happenings in a centuries-long life. It was their story which was told to my siblings and I at bedtime; their tales of misadventures and romance which in turn encouraged our own hearts to love.

Despite these joys, the truth must out. Their life was not always a happy one. This small volume tells but one fragment of their story. Perhaps other writers and historians will have opportunities to explore the full history of their life. It will not be me. This assignment, which my father set me to centuries ago, inspired a great many works and my own life’s work of the exploration of the true romances of history. It was this initial work which inspired the birth of my own publishing house, Leaf Bridge, and to write my many books. I would find it the greatest personal failing if, as I now depart from the ink scented office of my printing house, I did not publish the work which inspired this building and the work we do in it.

With the full consent and understanding of my siblings and other relevant parties, I am thankful to offer you at last the full story of my fathers’ love.

I must extend my gratitude to Lord Nyx Moonbeam, whose initial hesitation easily gave way to understanding and even joy upon hearing what we sought to do with this published edition. Nyx, my most beloved friend and confidant: as these letters and this story have graced our personal libraries and lives for centuries, I hope it will so grace the homes and hearths of your court. May it bring them the same joy and richness of life that it brought us.

I must thank also my cousin, Lady Flora, whose permission of access to the libraries and records of Day Court has been indispensable. I am especially sorry that your mother did not live to see the volume in its published format, as she was instrumental in the early research and saving of the letters contained within. It is very likely she saw me write this letter some time ago. Only she could know, so thank you, Aunt Elain.

One last thank you to the living must be extended to my eldest sister. Lady Arbora, without your arduous notes, Symphonia recordings, and truly obsessive nature for details of the smallest order, we would have no record of many of Papa’s thoughts and feelings of these early years. The transcripts of your thorough interrogations of both Father and Papa made it possible for this volume to tell a complete story using their words. Annoying as I may have found your obsession when we were young, I now realize that we all owe you the deepest debt of gratitude, and none more than I.

To the deceased: Aunt Feyre, Uncle Rhysand, Uncle Lucien, Aunt Elain, Aunt Nesta, Uncle Cassian, my brother, Ash, and to all of those whose names have been forgotten to time and ignorance, we the living offer you our heartfelt gratitude for all you made possible for Eris and Azriel.

Eris and Azriel, my fathers. To you, we offer the greatest debt of thanks. May this collection bring you honor and peace.

***

LETTERS OF LOVE

Day One

Letters:

Dear Lord Eris,

You are cordially invited to visit Rhysand and I at our home in Velaris this week-end. There will be a small tour of the city, if you wish it. Dinner will be provided. Please arrive at 4.

Sincerely yours,

Lady Feyre

***

Dear Lady Feyre,

I look forward to attending. What further details can you provide? And please, stop calling me Lord.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Transcript from Interview:

Arbora: What did Aunt Feyre say when you asked her that?

Eris (amused): Arbora, I have told this story before.

Arbora: It’s not funny, Father.

Azriel: It’s a little funny, sweetheart. Go on, Ere.

Eris: Well, she told me that dinner would be at 6 in the River House. It would be my first visit where I was allowed to see where your aunt, uncle, and cousin actually lived.

Arbora: That would be Uncle Rhysand, Aunt Feyre, and Nyx.

Eris: Yes.

Arbora: Anything else?

Eris: Yes. She let me know that Cassian and Nesta would be out of town, though Azriel would likely be in attendance along with their immediate family. She also provided some details about where exactly to winnow, though I can’t say I really remember those.

Azriel: You were to winnow to the outskirts of Velaris near the base of the House of Wind stairs. Rhys was supposed to bring you the rest of the way. I changed it to see how you would react.

Eris: I’m sure you’re right.

Together, Azriel (normally) & Arbora (mockingly): I usually am.

[all laugh]

Azriel [with affection]: Smartass.

Arbora: Sorry, Papa.

Eris: We love you. Though that’s all the time we have for tonight, I’m afraid.

[End Interview]

Day Two

Letters:

Dear Azriel,

I’m sorry for writing, though I will admit I was hesitant to wake you. My powers are drained, as are Rhys’. We’re fine here, but we’re going to need to do some more work in Windhaven before returning and I doubt we will be home in time for dinner. It’s unfortunate, since Eris is expected, but Rhys and I don’t want to share with him exactly what’s going on.

Will you take over the dinner? Nuala and Cerridwen have the meal fully in hand. He’s to winnow to the base of the House of Wind, though you could write to him with other arrangements. I also offered him a tour of the city, which I planned to do myself. Perhaps the Rainbow would be a safe bet?

I don’t want to put you under any stress. Delegate your other things, please. We’d like this relationship to continue between Night and Autumn, so consider this your top priority until the end of the night.

Thank you, Az.

Love,

Feyre

***

Dear Feyre,

Not to sound too much like your son, but, do I absolutely have to? Will it be just the two of us for dinner? You do remember the first time you saw Eris and I go at each other’s throats, yes?

Love (though I’m not happy about this),

Az

***

Dear Azriel,

You do sound remarkably like Nyx when you ask things like that. Though it could be said he sounds a bit like his father, though don’t tell Rhys I said that.

Yes, it will just be the two of you. Nesta and Cassian are still on the continent. Amren’s visit with Varian began today, and since they haven’t seen each other in a month, I would suggest avoiding the apartment at all costs. I’m not sure why you would care for her backup with Eris, but just in case you were desperate? Don’t go to her. Everyone else is here, as you know, and very needed. If it wasn’t for Eris coming, I’d have you here, too. As I said, Nuala and Cerridwen are taking care of the meal, so you’ll just need to handle the tour and making sure you’re back in time for dinner.

I remember that meeting well, thank you. Do me a favor and let’s try not to have a repeat. I promise you a huge favor when we get back. Name the price. I’ll even see if I can get Rhys to leave Nyx in your care for a day without interruption. Exercises in trust, and all. Speaking of, let’s attempt to not repeat history. Please keep in mind the importance of this visit for the relations between our court and Autumn.

With love, even when you aren’t happy with me,

Feyre

P.S. - Brother, I owe you. Though I can’t say I’ll hand over my son for a whole day, no matter how much I love and trust you. I love him more. I’d miss him. Be civil. Send us a report once it’s over. And whatever you do, don’t hit him first. - Rhys

***

Dear High Lord and High Lady,

It is with great pleasure- fuck it I’m not writing this formally. You both know I don’t like writing these. If you hate it, give the writing job to someone else. I’ll train them if it means I don’t have to do this anymore.

I changed the location of pickup to see how he would react. It didn’t seem to bother him one bit. Probably because he knew I was just trying to annoy him a bit. I picked him up at the border of Night instead, and teleported him to the River House. I figured we could start a tour from there.

From the River, we walked through all four palaces. I gave explanations of why they were called what they were, and their wares. He called the bridges “unique” and “beautiful,” and couldn’t seem to stop staring at the cliffs. He seemed almost enamored with them.

He had very little to say about Velaris otherwise, though he asked any shopkeeper we came across questions about their wares or other things to engage them in conversation. He almost seemed like he was genuinely curious. He bought one or two little things in the Rainbow.

Dinner was uncomfortable. With just the two of us, the River House dining room felt opulent, but we persisted. We kept conversation to a minimum. Nuala and Cerridwen excelled, as usual, and he spoke to them briefly following the meal, in which he sang their praises.

When dinner had finished, I offered him a look at the portraits in the main hall or the gardens outside. He chose portraits, so I let him wander the entryway. He stared at them. For some reason, mine seemed to be of particular interest. Feyre, it occurred to me that he may actually make a good subject for a portrait if relations are ever good enough and you could convince him to sit for you. My shadows had nothing to say in his favor or to his detriment, though they did seem to like swirling around his chair during dinner.

I took him outside the city again, and he winnowed home. Nothing notable. He seemed peaceful. He didn’t mention your absence- thank you for not leaving that explanation to me.

I’ll see you soon.

Azriel

***

Dear Azriel,

Thank you for the visit today. It was delightful to see the city in the evening, and to be able to walk its streets for the first time. Please extend my thanks to Rhysand and Feyre. Their home is lovely, fitting for a city like Velaris. It truly is, as my brother said, a Court of Dreams. I am grateful to have been able to experience all of its beauty in the evening light.

Thank you also for your courtesy in sharing the history of the the city and the previously secret history of the Night Court. It was a privilege to hear, especially since you clearly have extensive knowledge on the matter.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Lucien,

I have a matter of urgency to discuss with you. Please come tomorrow morning.

Eris

***

Eris,

My mate is days away from giving birth. Forgive me this frankness, but I’m not leaving her for a minute and I don’t want you here until this is all over. Write to me instead. Whatever it is can’t be that bad or you would have just showed up.

Lucien

***

Lucien,

I had a visit to Velaris yesterday. It went perfectly, from a diplomatic standpoint, though the only one present was Azriel. Everyone else had been called away to an emergency in Windhaven. I received no explanation for the extent, or the nature of the issue, but I believe it to be extensive. I was invited to explore the city. Azriel was beside me, or close behind, through the whole city. To his credit, he spoke well of the city and its history.

At one point, I was in awe of the cliffs and mountains- you’ve been there, so you know how impressive they are. The way the city is built into the hills is truly incredible. I was looking up while walking, and I tripped on a cobblestone. (I wouldn’t tell you that unless it was incredibly important, and trust that given the circumstances, you will never mention it again.) Azriel caught me by the wrist and the upper arm and hoisted me straight again.

I cannot believe what I am about to say, but I believe Azriel is my mate. The second his hand was on mine, I felt a tug in my sternum pulling me towards him. He gave no indication he felt it.

Luc, my hand burned when I pulled away from him. It was like his hand had lit me on fire- and not the kind that can be controlled, not even by us. I had to flex it to get the feeling to go away even a little. It grew in awkwardness from there. I had the good fortune to be able to hold my tongue, unlike you, so if I hid it well, he won’t know.

I do not know what to do. Please, I have never asked you for anything more valuable to me than this.

Eris

***

Eris,

Elain says to come over. We have tea. Apparently babies like drama too. Helion is aware you’re coming, but not why. Pack a bag so you can stay the night. And Elain says to be nice to me or she’ll tell you something horrible that may or may not be true.

Lucien

***

Luc,

I’ll be there in ten minutes. Please ask your mate to never do that again. The last horror was enough to keep me awake for two days.

Eris

Transcript from Interview:

Azriel: The shadows brought me the letter. At the time, the standard was for one or two of them to place letters on the counter for me to deal with them. But this one, not marked as urgent or hasty, arrived in the morning the day after Fath - I mean, Eris, had visited Night.

The shadows had brought me his letter from the night before as well. I chalked it up to it being a professional correspondence and after reading it, sent it to Rhys and Feyre to pass on his gratitude at their hospitality and the loveliness of their home. The shadows did seem uncharacteristically eager.

[End Interview]

Day Three

Letters, Part I:

Dear Azriel,

You are invited to join me in Autumn this afternoon at 3 for a tour of my orchard, with dinner to follow. The orchard is the source of the fruits for the cider you enjoyed on your last visit. I thought you may enjoy seeing it, and wanted to return the hospitality you offered me in Velaris.

Please let me know if you are able to come.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Dear Eris,

Thank you for the invitation. I will come.

Sincerely,

Azriel

***

Rhys,

I’ve been invited to Autumn for a tour of Eris’ orchard. I accepted because I knew you would tell me to. I’ll be gone this evening.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Good. Keep us updated. And please wear something nicer than leathers.

Rhys

***

Rhys,

I have just returned from Autumn. You’ll be pleased to know I wore sensible boots with a nicer pair of pants and a crisp white shirt. Not that it really matters.

I have no words for what happened. Please understand this is only being sent to you because I may have royally fucked up and wanted you to know in case it affects court relations.

I went to join Eris for the tour of the orchard. It was exceptional. Beautiful. Well organized. We were walking side by side down the rows. Eris was explaining the trees, the cultivation of their apples, and the importance of keeping the varieties separated. We moved into a neighboring field with smaller trees, and the rows were closer together. It got so narrow I moved to let Eris walk in front and his hand brushed mine. Well, really his signet ring brushed my hand, and I jolted and almost fell into one of the trees.

Rhys. I don’t even know what to say but… it felt good. It felt like warmth wrapped around my heart and PULLED. I don’t know how else to explain it. I didn’t know what to do. I balked and immediately shot into the air then let my shadows carry me back here. I don’t think I know what to do. Fuck, I said I wanted a mating bond. This feels like a cruel joke.

But what if there’s a reason? What if it’s good? What if I just ran and fucked things up so badly that he never wants to speak to me again? I don’t even know if he noticed what made me run- he didn’t look surprised. He just looked stoic, even as he watched me fly away.

What the fuck do I do? Why HIM? I don’t know where to go from here. I’m sorry if this creates problems for you.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Unfortunately, you have to go fix this. I don’t know what he felt, whether he felt it or not. I care, but as High Lord, you know I can’t put this over the court relations. You abruptly leaving a diplomatic exchange is something I can’t explain away or excuse. Go fix it. Tomorrow at the latest. We’ve spent years working with Eris in order to improve our relations. I’m sorry, Azriel, but I cannot allow this, no matter how personal, to interfere with that tenuous bond.

Rhys

***

Azriel,

Rhys shared your letter with me. I helped him write his letter, but wanted to add a few things. Do what he said though. I agree we need this connection of courts. You will need to address this.

To the personal aspect: I won’t say congratulations, though I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. Nesta is always commenting on how the line between love and hate is razor thin or something of that nature. I think it’s a quote from one of her books. It’s proved to be true a few times, I think.

Azriel, you have to try. If the Cauldron thinks Eris is the best one for you, you owe it to yourself to try. You’ve frequently noted to Rhys and I how happy we all are. Offer yourself that same chance. If you don’t try, you will likely come to regret it. I hope you will go to him, not just to fix things for us, but to see for yourself if there is the chance of affection and love.

All my love,

Feyre

***

Feyre,

Tell Rhys I’ll go. After all the things I’ve said to Eris, how could he love me? How could he forgive me that? I cannot see how it would be possible. I will fix what I can. I also won’t pretend to have any hope here.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

You do remember how my courtship with Rhys started? I despised him. I hit him over the head with a shoe. He had done things with and to me under the mountain that he regretted deeply. We got over it. If we could, so can you two. I also notice that you are concerned only with what you have done, not what Eris has done to you. From my understanding, your relationship to this point has been equally antagonistic. I wonder if he may be having the same self-deprecating thoughts?

Feyre

***

Feyre,

Yes, I remember. But throwing a shoe at someone is a little different than telling someone you have proof of his efforts to kill his father and you won’t hesitate to use it if it means Beron removes Eris from the equation. Not to mention the knowledge that I threatened him with exposing his mother’s affair with Helion if he stepped out of line not long after that.There’s no coming back from something like that.

Azriel

***

Az,

All you can do is try. Go. Fix it. You can do this.

Feyre

***

Lucien,

He found out. We were walking to the dinner table- I hadn’t mentioned the bond yet, or that we’d eat dinner in the orchard. Our hands brushed and it must have snapped for him. He nearly took out one of the trees. I think if he hadn’t stabilized himself with his wings he would have.

He flew away. I’ve never seen such a look of panic on his face. One or two of his shadows lingered reluctantly- I wonder what they know, if their will is separate from their master’s or if there was some part of him that wanted to stay and that will kept them there a moment or two longer. He glanced over his shoulder as he left. I couldn’t even see his face.

Regardless, he is gone. I don’t expect him back. I can’t push him to return. I can’t imagine after these years of enmity that he would bother. I can’t even blame him for it. We’ve said despicable things to one another. I’ve threatened his family more times than I can count. I’ve dressed his brothers down publicly, decade after decade, sometimes to their faces, sometimes behind their backs. It’s a tenuous starting point for even court relations, let alone a mating bond.

I cannot imagine that this would work.

Eris

***

Eris,

Elain says you deserve to try. I am inclined to agree. You meant to talk to him, so invite him, clearly this time. Clear intentions. You do still have dinner on the table, don’t you? You never ate well when you were nervous.

Lucien

***

Lucien (and Elain, apparently),

I suppose it can’t hurt. He’ll probably show up at some point anyways. Might as well try to temper the reaction however I can.

Eris

***

Dear Azriel,

I am writing to inform you that I was aware of the revelation you have just experienced. The bond snapped for me yesterday when you kept me from falling in Velaris. I wasn’t sure how you would react, or if there was any possibility of affection. I also knew it would be easier for you to leave from here, as you just did, than it would be for me to walk out of Night without you.

If you would like to discuss this, I will be in the orchard. I had planned to share what I knew with you at dinner, and had dinner waiting on the table here in the orchard. It is just a few rows away from where we were. If you would like to join me to discuss this, I will be here until midnight. If you decide to join me some other day, please write first. I’d prefer to have this conversation in private, to allow us to speak freely without concern of courts or politic.

If I may be so bold, I hope you will come.

Yours,

Eris

Entry from the Journal of Eris Vanserra:

He left. I hadn’t realized how hopeful I was until he was flying away. I couldn’t see his face except in that one last glance over his shoulder- not granting me even one last look at the beauty contained within. It was too much to hope for. I suppose 24 hours of hope is all I could have hoped for. I’m sitting at the table now, wishing he was across from me. Lucien was right. I haven’t touched a bite. I feel too sick to even try.

It was foolish of me to dream of him last night. I stood on the balcony before I even retired, thinking of the way he had looked at me before he realized. Did he notice the unguarded open stares I couldn’t help but look at him with?

I can’t say it hadn’t occurred to me before: the way he might look leaning in to kiss me, the way he would have held me. It is not a possibility I had even considered until last night.

Last night, walking in Velaris, it was all I could do to focus on the people around us, the city noises. He was beside me, calm and less menacing than usual. He was a good guide. He knew the answers to every question I had. But the bond snapped and I found that I wasn’t surprised at all. I hadn’t realized how much affection had grown on my part in these last years, how much I admired the way he is.

If walking around Velaris was hard, dinner was agony. I could look across the table and see him, see his shadows swirling around him. I could feel them watching me, feel them darting around my chair as if they were nervous to get too close. But Azriel seemed calm, unaffected. He hadn’t seemed to notice any change in me.

Lucien convinced me to invite him today. I agreed. I’m going to kill my brother for that. What an idiotic idea. Here I am, alone.

The shadows lingered as Azriel left. They curled in my hair and around my wrists and ankles, and brushed against my cheek. They had never been so brazen with me. They were cool, like little brushes of a breeze against my skin. I can’t bear it. I couldn’t bear it when they disappeared with him. It was a loss I didn’t expect. It hurt more than I have the words for, losing that lingering fragment of him.

I was going to tell him. I didn’t know what else to do. So I’m sitting here at the table where I had hoped to confess. If I had held it in I could imagine the rage he would fly into when he found out. It would not have helped for there to be secrets. Not about this. This table, this entire meal is pointless without him here. It’s no use pretending I’m not breaking at this loss of a chance. The bond is eerily still. I do not dare touch it in case it shatters to pieces.

I will wait. Just like I said. Likely for longer than I said. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to let this go. I just hope he will forgive me for loving-

Transcript from Interview:

Azriel: The note he sent me made it easier to go back. I felt better knowing he knew. Somehow that made it easier than if I had had to break the news to him myself. I didn’t hesitate long after getting it. It was probably half an hour before I got the courage to show up. It was nearing sundown and I didn’t want him to give up.

Arbora: How did you feel?

Azriel: Anxious. Mostly because it could go so sideways for so many reasons. I didn’t know what to expect.

Arbora: Walk me through the evening.

Azriel: I teleported to where I had left from. Since I was right back where I was before, I just had to follow Eris’ footprints through the trees to find where he was. He was sitting with his back to me, scribbling furiously in his journal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course. But I noticed he was writing like it would kill him if he didn’t.

It wasn’t easy to walk up to him. The second he heard me he slammed the journal shut and stood. I don’t think I had ever seen him this disheveled. His hair was unbound, and he looked shocked I had even come.

Arbora: Who spoke first?

Azriel: He did. I didn’t know what to say. He seemed to regain some control and he asked me to sit. I think of the two of us, he was more worried about the personal. I had come with the intention to repair court bonds. He didn’t seem to care about that as much as the personal.

Arbora: How did the conversation go?

Azriel: I think he started. He told me how he had realized. I interjected to talk about-

Arbora: [interjecting] Papa. Details, please.

Azriel: Right. Sorry, sweetheart. [sighs] He explained the way the bond had snapped when I had grabbed him to keep him from falling. He told me he knew it was a surprise, but that he didn’t mind. He started to let me know he didn’t expect anything from me but that he wanted to be clear he was open to exploring it and I just… exploded a little. He seemed too calm, too steady. It was as though he was suppressing everything just to control what he could. It unsettled me.

I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem interested in talking about what this might mean for his court, and I told him so. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look he gave me. He hadn’t met my eyes since he started talking, and in hindsight, I think he was probably fidgeting with his jacket cuffs under the table. You know how he does that in meetings when he’s anxious.

But he looked at me, really looked at me. He paused, and just said, “You cannot expect me to put my court first in this conversation. Not when you’re sitting in front of me. Not when I haven’t breathed easily since yesterday.”

It… [lengthy pause] It broke me, a little bit. He had never been so open, so directive in such a vulnerable way. It shook me. I don’t think the night would have gone the way it did if we hadn’t had that moment.

Arbora (quietly): Keep going.

Azriel: He waited while I gathered some thoughts and pieced together a sentence or two, telling him I was sorry I had left the way I did. That I was surprised, and alarmed. I told him what Rhys had said, that I had to come back to mend things between the courts, to repair anything that had been broken. And when I saw how it seemed to hurt him, this implication that I was only there to fix things, I admitted that I had wanted Rhys to force me back.

It was true. I did. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but if Rhys hadn’t have forced me back I would have run and kept running. But I admitted it to Eris. Somehow it was easier to admit to him than to myself, and to tell him how it scared me because I recognized what a monumental thing this was. It must have been the right thing to say, because he looked more relieved than hurt after that.

He asked me frankly if I wanted the bond. I told him honestly that I thought I did, but also that I was nervous about what it may mean. I asked him if he wanted it, and he just pursed his lips and looked away. I waited him out. I thought it was the only way he would answer me. But he didn’t, verbally.

Instead, he shoved about a million emotions down the bond- relief, anger, pain, desperation, sadness. So much sadness. It wasn’t mournful, it was more… desperate. He’ll hate that I said it that way, but that’s what it felt like to me. It was agonizing, to sit there, feeling what he was feeling. I was taken aback by the strength of his emotions, and found my own deepening in kind.

“I want this. I want you,” he finally said. His voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear him.

“Are you certain?” I asked him. He said he did, and I think I nodded in response. Your father hardly told me anything after that. He asked me if I was willing to try, to give it a shot. Then he offered me dinner.

I didn’t think about it before accepting. I didn’t even consider that this meal could be acceptance of the bond. I’ve wondered since if he knew what he was doing. He insists he didn’t, but I am not entirely sure I believe him.

Arbora: Would that be something he would have done?

Azriel: It’s not out of the question. I’m sure you’ve noticed your father is a tricky male, Arbora. It’s one of the things I continue to be surprised by- and amused. Make no mistake, I love his trickery. It’s endearing. It always has been, if I am truthful. Something about the way he schemed to make his court a better place…

Anyway, his argument is usually that since he didn’t make the food and he didn’t intend it at the beginning that this would be food to offer as an offer to accept the mating bond that he didn’t even consider what might happen, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have at least hoped.

Arbora: How did you feel when you realized?

Azriel: I felt peaceful. I think that’s what made me realize most of all, that he seemed pleased but surprised, and nervous about what I would say. I just felt peace. It was as though I knew it was right, even in the face of all the challenges it might present.

There’s no denying I’d considered what he would be like before. You’re an adult, I’m going to say this even though it’s a bit… risqué. But I’d considered what it would be like to bed him. And there was always more to that than just fantasy.

Arbora (sarcastically): Thanks for that.

Azriel: No problem. I’ll spare you the details. The realization was like making a breakthrough in training- the way you’ve fought to gain a skill, and then all at once, it clicks and you realize you can do it. It was like that. I didn’t see my feelings until all at once, they were there, big and powerful.

Arbora: Following that realization, what did you do?

Azriel: Arbora, after you just thanked me for holding details you may wish to rephrase that question.

Arbora: Ah- Okay. Um.

Azriel: Don’t worry. I’m teasing. We went to Eris’ private residence. He winnowed us. We took a couple of minutes to just let the people we needed to talk to know that we would be unavailable for the next few days. And we talked. A lot. Admittedly, probably more than most newly mated couples. Though I assume most of them would have had head conversations before hand.

Arbora: What did you talk about?

Azriel: The past. We discussed the things we had said to one another. The insults we had traded and threats we made. We also did typical newly-mated things. Again, I won’t lie to you. You asked for unabridged honesty. So we rotated between bed and living room, dining room for brief meals before sitting on the couch and talking, then moving back to the bedroom. It was six days of torture, because we had so much to talk about but it wasn’t what we really wanted to be talking about or doing, but it was things we had to get out of the way first. We wanted to enjoy it.

Arbora: Can you expand on that?

Azriel: Well, the things we talked about were unpleasant. They were emotional. Highly charged. Occasionally, Eris would step out for an hour, though he swore it was the last thing he wanted to do. With Lucien unavailable to help, he wanted to keep things under control in the court and since he hadn’t given the full reason for his absence, he didn’t want to draw too much attention, so there were a few meetings he said he absolutely couldn’t miss. It was a bit brutal.

Arbora: What was the reasoning behind keeping it quiet?

Azriel: I was spymaster of Night Court. He was High Lord of Autumn, and in the grand scheme of things, relatively recently crowned. Night and Autumn historically did not have a good relationship, and our immediate families had been the poster child for that dysfunction. It could have been a disaster if we had publicly stepped out in those first few months.

Arbora: How did your families take it?

[End Interview]

Letters, Part II:

Feyre,

I’m going to ask you to share this with Rhys. I can’t do it myself. I don’t know how to explain the events of the last 4 hours.

I’m mated to Eris. It was quick, and sudden. I’m happy about it. I need a few days. I won’t disclose anything that could put Night in danger- I hope you both know I would never do that. I’m sure he’ll be equally careful with Autumn. And we’ll need to talk about all of this. I know it complicates things. I’m sorry about that. But I can’t say I’m sorry we’re mated. It wouldn’t be true.

Thank you, and Rhys, for pushing me to come. I’m very grateful that you did.

Love,

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Well. I suppose now I can say: Congratulations! I’m glad you’re happy. I’ll let Rhys write you himself once I tell him. He’s with Cassian now. I’m assuming you’ll want to tell Cassian yourself, so I won’t trouble you with that.

Enjoy your time. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. And say hello to Eris for me.

Love,

Feyre

***

Cassian,

I wanted you to hear it from me. I’d appreciate it if this could stay between us- Rhys and Feyre know, and you can tell Nesta once she promises not to tell the other Valkyries.

I’m mated. It was almost as much a surprise to me as I’m sure it will be to you. My mate is Eris. Yes, that Eris. Yes, I am aware that he is High Lord of Autumn, and that we have had several very public fights. Yes, I do remember what Helion said about “being his new fantasy” and I also remember you teasing me about it afterwards.

I am sure you have about as many questions as I do right now, so let’s just leave it at that for now. I’ll be gone for the next few days. When I come home, I’ll answer as many questions as you want.

Azriel

***

Lucien,

Thank you for your advice these last few days. I’m going to take a few days off. Write if Elain has the baby. I’ll be otherwise occupied, but I’ll come when I can. Azriel and I will be at the Acorn in case of emergencies, but if anyone asks, you have no idea where I am.

Details to follow.

Eris

***

Dear Eris,

You forgot to include me in the salutation again. Don’t forget, I see things you don’t. It’s your duty as my brother-in-law to keep me informed, especially while I’m on bed rest. It doesn’t matter how much I see, I still want to hear every detail from you when you two are done with your little getaway. How you ended up going from pining agony (don’t bother pretending otherwise) to very near mated bliss in three days will be a tale for the ages. And a vespertine confession of feelings? Very romantic.

Lucien says congratulations. I’m sure he’ll write later. Feel free to ignore him. It can be his turn to be ignored, for once. He’s running himself to the ground trying to keep me comfortable when all I really want is to have him next to me until I have this baby. Anyways, tell Azriel we say hello. You’ll have to come for dinner soon and introduce him to the baby. I’m sure he or she will be here by the time you two can make it to us.

Affectionately,

Elain

***

Dear Elain,

I’m assuming you’ll have heard from Lucien, but if you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t worry. It’s nothing serious.

Love,

Feyre

***

Dear Feyre,

Oh I know very well what you’re talking about. Not to mention, I knew before they did. Pesky stubborn males. I told you to keep Cassian and Nesta away. Aren’t you glad you did?

Elain

***

My tricky sister,

You’re just as bad as them when it comes to being pesky and stubborn. Don’t forget the promises you made me in order to convince me to keep C & N away. Thought I can’t say I’m disappointed with the result. Azriel wrote me- he seems glad.

Love,

Feyre

***

My equally tricky sister,

I won’t forget my promise. You were always going to be a godmother, though, I don’t know why you didn’t consider that I would make you one in the first place. Of course, with Azriel now mated to Eris, the godfather is now up for debate…it might please Lucien for his brother to be involved. (Kidding. That was already decided, too. It’ll just be one more way to keep Eris close and involve him in the family. Be happy. And don’t tell Rhys yet.)

Azriel is more grateful than he has likely let on. Don’t bug him too much if you can help it, and once your powers are recovered, don’t let Rhys egg him on.

Love you more,

Elain

Entry from the Journal of Eris Vanserra:

My god, he is a good lover.

***

Day three since we were mated. I love him. I love him so much. It’s been agonizing, and beautiful. I wish I had known how much I would feel from him down the bond. The bond is alive. It’s spinning, twining us closer at every moment. I told him I had a meeting, which is true. I just am taking ten extra minutes to write, to remember this feeling.

Azriel is everything I hoped my mate would be. Male, for one. But he’s gentle. He’s kind. He’s passionate about his family, and his court. He’s protective of them, too, and already that protectiveness has extended to me.

I went to get a new glass of water last night after he had fallen asleep, and when I turned from the sink, he was standing in the doorway looking concerned as he scanned the room.

“Are you alright?” He asked. His brows were furrowed, and I found myself admiring the wrinkle that made between them. When I nodded, he relaxed, but huffed grumpily. “I was worried when you were gone,” he admitted. He crossed to hold me, pulling me against his bare chest. Azriel apparently likes to be naked. A lot. I don’t mind. Not at all.

I told him I was fine and that I was sorry to have worried him. He just tangled his hands in my hair and pulled my head from his shoulder to kiss me. And what a kiss it was: firm, gentle. Teasing, then sweet. This male is addictive. He should be illegal. And he’s mine. My mate. My love.

I told him yesterday that I had been in love with him for longer than I could say. He admitted he hadn’t acknowledged it until the bond snapped, but part of the reason he ran was because it was forcing him to confront things he already knew. He apologized extensively for the threats, but seemed even more apologetic about the antagonism he had displayed. He blamed it on an abundance of feelings he didn’t know what to do with. I would say that it was a bad excuse, but since it’s the only one I can think of to excuse my own behavior, I said nothing. We always did rile each other more than anyone else.

Still, each conversation, each apology, each remembrance of ways we had wronged each other brought up things we weren’t proud of, and with it, floods of emotions we had to handle. I don’t think either of us were expecting to burst into tears when Azriel confessed how a few months ago, he had started having nightmares about the way he threatened me at that High Lords’ meeting and the look I had in my eyes- “as though you expected it. As if you thought you deserved it,” he said.

We’re falling apart a little bit. But we’re also putting each other back together. That’s not to say I don’t feel awkward half the time. I don’t know him, not really. Every kiss, every whisper of affection comes with the knowledge that I don’t know what his favorite color is (it’s yellow) or that I didn’t even know until this morning that his mother was alive and a part of his life. He wrote her a letter, telling her he would come visit in a couple of weeks. He didn’t mention whether he wanted me to come with him, or if Rhys would even allow me into Night. Frankly, I wouldn’t know if Azriel even knows if he wants me there.

Still, every kiss… When I winnowed us here two days ago, I winnowed us to the outskirts of the Acorn house lawn. He looked at it and understanding rang in his eyes: this was a place I kept quiet. His wings tucked tight into his back as he looked at me, waiting for me to lead. So I did, walking across the lawn as leaves crunched beneath our feet, disturbing the serene silence of our stowaway.

We reached the door, and I found him hovering over my shoulder as I opened the door.

He choked my name, and I spun, worried someone was there, that we would be disturbed before we had even had the chance to know each other. Azriel was looking at me, heat in his eyes. His jaw twitched, and he opened his mouth to say something before slamming it shut again. He looked so beautiful- the darkness of night falling around him, the last hints of light peeking through the leaves and the membranes of his wings.

How had I never noticed how beautiful his wings were? I stared at him openly, admiring him, and found myself thankful for the fact that this male stood with me, on the doorstep of my home. I almost said so, but he moved first.

His hands cradled my head so gently I wondered if he was scared of breaking me, and then he kissed me. His hands didn’t stray as he tilted my head to deepen our kiss, guiding me backwards with little pushes of his chest against my hands (I couldn’t help but let them wander- how he kept it together I have no idea) until we were inside. He pulled back, wild hazel eyes darting between mine as he reached back to close the door without even looking.

I don’t know if it’s the wings that make him so aware of his surroundings. Regardless, his eyes didn’t even leave mine. “May I?” He asked softly. It took me a solid ten seconds to realize his hand had come to settle over the buttons of my shirt. I nodded silently, and he lost no time in removing it, kissing me with renewed vigor.

I could hardly breathe, finding myself completely at a loss for words. Simply kissing him is addictive, but this complete contact, the sounds he made, the slow stroke of his hands down my sides was taking all I had to not collapse completely into him. The loss of his lips from mine was like losing air, like drowning in need. All the while, his desire, his love, poured down the bond. When he pulled my shirt all the way off I nearly died at the way his eyes roamed over me. He reached for my hands, stilling their wandering over his shoulders and back.

His groan and the way he pulled me back into him made me nearly feral, and I didn’t wait for him to protest before I made easy work of removing his shirt. I am sure I was less than gentle. He didn’t seem to care.

And he is a good kisser, but like I said yesterday… he’s a damn good lover.

[hanihazeljade]

Three Videos

The aftermath of letting Tim and Tam drink without any adult supervision.

(CW: swearing)

Part 6 of Three Weeks

Prev - Three Settings

Tim and Tam had a nice Saturday. 

The day that was started by nothing but bullshit from the Wayne family and was remedied by Tamara’s good redirection using alcohol is amazing. They may or may not have black outs around 9 in the evening and he doesn’t want to remember the shit Tam put him through.

But fate is a bitch and he wakes up in Tam’s living room, on her soft grey carpet and is now trending throughout the social media of Gotham. Is he aware of anything that could possibly result in the entirety of Upper Gotham to suddenly bombarded him with proposals of courtship? No. Is he enthralled by this sudden development? No. Did he want the ground to suddenly open up and swallow him and spew him out in Hokkaido? Yes! 

This sudden development was actually not a bad thing as he looked at Twitter and saw many screen-recorded shit he and Tam did. And lo and behold, it was from Instagram Live, not just anyone’s  Instagram Live but it was Tim’s Instagram Live. 

Sure, Tim’s Instagram is far less known than the public accounts of Richie Wayne and Brucie Wayne, with almost all of the population of Gotham and some of the neighbouring cities, but he has some good amount of followers to be famous but not a big time influencer. However, as any model that has been featured on some top magazines in Japan, he has enough influence to navigate the fashion industry, just like the bear jacket and the wedge high heels that he loves to wear everyday in Japan.

But then again, it was mostly just in Japan, Asia is already pushing it. So, he doesn’t really kind off get it how did the Americans found his Instagram Account, after all his username is not even close to Timothy Drake, it was akatori, directly translated to Red Bird and if the Gothamite actually have some brain cells to think, it was a direct hint that he was once the Red Bird, Red Robin, to be exact. 

But Timothy is not an idiot. Red Bird can have a lot of meaning. Like the tattoo that he got when he settled in Hokkaido, or it could be the emblem of once prestigious Drakes. Red Bird has a lot of meaning in Tim’s life and all of them hurt to different degrees.

Now, back to the trending page of Twitter. All of the clips of the live show were just him singing different songs. He doesn’t remember singing and he also doesn’t remember putting on a live show, heck he doesn’t even remember anything after the second bottle of tequila was down. 

He looked at the tags and he was trending under the tag of #tim_drake_live. He clicked on the first video that the tag has and it was him singing so passionately of Walls Could Talk by Halsey and Tam was beside him singing the oh-oh-oh part and it was hilarious. It was like he knew so many things that he could not say to the public and he was now suffering from it. Timothy chuckled at his thought but then halted as it was true to his life.

“Imagine the amount of tea this man could spill.”

“A nepo baby that decides to leave everything for peace? Spill the tea.”

He clicked another video and it was him singing to Tate McRae’s “you broke me first”. It was truly a song that can describe his emotions but he doesn’t expect himself to call out Richard’s name after the line of ‘Now suddenly you're asking for it back Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve?’ Like where in the bloody soup of Kardashian’s list of lawsuits he got the confidence to call out Richie Wayne so boldly. Or could it be that he was just drunk?

“Wonder what did the bimbo Richie do to him?”

“THAT IS WHAT WE LOVE. NAME DROPPING”

“Imagine having the power to call Richard Wayne out for all of his bullshit, the power Tim Drake has is immaculate”

“#RichieWaynePartyisOver”

He clicked to several more videos of him just singing to different more songs but the one that captured his focus was the rendition of CARYS “Princesses Don’t Cry” and but his confident drunk ass change the princess to a Drake and he can see the sliver of tears sliding to his face and he knows why because he can still feel the light ache in his heart.

He looked at the comments and he was shocked to see people sympathising with him. He is not used to this, he was the one that always sympathises and not the other way around. And somehow, the sympathising of thousands of faceless people behind the screen made him feel so… valid. That he was heard and people actually listened to him and believed him. Something inside of him felt touched and was healed.

“The fact that he change the princess to drake is a power move, ngl”

“Didn’t the media say that he didn’t cry during his parent’s funeral, was it the drake’s fault or the wayne’s?”

“He also move away from gotham for seven years and he come back for his sister’s wedding, watta brother”

“Is it just me or did he cry during the bridge? I swear i saw tears”

“The voice kind off shakes throughout the whole song, unlike the prev songs”

“Could it be that the whole song applied throughout his life? He was a part of upper gotham after all”

He didn’t expect that other people that he doesn’t know, actually sides with him. He was believed for once and for all. He was not judged as a crazed lunatic that was looking for attention, that he was grieving or just lost in his emotions. He didn't need to explain his reasons, but then he was understood. 

He sighed and put his phone down and took a deep breath. He got up from the carpet and he freshened himself before he went to Tam that was dead asleep on her couch and somehow didn’t wake up with all the shit he played on his phone.

“Tam! Wake up!” Tim yelled at the girl but Tam just groaned and mumbled, “go fuck yourself.” and Tim just chuckled and let the young lady be. He went to the kitchen and gathered anything that he could make him a breakfast and maybe Tam if he felt like it.

He made himself a guacamole sandwich and made Tam one, because he doesn’t want to get hit and as he was eating, he decided to go live one more time to apologise to his behaviour the night prior. He clicked the live button and he smiled at the camera.

“Hey everyone. I am pretty sure that everyone that is here, saw what happened last night.” He awkwardly chuckled by himself. “I am pretty much black-out drunk and can’t remember what happened last night and if there are no clips circling throughout the internet, I would never know what I did.” 

“I am apologising for such display of behaviour and hopefully wouldn’t do it again in the future. But we will never know, maybe I got betrayed and chastised again and need to drink so much again.” He joked and the comments are egging him on making more drunk live karaoke nights, as it made them realise that they are not the only ones that are sad during holidays.

“‘Don’t apologise, we like the chaotic tim drake’ wah? Really? Was I really that entertaining?” Tim chuckled at the comment before addressing something more, “And please call me Timothy, Tim is for little me, Timothy sounds more elegant.”

““Who bets that Timothy preferred to call himself Tim before he left?’ Pretty sharp, huh? But no, my parents always called me Timothy with so much affection and I couldn’t listen to people calling me Timothy, as it brings me grief but now, I like it.”

““Didn’t your parents leave you by yourself?” Yes, that is true. But it was actually a series of trial and error. My parents brought me to a few of their digs and we found out the hard way that I should not be in dig sites.” Timothy chuckled as he remembered that Tim was brought in one of the dig sites at Peru and was found tampering with a very important relic and his parents just hired a nanny until Tim was ten. And Mrs. Mac became his guardian during those days until Janet died.

“ “And you just don't think that you are neglected?” Oh no. I may be a neglected child in front of the outside eyes but my parents always call me everyday if the service can reach them and once a week if the service can’t. We also do family bonding everytime they come home, we go golfing, rock climbing, fishing with dad, baking with mum and learning ancient texts with both of them.” Tim commented, hoping that it will finally remove any bad cloud in his parent’s reputation.

“My dad and mum may not be ideal parents for anyone but for me, I love my independence of cooking what I eat, cleaning my own room, doing my homework on my own and establishing some routine and schedule with no interference from my parents is actually really cool. My mum actually tried to bring up the idea of going with them one more time to a dig site so that she can watch over me everytime, not just when she comes home, but I knelt down and cried for 3 hours to just let me be and my mum just let it go. It stopped when she died.” He bitterly smiled at the attempts of his mother trying to include him at their dig and he always cried as he didn't want to stop his nightly escapades.

Before he can comment any further, Tam shows up behind him, clearly still has a hangover and just woken up, “Why does my phone have thousands of notifications?” 

TIm smiled as he pointed his phone to Tam, “Say hello to the live, Tam.” Tim chuckled and Tam paused as if she was processing what just Tim and hit Tim when everything finally set in. “I fucking hate you.” Tam cursed him as she went to the bathroom.

“There is a guacamole sandwich on the counter for you.” Tim yelled but Tam just popped her hand out and raised her middle finger, making Tim laugh. Tim looked back at the fast scrolling of comments until he saw a very interesting comment.

“ “Are you going to get back together?” Me and Tam? The chance of that happening is like the chance of Lex Luthor stopping antagonising Superman. And Tam has her own endeavour right now. She can’t court a certain baldie that has a penchant for breaking their nose.” Tim laughed at his own joke but  screamed when a cold pair of wet hands just suddenly wiped his face.

“I heard you were talking shit about me.” Tam said, quoting  a meme, making the comments send a bunch of laughing stickers and making Tim laugh after a while. Tam grabbed her sandwich and sat beside Tim, she bit into the sandwich as she asked, “So why are you livestreaming your morning? Is this a hobby of yours?”

Tim shook his hand, even Tam doesn’t remember what they did last night, “Apparently I livestream the two of us singing while drunk, and now everyone wants to know who the heck I am.” Tim briefly explained, and Tam choked a little, before giggling. 

“I knew you were going to have so much clout someday, and that is why I stuck around.” Tam laughed and Tim joined in. “What did you sing while drunk?” Tam asked as she took another bite of her sandwich. 

“I have so many songs that I sang. Apparently the live show was streaming for three hours, and I definitely sang for at least three hours. It is a miracle that I haven’t lost my voice.” Tim told Tam and Tam shot her eyebrows up.

“Damn, man. I know you are kind of indestructible but damn.” Tam said before she looked at the camera and added, “I mean in any way shape or form.” she winked.

Tim rolled his eyes, “So, yeah. The Waynes probably want to know where I am and I need to go back, I still need to prepare for my sister’s wedding. Thank you everyone, and again I am very sorry for my actions last night.” Tim said as he waved to the camera before ending the live.

Tim sighed, “I am very shocked that none of the Waynes are actually trying to break into your house.”

Tam laughed, “I may or may have not done something about that.” she cryptically said. 

Tim widened his eyes, “What did you do?”

Tam grinned, “When I got the news that you filed for your resignation letter, and even the Waynes don't have any clue where you are, they went through with everything that happened after you left to travel the world. But I stepped my foot down when they were trying to break into my house and my office trying to figure out where you are after I got your new number.”

“And they listened to you?” Tim is in disbelief, the Bats listened to someone who established boundaries? That’s news to him.

“Apparently threatening them with you is very effective, since it was kind of fairly recent that you went off the face of earth.”

“Wonder how that works.” Tim murmured, probably guilt and conscience. But Tam heard him and just winked at him.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Vampire Wedding Part 1

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Drake: "I'm home!"

Drake returned from a spontaneous outing late in the evening.

Mitsuki: "Welcome back. You're late. Where have you been?"

Drake: "Well, I stopped by a tavern and got into a lively conversation with some folks there."

After saying that, he grinned and looked at me.

Mitsuki: "Is something wrong?"

Drake: "Nah, I just thought you looked as beautiful as ever, little fawn."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, what's with the sudden compliment? Do you need a favor?"

Drake: "Not a favor, more like an invitation."

Drake: "How about a date on the sea at night?"

Mitsuki: "Eh, date?"

Surprised by the unexpected invitation, he deepened his mischievous smile.

Drake: "I met a generous guy at the tavern who let me borrow his ship."

Drake: "I thought we could have a fancy night cruise. What do you say, Mademoiselle?"

Mitsuki: "Wow, that sounds wonderful! I'd love to go!"

Drake: "That's the spirit."

Drake: "Then, let's go tomorrow. There's something I want to show you."

Mitsuki: "Something you want to show me?"

Drake: "It's a secret."

He winked meaningfully.

Drake: "It's my special treat, so look forward to it."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, got it. I'm really looking forward to it!"

After chatting about various things, I fell asleep without realizing it.

I awoke to a sensation of something touching my cheek.

Drake: ".........."

When I groggily opened my eyes, I saw Drake peering at me, gently stroking my cheek.

Drake: "A blood oath, huh?"

Drake murmured.

(Blood oath?)

I was curious, but my consciousness soon drifted back to sleep.

The next day, I hurried to finish my chores, and by evening, I headed to the port where we had arranged to meet.

(What will a night cruise be like? And what could Drake's special surprise be?)

Vlad: "Bonjour, Mitsuki."

Suddenly, I heard a voice and turned around to see Vlad pulling a flower wagon.

Vlad: "The sun is about to set. Are you going out now?"

Mitsuki: "Yeah, I'm going on a date with Drake tonight."

Vlad: "That sounds great. Have fun."

As he smiled, the words I heard last night crossed my mind.

Mitsuki: "Hey, Vlad. Do you know what a blood oath is?"

He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled softly.

Vlad: "Of course."

Vlad: "A blood oath is a traditional wedding ceremony in the vampire world."

Mitsuki: "A wedding ceremony?"

Vlad: "On the night of the full moon, the groom pledges 'eternity' by biting on the bride's ring finger."

(I never thought it held such significance.)

(But today was definitely a new moon, so it doesn't matter, right?)

Mitsuki: "Thank you for telling me. I should go now."

Vlad: "Yeah, have a good night."

As the sun completely set, the ship smoothly sailed through the dark sea.

Leaning on the railing and gazing at the pitch-black surface of the sea, Drake, who was standing next to me, gently pulled me closer.

Drake: "I've got to hold you so that you don't get pulled into the sea."

With a mischievous grin, Drake made me recall the word "wedding."

(I hope Drake and I can experience that someday.)

I couldn't help but swoon as I dreamed about a future where the two of us were pledging our eternal love.

(Drake probably doesn't want to willingly enter into a blood oath. Besides, the night of the full moon would be difficult due to the bloodlust.)

Drake: "Hey, little fawn? Is something wrong?"

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

Drake's hand gently tapped my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Drake: "Pay attention. The show's about to start."

Mitsuki: "Show? What are you...?"

As I tilted my head in confusion, a streak of pale blue light illuminated the dark sea.

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

The light swiftly spread where I was looking, and the sea surface, which had been pitch black until just now, was now enveloped in a faint glow.

Drake: "This is my special surprise. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mitsuki: "Yeah, it's amazing. Truly beautiful, but what’s actually happening?"

Enthralled by the waves of light washing over us, I nodded dreamily multiple times.

Drake: "Sailors say that these lights represent the souls of our departed comrades, scattered into the sea."

Drake: "When they spot a ship sailing at sea on a moonless night, they guide it safely back to port."

Mitsuki: "So they're watching over us?"

Drake: "Yeah."

Drake: "And for us, this light holds another special meaning."

Mitsuki: "Another special meaning? What's that?"

Before he answered, he gazed deeply into my eyes.

Drake: "Within this light, sailors traditionally propose to their loved ones."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake’s eyes, as he gazed at me, lacked his usual carefree demeanor.

Drake: “Mitsuki. I want to make you my treasure.”

Drake: “Will you marry me?”

I nodded with a smile, feeling my eyes well up with joy and love at the earnest words that reached straight into my heart.

Mitsuki: “Of course, I’ve been yours for a long time already.”

Mitsuki: “Please always stay by my side.”

Drake: “Mitsuki.”

As he called my name with deep emotion, he embraced me tightly.

I wrapped my arms around his broad back and felt his warm breath.

Drake: “I wish I could say you’re mine forever now, but there’s one more thing we need to do.”

Drake: “We still have something to do on the night of the full moon.”

His words made my heart race.

Mitsuki: “Are you going to make a blood oath?”

I asked nervously, and Drake blinked in surprise.

Drake: “You knew?”

Mitsuki: “Yeah. But are you sure about this? You don’t have to force yourself.”

Drake: “Thanks, Fawn. But there’s no need to worry.”

Drake put his forehead on mine and smiled.

Drake: “I’ll do as I please.”

Drake: “You just have to wait for me to whisk you away.”

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

[alltimefail]

Happy Day 6 of Cast Appreciation Week to Lukas Gage, Joshua Colley, and Gabriel Drake!

I am once again fashionably late lol, but we're still pushing forward! None of these guys are on Tumblr (to our knowledge haha), but I’m singing their praises everywhere today!

Our perfect Cat King, Monty, and Simon… we love you boys so much! 💜💀🔎

Transcript of my letters below the cut!

LETTER 1:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Lukas,

You poofed on screen in your little throne and I yelled at my TV, “YESSS BITCH!” very loudly. That sentiment toward The Cat King pretty much persisted every time you appeared, just so you know!

You are an enthralling, incredible actor. Your gestures, your delivery, your expressions, the way you played off of George’s Edwin so, so well... it was simply genius. I would believe you were half-cat if you told us that in earnest because The Cat King’s mannerisms were spot on. You masterfully walked the fine line of a character that’s as incredibly charming and alluring as he is wicked and dangerous, which is no easy feat. Some of the most divine characters in fantasy are the “Chaotic Neutrals,” the tricksters, the ones who do what they want, when they want, and will go to any lengths as a means to achieve their ends because the audience never knows which version of them they’ll get next. I felt like every time we saw you on screen, we learned something new about your character, no matter how brief the time was.

I never wanted Edwin with The Cat King, yet I found their chemistry to be electric. I could not imagine anyone else playing the role, and I don’t know if I’ll ever view a “Shifter” entity with the same kind of delight I view The Cat King, and I know that’s largely due to your unbelievable performance.

You are our Cat King, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

——————————————————

LETTER 2:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Joshua,

When an actor can take a character I would normally not love and somehow charm the heck out of me, that’s when I’m really impressed... and you did that with Monty!

You radiate such a fun, warm, inviting energy; that part of you found its way into Monty and, somehow, into my heart. I joke that I’m a Charles-adjacent spirit, so much like Charles I was averse to Monty at first, but I was shocked to find myself starting to see him as a little possible extension of the group and hoping he would stick around and shake Esther’s influence! I blame you, really, (a compliment, lol) because you’re so darn talented and you made Monty glow on screen. He was complex and naiv, innocent and whimsical, and you captured his essence and “Born Yesterday” sparkling outlook on the world with expertise.

I didn’t even want him and Edwin together and I pouted, full-on pouted, and said, “Awww, poor Monty... we’ve all been there babe” when Edwin told him he didn’t reciprocate his feelings! I can’t say enough about how impressed I was with you, truly. Monty is a quintessential part of the narrative in my opinion, and I could not imagine anyone else playing him.

You are our Monty, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

——————————————————

LETTER 3:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Gabriel,

First off, you played your role so well that Simon, despite his flaws, became one of the characters that fascinated me the most. Seriously!

I wanted to see more of him, to see more of his and Edwin’s past dynamic, and to understand how he got to the point he did in life. When I’m watching the show back, I can’t help but wonder if Edwin might have told Charles about Simon, or about their brief passing in Hell, and what Charles would have thought about their conversation. While Simon’s actions angered me and were objectively abhorrent, I still felt immense sympathy for him, and during his scene with Edwin in Hell, I wept for them both. I was moved by your portrayal of his complexities, and although our time with you was brief, it made a lasting impact.

The scene you and George had together in Hell is perhaps one of the most provocative conversations between two canon queer characters on screen. When I think of the impact Dead Boy Detectives has had on the LGBTQ+ community, your scene is one of the first ones I think about, and Simon’s self-hatred is a tragedy all too common amongst our own. Seeing it play out was heartbreaking, but necessary. You did a phenomenal job.

You are our Simon, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

[waspsarebetterthanbeesanyways]

Only the Dead 7

part 1

previous

next

Damian stiffens, eyeing Phantom warily. ‘Prince?’

Phantom gets a foot underneath himself and pushes himself upright, and then into the air. “Fright Knight,” he says.

“My prince,” says the ghost possessing Red Robin. “We feared you’d passed on! It’s been months without word, and even our best trackers were unable to locate you!”

Phantom wraps both arms around his chest. Fright Knight watches the movement closely, frowning at the green blood spreading through Phantom’s jumpsuit. “Mm,” hums Phantom. “The hunters got me.”

“They did to you as what they did to the subsapients they’d captured,” Fright Knight says. It’s not a question, and Phantom stays silent. “I see.” His hands tighten around the grip of his sword. “That is an act of war. King Pariah will doubtlessly order me to slay them all, and I must admit it is a relief to know they have brought it on themselves.”

“Do not,” Phantom hisses. “I am not in accord with Pariah Dark. The people of this city are innocent. I am more to blame than them.”

“No!” Fright Knight barks. “You are a child, not even old enough to assume the throne! No matter your responsibilities, you are not to blame for the actions of evildoers!”

“Yet how many child ghosts has Pariah Dark created today?” Phantom asks.

Fright Knight looks away. “My prince, I have no desire to fight you. But you know my duty. I am enthralled. I cannot disobey King Pariah’s orders.” Fright Knight looks to Jason, hogtied, squirming and helpless. “He is my quarry. Leave now, my prince. I will not tell King Pariah I saw you here today.”

Phantom steps between the bats and Fright Knight. His eyes glow a vivid blue, and a rapier of ice forms in his hand. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Then stop me!” Fright Knight lunges.

Phantom parries with a grunt. He glances at Damian from the corner of his eye. “Take Red Hood and go! I’ll hold him off!”

Though his hands are slick with blood and the pain makes tears prick in his eyes, Damian draws his blade. He didn’t become Robin to let an unknown fight his battles for him, and he didn’t become Robin to leave Drake, his brother, for dead. Next to him, Cass raises her fists, batarang in hand. Together, they leap into the fray.

Still sword locked with Phantom, Fright Knight ducks beneath Damian’s swipe. With his free hand, he reaches out to catch Black Bat’s fist, but she deftly twirls around him to land a strong punch to his shoulder, knocking him backwards. He is only barely able to dodge Phantom’s follow up stab.

Fright Knight rapidly slashes at Black Bat. “Don’t let his sword cut you!” Phantom cries. She ducks an overhead swing and nimbly jumps over a low feint.

Damian slinks behind Fright Knight and thrusts an elbow towards his spine. Fright Knight staggers forwards. Black Bat jabs at his throat, and though Tim’s body gasps and wheezes, the Fright Knight is undeterred. He twists inhumanly and strikes Damian in the cheek with a hard backhand.

Phantom leaps in with quick, graceful stabs. The Fright Knight parries them, seemingly without effot. Phantom switches to a wide slash, which the Fright Knight blocks with a forearm, but it was a feint, and Phantom backflips smoothly, coming up with the point of his blade aimed at Red Robin’s throat. Damian’s breath catches, for an instant convinced he is about to see his brother die, but the Fright Knight easily knocks his thrust aside.

“You’ve gotten rusty, my prince,” the Fright Knight says, lashing out with a kick to Phantom’s gut. Phantom goes flying, but he twists in midair to land on his feet.

“I’m a bit out of practice,” Phantom pants.

“Nonetheless, it seems you’ve surrounded yourself with capable allies,” the Fright Knight says. Cass leaps out of the shadows, throwing a batarang. The Fright Knight knocks it away with his sword, but it seems like he’s too slow to block her follow up punch. Before it connects, however, a second, heavily armored arm emerges from within Red Robin’s arm to grab her wrist. Cass’ eyes widen. “Unfortunately, they are no match for me.” He twists her wrist harshly, and Cass screams as it audibly snaps. The Fright Knight then throws her into the slide hard enough to make it collapse. She doesn’t get back up.

Enraged, Damian lunges at the Fright Knight. He easily blocks Damian’s strike with his sword, and then with a twist of his wrist he sends Damian’s blade flying out of his blood slicked hands. With his free hand, he grabs Damian by the throat, and hoists him into the air with strength greather than Red Robin’s body should be capable of. Damian grabs the Fright Knight’s wrist and kicks at Red Robin’s body, but the Fright Knight doesn’t even seem to feel it. Desperately, Damian tries and fails to inhale.

Fright Knight brings his blade up to Damian’s throat. “I apologize, but I must do this.”

“You don’t!” Phantom cries. “He isn’t your target!”

Fright Knight casts a long look at Phantom, then unceremoniously drops Damian. Damian gasps. “You are correct,” he says, turning towards where Jason lays. “It seems I’ve gotten carried away-- ah--“

At the Fright Knight’s stutter, Damian looks at Jason. Cass is there, and Jason is slung over the shoulder of her broken wrist. She pulls out her grapple with her uninjured hand. “Retreat,” she says, and grapples up to the nearest roof. She swiftly disappears into the shadows.

Fright Knight takes a step to follow, but Phantom intercepts him. “Go!” he shouts at Damian. “I’ll catch up!”

Damian grits his teeth. Retreating rankles like nothing else, but Damian is injured and tired, and even if he were at his best the Fright Knight would be a difficult opponent.

“Don’t kill Red Robin,” Damian tells Phantom.

“Of course! What do you take me for?!”

Damian retrieves his blade, turns, and runs.

_____

@coruscateselene @somecrappyclone @quirky-gardener @undead-essence @gin2212 @the-archer-goddess @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @krzys2000 @thegreawizards @luckykittens198 @violently-lovely @wackyattack @0j-9 @darkhinauniverse @just-for-dpxdc @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @fisticuffsatapplebees @ saltyladynightmare @all-mights-asscheeks @icedbluesoul

[zynart]

the picture of aubrey dorian grayham

i havent seen anyone else say it yet, but i've often felt like drake had the vibe of a real-life dorian gray, even for years before this and even aside from all the allegations. and if today felt like a slashed painting, let's cover what i mean

it's about an almost 40 year old whose entire online presence for years has been culture curation and memes and celebrity shit and partying and womanizing and more partying on instagram and plastic surgery and trendsetting trend following and making music to make tiktok money and memeing with celebrities for instagram

a slightly dorky looking guy who seemed like a somewhat self-aware and kinda soulful enough dude in his early 20s, who got famous making music about love and emotions or heartbreak or whatever that even got him the "sensitive rapper" moniker (whether the image was real or fake all along, what i mean in how he came across in public) who has now spent a decade as this giant star where i cant remember the last time i've seen him do anything that looked like it showed an actual emotion beyond insecurity and pettiness and self-aggrandizement in all that time, especially about love

guy made songs like marvin's room but when's the last time he seems to have had any actual emotions about any women besides just chasing an endless list of women as status symbols and feeling wronged or slighted or threatened by women over petty shit. guy got famous off a song like best i ever had, made "sweatpants, hair tied, chilling with no make-up / that's when you're the prettiest" into a catchphrase people referenced for years. i dont know what his true self was but just like in the story, we're not arguing about whether dorian was rotten from the start, just talking about how it seems

haven't seen him show genuine emotion in years aside from trolling. flaunting wealth, trying to take taken women getting off on the concept of dominance play over other men. it's like someone who cared so much about looking hard and chasing pleasures that, because they thought real love and heartbreak looked weak, decided it was better to lose the capability at all

"enthralled by the hedonistic worldview that sensual fulfillment is the only thing worth pursuing in life... dorian expresses the desire to sell his soul. the wish is granted, and dorian pursues a libertine life of varied amoral experiences while staying young..."

someone whose entire life is vacationing with drinks beautiful settings or clubs or mansions or posing with celebrity women or trolling for memes, shown no actual emotions except pettiness and resentment in years. plastic surgery to look fitter and younger. life that's not lived as much as meticulously crafted and curated for instagram

circling back and seeing its a reverse dorian gray situation. one might think that instagram is the real-life painting, but the drake that we see and know is the drake on instagram, the carefully curated hedonistic party animal billionaire with a parade of celebrity friends and women, ab etchings and pout and photo filters and vacation settings for a look curated to be unchanging, constant, the biggest star on the planet. the drake we dont see, the drake in the attic, is the real drake. the person behind the curation

tbh maybe it's not that deep, it's just. a certain dorian gray feeling is something i've always gotten. this drake is something that in theory can't last, you would've expected any given billionaire playboy to have wound down and found love and settled by this age, there's only so long you can stave off time until you're actually old without a family around you, unless you're dorian gray and you can just keep going. but at some point someone's still stabbing that painting

[twoforflinching-ktbedition]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ You needn't apologise for anything, Jae. It's clear you've had an eventful time of things lately; regarding a matter of affections, I'm given to understand congratulations are in order :}c whether for you, or your Suzerain. Perhaps both? Levity aside once more, I am happy to hear you enjoy your life where you are. It is by far easier to bear with a complex situaiton both legally and politically when one is in company they care for. Xe is lucky to have you in xer service; I have not known you for long, but I believe this. I have full faith you will keep one another safe in your upcoming duel.

XIII▸ Hm. Good lord that Nokia sounds like some sturdy technology. Your analogy makes perfect sense now, yes; it is remarkably remenescent of the Drake. I may pilot for Harrison and I am encouraged to maintain the company image, but I will happily admit I share your fondness for IPS-N frames. Practicality as a calling above all else has produced some truly functional pieces of mechanics, and I personally find the almost industrial design philosophy deeply interesting! I will have to ask you more about your opinions on other frames, I think it could be an enthralling discussion :}

XIII▸... you have asked me a few things, more telling than I think you realise. But, given things I have learned recently? Perhaps- it may be about time to set aside my dramatics, anyway. I hope you won't begrudge me upholding them for as long as I have. A complicated situation can occasionally make people... disquieted, with me. It has been nice, speaking with another like I am just another soldier. I hope we can keep doing that.

XIII▸I am something akin to one of the supersoldier programs yes; I am a flashclone under the Armory's Series project. My given name is Thirteen-E, which I have seen abbreviated a few times now to simply T-E. There are any number of ways to write my name, and I am not inclined toward preferences so- whichever one you wish to use :} I suppose if I am being open with my identity now, I can offer a more specific condolences regarding your legal situation. I am the center of my own extended case at the moment, which has been... trying. If you wish to complain at greater length about that at any point in time, it may be suitably cathartic for us both.

XIII▸ Now that I have expressed details of my identity, I would like to state that I am happy to answer any questions you may have regarding my situation, so long as I am able to! I know it is an... odd state of being, to most. Even amongst the Legionnaires I often find myself outlining the purpose and purview of my Project line. And I certainly still have plenty of time, as while I am on the mend the laceration to my leg is proving stubborn. I remain on bedrest :/

XIII▸ I will try to, as you put it, rest up :} I hope we can continue to speak like this. I... I have also come to rather look forward to our correspondence. I wish you luck in your upcoming melee.

[ XIII-E // @xiii-e ]

Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry I ain't been too quick to respond to ya lately, I just needed a bit to sit with this one, I think.

I thank ya for the congratulations, me 'n Arvantiel have been pretty damn happy with this new arrangement. I ain't gotta worry so much 'bout xem and xey don't gotta stew in silence about aer feelings like ae always do. Ain't never worth it to bottle that shit up and let it fester, all it's gonna do is be way more destructive when ya finally get 'round to it, and if you ain't gonna get around to it yourself then it'll do it for you.

Speakin' of, I ain't ever gonna judge ya for keepin' your secrets. I ain't entitled to anythin', and I can see why you'd wanna keep your whole situation under wraps. It's a fuckin' rough one and I can see people bein' weird about it. I got my own feelings, of course, but they're mine and ain't gotta affect you. 'Least I know even Armory clones think IPS-N's better.

A flashclone, huh? Nice to know y'all find it worth it to come speak with me for some fuckin' reason. I heard every once in a while 'bout Armory clones when I was on the Shore. Some Harrison fucks we'd be fightin' with on one planet would be talkin' about some savin' grace kinda superhuman medic, spoke of 'em kinda like a tool, though, a canary in a fuckin' coal mine or somethin'.

Thirteen-E, huh? Feels familiar. We mighta served together once or twice, maybe even met. My memory ain't what it used to be, y'know, but something's definitely there. Apologies if we have met 'n I just don't remember, a lotta stuff 'round my time on the Shore's real fuzzy for me.

Well, kiddo, you're doin' good work out there regardless of my feelings on flashclones 'n shit. You ever need help, you come to me and I got you. I'm proud you're at least restin' up now, gotta stay in one piece to keep savin' people. You play too fast 'n loose with yourself out there and you'll end up like me.

I ain't gonna pry too much, but I do gotta ask: what do you do when you ain't on the field? Can't imagine the Armory lets their clones fuck around on shore leave all that much, but with Union breathin' down their neck they must be givin' you at least a bit of lenience. Fuck, my legal situation's a mess but yours gives me a damn migraine.

Take care, kiddo.

-Han Jae-

[youaretwicemine]

It was unseasonably warm for May in London, but the stone castle retained a dank chill. I was quite put out. My advisors were conspiring against me, the monarchs of Europe sent presents and over-zealous notes, courting me only to line their hell-deep silk-satin pockets, and on top of all this, I had a toothache. The royal physician’s assistant—an upstart of a lad, blathering on about some new research he’d done—had suggested under his breath that I eat an orange, but the boy was clearly mad. Cold, nasty, puckery fruits full of pips, oranges.

A sharp rap sounded on the chamber door, and a courtier with a ruff whose enormous diameter surpassed his small stature entered and bowed. If he was shocked by the sour look on his Queen’s face (I was still thinking about oranges), he hid it well. “Your Grace, we have received pressing news regarding your royal cousin, Mary Queen of Scots. She has crossed Solway Firth and been taken into custody by local officials. Moreover, she has requested an audience with Your Majesty as soon as may be.” He waited expectantly for a reply. Moraines ‘pon them all. I am NOT in the mood. “Marlowe, place it upon my to-do list.” “Your…Y-yes, Your Grace,” he stammered in mild perplexity. “Am I to notify the messengers…” the words trailed into silence. Fool. “Nay. You are dismissed, Marlowe.” Reveling a little in his awkwardness, I fixed the unfortunate man such a glare that he scuttled out upon the spot, nearly overbalancing when his ruff collided with the narrow chamber doorway. God’s teeth, I’m in a foul temper today. This reflection did not bother me; the best strategies often strike at such times. I drummed my nails on the desk and returned to answering letters.

The blaring of a miserably out-of-tune trumpet drowned the quiet scratching of quill on paper. Rolling my eyes a little, I strode to the door and threw it open. “The Royal Cook to see Your Grace,” announced a page with an obnoxiously genuine smile. Various cooks and attendants entered as I moved back to accommodate them all, and a deluge of bowing ensued. “What is it, Francis?” “Well, Your Grace,” he began. I shall spare you the next half-hour—endless questions about each and every detail of the upcoming feast, down to which candlesticks to use for which table. Why should I care? I had important business to delay attending to! The rest of the day saw my temper growing shorter and my to-do list growing longer. Normally I relished the duties of reigning, the constant mental and social challenge, the decisions to be made. It was like playing a game of chess, but with lives at stake. How terribly thrilling. Yet today every request seemed insufferable, every demand absurd. Your Grace, we have found poachers in your royal forests. Hang them. The Royal Ambassador of King Philip II of Spain to see Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth of England. I entertained him as briefly as I dared. And so on and on, till day’s end neared and I would have been exhausted if I weren’t taking care to remain mad as a hornet.

My last audience of the evening was one I had looked forward to all week. I was receiving Sir Francis Drake, home in England at last after a long voyage. Francis was an excellent captain—and a better pirate, for his exploits often lined the British treasury at the expense of Spain’s insufferable King Philip. A bitter taste filled my mouth at the thought of that peeving wretch. Ignorant excuse for a monarch! courting indeed! I’d sooner marry a stable-boy! Shoving him out of my mind, I tried to set myself to enjoy the banquet.

Over dinner, Francis detailed his latest adventures to the entertainment and amazement of us all. I laughed, ate heartily, and relaxed a bit from the foulness of the day. Just as he was reaching the climax of an enthralling tale (never mind that his own glories therein may have been somewhat exaggerated), the cacophonous trumpets honked once more, announcing a befrilled emissary. He started to introduce himself and only got as far as “…representative of King Philip, Your Gra-“ before I was out of my chair. “Moraines heaped upon thee, sir!” This time the words were spoken aloud before I could help myself. All my previous irritability returned, and I forgot good sense and etiquette. “Fops! Bloodsuckers! Dandies feigning friendship! All day long I’ve been pulled hither and yon by fiends like you—no more! Out! Out! And let me eat my dinner in PEACE! Would that I were a buffalo! At least then I might dine on hay unhindered by heads of state!” I didn’t remember my voice could be so loud, but now it thundered out like cannon fire, echoing from every hard surface. Stepping forward towards the astonished dignitary, I tangled in my long skirts—usually managed with such care and precision—and toppled headlong—

—and awoke on the floor of my bedchamber with bruises on both elbows. My feet had tangled in my sheets, and I had tumbled out of bed. A dream and no more! I recalled my ludicrous conduct and burst out laughing. My lady’s maid bustled in and beheld the Queen of England crying tears of hilarity into the floorboards. “Y-your Highness, are you quite all right? I heard a thump and then a shriek and I…” “Jane, answer me one question: am I a buffalo?” Bewildering people was fun. I should try it more. Poor Jane looked at me, now thoroughly convinced a madwoman wore the English crown. “Why…no, Your Highness. You are our Queen.” “Good,” I said firmly. “I never liked hay, anyway.”

[ironmandeficiency]

lovesick fools

pairing: bilbo baggins / reader

word count: 2279

summary: reader and bilbo think that the other harbors a crush on thorin, and the dwarven king is the only one who can smash their heads together hard enough to make them see sense

a/n: this is my january fic for both @oonajaeadira & @writeforfandoms and the year of themed creation challenge i joined! this month’s theme is “requited love but they’re idiots” & the overarching theme for the year is “the year of idiots”

another a/n: reader’s race/gender/appearance are left ambiguous. also jsyk i’m a sucker for idiots to lovers, it’s literally my favorite trope

you learned the hard way to not ask if things could get worse. when you muttered the cursed phrase after narrowly avoiding turning to warg chow, the offense and abject horror on the dwarves’ faces made you think someone had died.

“oh, you’ve done it now!” dwalin grumbled, continuing to complain in angry khuzdul as the company of thorin oakenshield took a moment to breathe after running for their lives yet again.

instead of acknowledging dwalin’s bitching, you slumped against a shady tree, letting your breathing slow down so the rest of your body could catch up. if you had known that the journey to reclaim erebor would include this much running, you would have fought a lot harder to keep the ponies that ran away ages ago.

in the distance, you could see nori and dori tending to their littlest brother, ori giving them both half-hearted swats away from their prodding. bifur and bofur were gathering wood for a fire to cook a quick meal, and you heard thorin delegate the task of hunting to his nephews.

thorin and bilbo were otherwise enthralled in conversation, their attention solely focused on each other. you couldn’t decipher any words or tones from your slouched position, simply noting that it was significantly less hostile than their previous interactions. they were situated so close together you’d be hard pressed to slide one of fili’s daggers between the two without nicking one of them. the only reason this rankled you more than it should have is that a week ago, bilbo wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting so close to the king, damn near snuggling him.

after bilbo risked his life to save thorin from azog, the latter gained a deeper respect for the company’s burglar. it seems that this newfound respect and acceptance made your dear hobbit more bold in showing affection to thorin.

you could almost feel your skin turning green with envy of the dwarf’s position, curling that close to bilbo and sharing hushed whispers with the same intimacy you’ve been craving to receive since before the trolls.

a nagging part of your brain told you that the tight embrace they shared on the carrock was a bit more than a gesture of friendship. the rest of your brain (the parts with common sense) told it to shut up, rationalizing that it was an act of camaraderie in the throes of emotion. but getting your thoughts to silence themselves was as likely as getting gloin to stop bragging about his dear gimli.

the underbrush surrounding you and your tree are ruffled around as you’re joined by balin. he eases himself to the ground beside you without a word, knowing that he’s always welcome company. the smug bastard.

“are ye tryin’ ta finish the defiler’s task for him?” you give the older dwarf a look of confusion, not knowing what he meant. his soft laugh mildly jabs at your nerves, unsure of his meaning and now growing insecure. “if looks could kill, fíli would be king under the mountain before we even reach it.”

of course, the one dwarf that put himself in your presence was the only one who made a habit of not speaking plainly. an eye roll conveys this frustration and he clarifies. “your eyes bear the same ferocity as the drake’s roar and are just as deadly as his fire, and they’re aimed directly at thorin.”

well now you’ve gone and done it, offending balin and openly showing animosity towards thorin. you’d be lucky to remain in the company at this rate once thorin finds out.

you’re sputtering through hasty, fearful apologies. it was your fault for not realizing that your feelings were on display to that magnitude, and now you were trying to cover your ass to keep from being booted from the company in the closest town.

balin, the ever observant dwarf, notices this budding anxiety and rests a calming hand on your shoulder as he continues. “matters of the heart are rather tricky, and while i’m not one to meddle in the lives of others, i can give some sound advice if asked.”

balin not meddling? that’s a pile of shit if you’ve ever heard one. next to nori and bofur, the eldest son of fundin was the biggest meddler this side of the misty mountains. you half expected there to be a gossiper’s guild established once the mountain was restored.

“then tell me, master dwarf, what is your advice?” you didn’t mean to snap at him so, but your temper flared when bilbo and thorin seemed to scoot even closer to each other than they already were. once again, you apologize for your rashness.

he hummed in thought, shooing your hand away gently with a knowing smile that had a frightening resemblance to gandalf’s. “tell him how you feel, no matter how grim the current situation seems to be. even if his answer is not what you wish, he will not let it interfere with the quest or your role in it.”

that made sense… almost.

not even the most ardent love such as yours would sway the stalwart bilbo baggins from his commitment to the company. when he gives his word, it’s guaranteed to be kept. why would admitting your feelings to bilbo even hypothetically derail either of you from the objective? he didn’t have a personal stake in the quest outside of his promise, only the kindness of his heart and tookish sense of adventure kept him on the road to erebor. kept him with you.

rationally, the only person who had a true say in who stayed or left the company was thorin. he was the exiled prince, the future king, the leader of this quest. his word was law; he could order you to walk on your hands and eat with your feet the rest of the journey and you’d be obligated to comply.

…wait a minute, did balin think you harbored affection for thorin?

you didn’t know what was worse, balin believing the falsehood or knowing where your heart truly lies. only time would tell.

“simply put, i haven’t the slightest idea what to do!”

bilbo’s been lamenting on and on about you to thorin for nearly thirty minutes. didn’t even ask to sit next to him by the fire, just plopped himself down, scooted in close, and began his woeful soliloquy.

while thorin respects the hobbit and appreciates his friendship, he’s just about had it. each time you and bilbo catch each other’s eyes, every soft word you exchange, it gets repeated back to him in a level of detail only found in the romance novels dwalin pretends to loathe.

to thorin, the solution to bilbo’s problem is simple: he needs to give you a gift worthy of your hand while stating his intentions towards you. maybe a little bit of affection while he was at it. he didn’t understand the nuance that bilbo kept applying to courting you, especially since you would accept anything given to you by the genteel hobbit.

back in rivendell, he caught you gazing at bilbo with gentle longing and pure intentions. despite every feeble attempt made to hide your feelings from the dwarf king, he called you on them far too quick for your liking and swore to keep your secret.

shortly after, bilbo asked him for advice on how to court you. the advice was given with a smile, hoping that it would be taken eagerly and no one else would have to deal with the lovesick fools dancing around each other.

he hoped in vain because here bilbo was, asking the same questions as if thorin would miraculously give a different answer.

thorin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in resigned exasperation. this was almost worse than the trolls. “i’ve already given you my thoughts on the matter, bilbo. whether you use that information to your advantage is solely up to you.”

bilbo’s eyes nearly popped from his skull. he was quick to begin hushing the dwarf (the nerve!) and placing himself even further into thorin’s personal space. “i beg of you, thorin, keep your voice down!”

a handful of the others looked on, wondering why bilbo exclaimed so loud when thorin was simply talking.

“i’ll keep my voice down when you tell me something that not every man here already knows,” thorin scoffed at the hobbit, almost talking louder out of spite. “quite frankly, i have half a mind to take care of this problem myself.”

f and k return from hunting, both of them laden with plenty of meat and a few foraged bits and come upon the edge of chaos. their uncle and their burglar are locked in a staring contest fueled by frustration and fear. barring your fiery glare towards the two, the others are suspended in anticipation, eyes flitting back and forth between their king and their burglar.

neither of them can find it in themselves to be ashamed of the way they flinch when you storm away from your tree and towards thorin. you’re right scary when your features are pulled into a scowl that rivals the pale orc.

“what did we just walk into, fee?”

“i believe the proper term for this situation is ‘shitshow’, brother.”

you push your way between thorin and bilbo and plant your feet firmly, your eyes nearly setting thorin on fire with the same intensity balin noted earlier. “you don’t have to take care of a damned thing, your majesty.” everyone flinches at the malice laced into the honorific. none of them ever heard you speak with such vitriol in your voice and it was rather jarring.

“i know what you and bilbo have been scheming about, so save your breath.” bilbo’s pained gasp almost made you turn around and hug your dearest friend until he was laughing again. but you were furious and determined, a lethal combination when targeted at a specific someone and you couldn’t stop now.

thorin’s confusion and frustration was palpable. “what could you possibly be referring to? there’s been no scheming done by anyone here!”

“don’t take me for a fool, oakenshield! your intentions with bilbo are clear!”

“and just what might those be?”

you growl in fury as you lay the accusation bare. “you intend to court him, make him consort of erebor! even after everything i told you!” tears are fighting to escape but you push them back. you can’t cry yet, not before you make your feelings clear. “i confided in you, you were my friend! how dare you!” with every word a finger is harshly jabbed into his chest.

every other dwarf was shouting over another, trying to make heads or tails of your words. the anticipation gave way to confusion, no one knowing where to start. thorin and bilbo as king and consort? but what about your feelings for thorin? wait, doesn’t bilbo have feelings for you? where was thorin’s heart in all this?

you had tear tracks on your face despite your valiant efforts to keep them at bay. bilbo had a hand pressed to his mouth as he sat himself back on the ground, struggling to keep himself together. thorin’s company was going back and forth with no end to the bickering in sight.

thorin was pissed.

“enough!”

near complete silence followed thorin’s shout, broken only by the occasional sniffles of you and bilbo.

thorin turned to face you, resting a hand on your shoulder and hoping you wouldn’t shrug it off. “i am sorry for leading you to believe i would ever betray your trust in such a fashion.” his eyes met bilbo’s for a moment. when the hobbit nodded solemnly, thorin continued. “bilbo’s been seeking my advice for a while now on how to go about courting you. unfortunately for everyone, the lovesick fool hasn’t done anything to follow said advice.”

“i only see you as a friend, both of you. you’re important members of this company and have grown into admirable companions.” thorin offers a hand to bilbo, encouraging him to stand and face you. “now for the sake of my sanity, please profess your love for each other so we don’t have to deal with your constant yearning anymore!” with that, thorin walks away and shoos the others off to give you both space.

your eyes meet bilbo’s. every negative feeling is now replaced with hope, your heart mending itself just as quick as it broke. the pad of his thumb gently brushes away the fresh tears that were about to fall, his smile soft and eyes kind. “i’m afraid that the oaf of a king is right, i do love you. i love you most ardently, my dear. and i apologize that i didn’t have the courage to tell you sooner.”

“there’s nothing to forgive,” your head leans gently into his hand, enjoying the affection that you’ve been craving for so long. “i love you too, bilbo, so much.” you both leaned in and stole a tender kiss, finally able to indulge the way you deserved.

in the not-so-distant distance, the others were being their usual loud selves trying to watch you without letting you catch them. they weren’t doing that well of a job. you hear slightly muffled whoops and coin bags jingling as they’re swapped between the rest of the company. most of them were going to thorin despite the fireless grunts about cheating.

“the gall of those dwarves! they placed bets on us!” bilbo’s offended huff made you laugh. your hobbit admired the way your eyes scrunched, surprising even himself with the way he snags another kiss from your smiling lips. the courage of hobbits, indeed.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

for your event! i actually just read this one the other night it’s a fun one ^^ eleven chapters so far 🙌

Chance Encounters by oh_thecalamity on ao3

i’m not sure if i should give a link or not lmk if you need it 😭

Hi, nonnie! Here's the link for anyone interested!

This was a fun read! I always love it when the reader has some personality. They're sassy and I giggled a lot. I'm rooting for them, fr. I wrote down my favorite parts of chapter one below the cut!

"No good came out of this, it is irresponsible and most likely a little unethical."

Great opening, I am already enthralled!

"... The Red Hood favors a unique brand of madness that had once been all-consuming..."

Ooo, yes, very good. Great insight into how the public perceives him.

"You turn to see a boy stood next to him, he is gangly thing all long limbs with no meat on his bones."

Lol? I'm sorry, this made me laugh when I pictured it! The Timothy Drake, The Red Robin, doesn't have a single muscle to be seen. I'm sobbing. I know he's got to be wearing the most baggy clothes to hide that he's literally a vigilante.

"'Welcome home, sweetheart,' a robotic voice calls out into the silence. Your head snaps up as you stare at Red Hood lounging on your couch."

You know what I actually love when Jason Todd gets a little cocky. Definitely the kind of cliffhanger that makes me click to chapter two!

I loooved that he came back to give her some safety measure in part two. That feels so Jason Todd to me. I know he's worried that he was able to get into her apartment so easily (even if it was on accident).

Thanks for the fic rec, nonnie! Gonna go finish the rest of it!

[aglitchysylveon]

@north-heats-stronghold

What would happen if the critter dragons meet?

I can see them maybe being friends, it all depends if these guys aren't jerks to the defenceless, Drake does like hanging out with other mythical creatures so he'd be enthralled to see another dragon.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Not proofread.

I spotted Galileo in the middle of the night and quietly followed him into the garden.

Unlike during the day, the moonlight pouring down made the flowers stand out in the darkness.

(There he is.)

Amid that beautiful view, Galileo knelt and gazed at the flowers.

His melancholic amethyst eyes exude a sense of vulnerability, making him seem like a different person from his usual cold self.

Feeling as though I shouldn't interrupt, I merely watched as he plucked a red flower and brought it to his lips.

(It's just like the first time we met.)

(Why is he eating the flowers? To suppress the urge to drink blood?)

But right now, he doesn't seem to possess any will.

He seemed so hollow and fragile that he might vanish if I touched him.

As I watched, he picked another flower and ate it, then looked up at the sky, making a faint sound.

The red petals that fell from his lips adorned his chest as if it were a separate world.

(I can't take my eyes off him.)

Enthralled by the scene, I suddenly heard quiet footsteps approaching.

Drake: "Curious?"

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake gave a light smile and turned his gaze to Galileo.

Drake: "You know, he doesn't even realize it."

Mitsuki: "Realize what?"

Drake: "He's been unconsciously trapped all these years by his dead brethren without realizing it."

Mitsuki: "Dead brethren? You mean the dhampirs?"

Unable to fully grasp the conversation, I asked again, and Drake sadly smiled.

Drake: "Beneath those red flowers lie the corpses of the dhampir."

Mitsuki: "............"

I was left speechless, unable to fathom what I just heard.

The girl running away with her father and the sickly boy lying in bed with his parents watching over him—their persecuted and deprived lives I had experienced in my dreams came back to me.

Drake: "He couldn't leave those dhampirs who died so cruelly."

Drake: "After spending some time here at this hideout, he managed to bring them here and mourn them under the beautiful flowers."

Drake: "I guess he thinks they can rest peacefully now."

Drake: "Perhaps he also wants someone to witness what he's going to do next."

(Galileo planted flowers above the corpses of the dhampir.)

Drake: "Blanc flowers are white. But why do red flowers bloom only in that place?"

Drake: "It's like those red flowers absorbed blood."

Quietly, Drake weaved the tale hidden within the voiceless flowers.

Drake: "By consuming the blood-stained flowers like that, he is etching the grievances of the dhampirs into himself."

Drake: "At least, that's how I see it."

Mitsuki: "..........."

In front of us, Galileo continued to bring the red flowers to his lips.

His figure, bathed in moonlight, appeared even more fleeting.

(Galileo had gone back in time and tried many times to save the dhampirs, but…)

(He's so consumed by sorrow that he engraves it on himself like this because he couldn't succeed.)

Mitsuki: "How long have you been with Galileo?"

Drake: "How long? Hahaha! I've already forgotten."

Drake: "He grabbed my hand when I was about to die and pulled me up from the sea. That's how we met."

Mitsuki: "So you're one of the important brethren Galileo managed to save."

Mitsuki: "I'm glad you're by Galileo's side."

Drake: "..........."

(Even if it's just one person, the life he saved matters.)

Drake: "You're a good kid, little fawn."

He shrugged and smiled.

I returned my gaze to Galileo, recalling his words.

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "I attempted to change the fate of my brethren using this door."

Galileo: "I tried multiple times to save the few of them born throughout history, but it always ended in failure. It's as if the world rejects them."

Galileo: "Dhampirs are destined to disappear from history."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(Galileo has been carrying the deaths of his brethren.)

Even after paying respects, he still put flowers in his mouth.

Also...

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "And I have a warning for you."

Galileo: "Don't ever mention that man in front of me again."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(Perhaps denying his past self stems from his grievance towards his brethren.)

But at that moment, there was also intense anger.

(Galileo might be carrying something else as well.)

As I watched him with the red flower on his lips, I felt a tightness in my chest.

After returning inside, Drake told me not to tell him what he had just said and went back to his room.

(I need to be careful not to mention that scene or the dhampirs in front of him.)

At that moment,

Galileo: "What are you doing at this hour?"

Mitsuki: "Galileo."

I turned around and saw the person in question standing before me.

His eyes, now sharp and quizzical, were completely different from the empty expression earlier.

Mitsuki: "Um, getting some water. What about you?"

Galileo: "I was just taking in the night air."

There was a slight pause in his response. It's possible he didn't remember what happened earlier.

(I wanted to heal his sorrow by knowing him and to stop his purpose, but there's nothing I can do for now.)

Unable to find the right words, I looked up at him with a melancholic feeling.

Galileo: "You sometimes stare at people like that."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Galileo: "It's like you're trying to see something in them."

He continued to look at me without averting his gaze.

Galileo: "Honestly, I was surprised when you came to this hideout."

Mitsuki: "Why's that?"

Galileo: "You could have trusted the vampires in the mansion, even though we set the terms."

Galileo: "You could have turned a blind eye to the truth."

(There might have been such options.)

But all that was on my mind was wanting to protect everyone in the mansion and wanting to know the real him. Even if there was an option to escape, I probably wouldn't have chosen it.

Galileo: "You said you wanted to know me even after knowing my purpose, but aren't you afraid of me?"

(I...)

What naturally came out of my lips was surprising even to me.

Mitsuki: "I'm not afraid."

Mitsuki: "I was indeed scared at first."

Mitsuki: "Even now, I'm a bit scared. But..."

(I can't quite express it, but when I look at him, my heart tightens.)

(I want to understand why I feel this way.)

I want to know why his eyes were filled with danger and a hint of melancholy.

Mitsuki: "I want to face you head-on without turning away."

Galileo: "............"

Silence fell between us.

We exchanged glances for a while, and eventually, he let out a small sigh.

Galileo: "You're truly honest and righteous to a fault."

Surprisingly, his voice lacked its usual coldness.

He turned away, and I hesitantly called out to him.

Mitsuki: "Um, goodnight."

For a moment, it seemed like he might turn back toward me, but Galileo melted into the shadows of the night without looking back.

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