#I do love me some angst

[emry-stars-art]

@lyndiscealin your addition to this post… immaculate, I wanted to draw it, I hope you don’t mind I made minor changes 😅

And did you mean for it to fit almost perfectly with the next bit, because I feel like you did, all I needed to add was one panel between - like, fix the mood in the last two panels and it’s like a seamless comic you’re a genius

Anyway THANK YOU everyone is so brilliant with their ideas and additions 💕

[cheekylittlepupp]

Can we talk about Ascended Astarion and how he actually seems to be lonelier than ever? If you talk to the non romanced version of him he says that even with all of this power and wealth, he feels lonely. I'm starting to think that this is the sad route just as much as it's the evil route.

If you've romanced him, his whole world now revolves around you, he will lovebomb you and never let you go, if you talk about freedom he gets visibly annoyed and replies with "Gods, not this again." How many times was this discussed before? I'm almost 100% sure that you are never getting out of a relationship with him, ever, if you find a way to die this man will probably scour all of Faerûn for a way to bring you back. Or if you want to go the angsty route.

Once he ascends he pushes everyone away and if tav doesn't agree with him he can easily compel them to, talk about an echo chamber. Afterall, he knows best. Everyone is beneath him, their only purpose is to bow and serve and of course, offer their necks.

It reminds me of something he said before about someone, hmm ~

Everything that has happened up to this point, everything you've gone through with him from act 1 up until he ascends is erased. He is once again closed off, unbelieving of love, belives that every type of relationship is just a transaction, that his former self was pathetic, powerless, undeserving of anything and that everything in this world happens only for power. Power, Power, Power.

Sharing his power and wealth with you, providing you with pleasure, what is all of this, if not, love? (funny, this ties up to act 1n2 again huh, intimacy being only transactional) Oh you wanted, love, love? Honesty, sincerity, respect, mutual understanding and all of that crap? Don't be ridiculous, darling.

He is incredibly pushy about making you his spawn because in that way you will never be able to run away from him, you will be forever his.

I do believe that you are special to him, afterall, you were his first everything. The first living creature's blood was yours and we all know how important and special that is, you were the first one who saw him for who he truly is, you were the first one who he was intimate with for the first time after he escaped and wasn't compelled to do so, he had other motives at the time but we all know he caught feelings soon after, you were the first one who listened to him pour his heart out, you are the first person he's ever truly cared for, you were the one standing by his side when you faced Cazzador, you were the one who helped him with the ritual, you helped him sacrifice all of those souls, you pushed him, you were there through all of it, YOU.

So once he finally receives the power that he's lusted after, he will secure you any way he can, he will promise you everything, he will say everything that you want to hear, god forbid he is ever alone again and lose you.

All of this ties up to him being possesive, he's co-dependent on you, always watching, always having his eyes on you, his prized treasure, his beloved pet, his dark consort, the only thing he truly has. You will be together forever, until the world falls down, be it by force or your free will.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I like writing little stories and snippets of things I like and alot of your TFP work I really like, but this AU was what finally got me to send in an ask, so how about this for a prompt? (I'm new to the TF Fandom so please excuse my excited rambling)

In your Innocent Abominations AU, what if - in a bout of strength and clarity - Orion/Optimus fights back against the Matrix and gets through to Megatron, Bumblebee, and whoever else might be there? (Like Elita One, Ratchet and Drift (if they came to visit), Grimlock, the Humans, etc.) He begs them - mainly Megatron - to remove the Matrix, this accursed power that's willing to kill sparklings that have no clue about their origin, that haven't done anything wrong. He even reasons that since the Emberstone, Quintus Prime's artifact and thus a creation of Primus, had created them. Despite their Earthly origins, they were still Cybertronian. But the Matrix is having none of it, actively trying to suppress Orion/Optimus again so it can fulfill its duty. 

Megatron asks who's who, if he's Orion Pax or Optimus Prime. To which Orion/Optimus says they are one in the same, just that the Matrix would offer wisdom and influence his decisions. And now the Matrix was in fill control, or trying to have full control.  A puppeteer forcing Orion/Optimus to watch as his frame attempts to slaughter innocent sparklings. 

As his strength is weakening, he bears his spark chamber and begs for the Matrix to be removed. To free him. To silence these overwhelming voices in his head once and for all. And just as the Matrix is about to smother Orion/Optimus for good (what good is "the perfect host" if it doesn't listen?), Megatron rips out the Matrix, shoves it into a container that silences its commanding whispers, and the Prime collapses from exhaustion. Optimus retains his Primely frame - the reformatting he went through when he accepted the Matrix was permanent - and his spark chamber is damaged, but his spark itself remains intact, having physically rejected the Matrix from his frame. 

But the Matrix was successful in one thing, it sowed a seed of doubt in Optimus' mind. He just hopes that despite the Terrans being of Unicron, he made the right choice in sparing their lives. Seeing the sweet Innocent Abominations sparklings happy and alive - not scrapmetal beneath his axe - was all the more relieving and could put his warring mind to rest.

It was finished. He was free. But at what cost?

I love this prompt thank you.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The voices grew louder with every passing cycle. Optimus knew deep in his spark that he was hunting sparklings, but he found he simply didn't care. For weeks he stalked, his remaining inhibitions stopping him from progressing further than a few feet out from the tree line once a few warning shots were fired. Megatron and Bumblebee always stood in his way, and while the Matrix wanted the Terrans dead, it did not demand the loss of life of his own kind. There were so few of them. He could not risk killing those that remained.

The parts of him that were untouched by the Matrix grew quieter, and soon enough, he found himself no longer fighting back against the Matrix's demands. Beings not born of the Well were not Cybertronian. How could they be? They were not touched by Primus, they knew not the trial of emerging from the Well and the struggles of living on Cybertron. So many long nights he fought with himself, until at last, something in him was silenced and it did not cause him any distress to imagine killing the Terrans. The pain hung in every cable still, but it was no longer the unbearable agony that caused him to try and tear his plating off.

The itch, the urge, was impossible to ignore. But now that he had his mind? He could handle things more... delicately. The Matrix hummed in affirmation as he stepped out of the tree line one dark night, for once completely composed. Megatron and Bumblebee raised their blasters and the Terrans emerged from their resting place in horror. They did not know the details, but they knew enough to be fully aware that Optimus was no friend. Not while his optics shone a pure white.

Optimus: Megatron, Bumblebee.

Megatron: Stay back Prime!

Twitch: What's going on? Optimus, are you alright?

Bumblebee: Don't go near him! That's not Optimus, not anymore.

Optimus: That is where you are mistaken. I was foolish for failing to listen to the Matrix. It only caused me pain because I refused to adhere to it. But now-

Megatron: Save it! My old foe would never sink so low as to slaughter sparklings!

Nightshade: Slaughter...

Bumblebee: All of you, back inside.

Hashtag: No, we are staying here. We are family. And if Optimus isn't right in the head, we are going to deal with this together.

Optimus: How very noble of you abominations. If there is truly any touch of Primus in you, come to us willingly. Your deaths shall be swift.

Twitch: Why do you want us dead? I thought we were all Cybertronian!

Optimus: You wear our faces, you act like us, but you are not of us. The Matrix says this. Parasites, all of you. It is for the benefit of all that you perish by our blade.

Megatron: Stop this Optimus!

Optimus: There is no halting the inevitable. This is our only attempt at diplomacy. Give us the Terrans now and they shall die without pain. Deny us and we shall inflict as much damage to the surrounding life forms as necessary to accomplish our goals.

Megatron: This isn't you! Fight back against that Primus forsaken relic! It does not control you!

Optimus: You will not give us the Terrans... how very disappointing.

Optimus glared, but he did not fight. His voice rang cold, his expression so frigid that there was no room to even imagine what he was thinking. As he turned to walk away, his frame did not sway with any sort of life. He moved with calculation, like a true machine. Megatron almost fired on him, but he could not bring himself to for both the political havoc it would bring and due to the simple fact that he had no desire to see his old foe slaughtered. Bumblebee hurried the Terrans back inside and quickly called in all Autobots who were aware of him being on Earth and fully functional.

Arcee and Elita-1 were informed with haste. Starscream was called in, and he came without complaint the moment the situation was explained. Grimlock arrived without question as soon as Bumblebee notified him of the potential danger to the Terrans. Soundwave was kept in containment but on standby. An agreement was made that he would defend the Terrans if it was required, and in turn, he would be allowed to walk free afterwards. Megatron was willing to take no risks when it came to the Terrans and the unstable Prime. Bumblebee could only do his best to keep everyone calm as the children were forbidden from leaving and the Maltos carefully extracted. It was too dangerous to move them, not when Optimus could be lurking. And so instead they remained at home and the available Cybertronians constantly stood watch. There was always someone on guard, regardless of the situation. G.H.O.S.T were kept out of the loop through careful artificial orders and recordings.

As such, they did not react when Optimus Prime failed to return to base. None knew where he was, and for weeks, he remained completely off the map. Their fears grew, until at last, Optimus returned.

It was a sudden affair. The Terrans were milling about the Malto property and the children were sitting with them, watching Thrash play with Jawbreaker. Then there was a distinct sound of pedesteps, and Starscream who had been keeping watch that day, leapt to the air with his blasters ready as the lost Prime came crashing out of the tree line. Optimus was all but feral as he flew forward, his optics blazing white and his axe coming down hard into the ground where Thrash had been mere moments before. Starscream did not hesitate to throw himself into action, rocketing down and grabbing the Prime around the neck to by the Terrans time to flee while the others arrived.

Optimus flung Starscream off his back and slammed the seeker into the ground, causing him to scream in agony as a wing broke under the hit. The Prime did not waste a moment in rushing toward Nightshade who stood their ground, their optics cycling in fear only dulled by conviction. He charged like a rabid animal, his mind long degraded by the Matrix as he threw himself into action. Nightshade dodged the worst of it, only receiving a minor slash to their left arm. Twitch flew in to attack with her blasters, drawing Optimus's attention away while Jawbreaker rammed the Prime, sending him sprawling as he practically frothed at the mouth.

He rationalized his weeks hiding by saying it was for the best. Phycological warfare and all that. But in reality, the small parts of Orion that remained cried out and did their best to push forward morality to subvert the logic. He wandered for so long as a desperate attempt to prolong the Terrans lives. Now all that remained was wild wrath that did not even belong to him.

Elita arrived with Arcee and they wasted no time beating the Prime into the ground, tying him down like a wild boar. Starscream was tended to and the Terrans stood around in fear as Optimus snarled, screaming obscenities' and strange prophecies to the stars. Too weakened by weeks of wandering without reasonable energon rations left the Prime unable to do much when Grimlock arrived and kept a pede on his back to ensure he couldn't escape. He snarled, he bit his own derma, and by the time Megatron arrived, he'd damaged himself enough on the ground that his face bled from a thousand small cuts.

Something changed in that moment though. As Megatron drew near and Optimus was heaved to his pedes and held in place by Grimlock, Optimus stilled. He fell eerily quiet for the first time since he came bursting free from the forest. Those who were gathered feared he would attack, but instead his voice came out so softly as to be a whisper.

Optimus: Take it away. Make it be silent.

Megatron: Who am I speaking to? I refuse to be manipulated by that Primus forsaken relic.

Optimus: You speak to Orion Pax, I who then became Optimus Prime.

Megatron: How-

Optimus: We are one and the same. The relic merely awakens the Prime, it does not make us.

Megatron: Then we can remove it.

Optimus: Yes. Take it away. Make it be silent. Remove it before it silences me. I don't want to kill them. Please don't make me kill them...

Optimus spasmed in Grimlock's grip, his optics flaring as his voice turned to static. His plating folded away and revealed his spark quickly being smothered by the relic within him. Megatron did not waste a moment in dragging the Prime to the ground and reaching in to rip the relic out. It burned him, sending power flooding up his arm and into his frame. He screamed as his servos wrapped around the relic that was clasped around Optimus's fluttering spark. But with a burst of strength, he tore it free with an agonized scream from the Prime on the ground.

Before anyone could stop them, the Terrans hurried forward and checked on both downed mecha. Megatron got up with a few new electricity scars, but he was fine. Optimus for his part remained prone, his frame falling still. His spark still blazed, but it was weak. He was taken away and held in restraints, the Matrix boxed away and hidden until Optimus woke and they could decide what to do next.

But when he woke, Optimus was... different. He was still very much a Prime in frame and mind. He had the programming and he still remained the same in personality. However, as he recovered and revealed himself to be ordinary, no longer plagued by madness... he looked upon the Terrans differently. At first the gathered Cybertronians worried he was still maddened, but when questioned, he only had one thing to say.

"They are young, they are no threat to us. However... despite the lack of the Matrix poisoning my mind, I fear that they may not be pure. I could never harm them, not now. So if they really do become the threat the Matrix warned me of... I do not think I would have the strength to fight back."

With time, he returned to his normal activities, and the fear abated. He spoke with the Terrans normally, teaching them under supervision. He continued acting as Prime. But deep beneath the surface, he questioned.

And unbeknownst to anyone, when the Emberstone was used to restore the fallen, Optimus felt the all familiar call once more. The call that summoned him to receive the mighty relic of old. It was back, and this time, it was not loving.

He could ignore it. The call never grew stronger. But whenever he passed by the container the Matrix was held in, his spark flared in pain and fear.

It wanted him back. It still wanted the Terrans dead.

[br-amblinghostcat]

Been intending to do this for a while- a combination of the text of Hua Cheng's worst suffering and the moment that he lived through it, and became a Savage Ghost. I hadn't realized the paper was this shitty when I started and it accumulated a lot of damage and tears, it was really rough both lining and doing the color pencil. In the end I glued it down to some cardboard to try to hide a particularly big tear. The color pencils were also bad quality but I think it turned out ok still.

I chose the high ponytail because the next time Xie Lian sees him after the temple disease incident, Hua Cheng is with a with a high ponytail, so it made sense to me to make it consistent.

[goshdarnitjay]

Oooof can’t wait for lhsd especially the angst. You do EMOTIONAL DAMAGE so well

I like to think I also do healing well, but okay 😂💚💜

[ineffablelunatic]

A painful Capvers prompt

Left: The Unquiet Grave, Right: an excerpt from House of Hollow

I've come across the concept of a spirit becoming trapped by the grief of a loved one a few times, and I came up with this theory / fic idea:

What if Captain died first and Havers mourned him so intensely that his ghost became bound to the earth? What if the reason that Cap still can't move on is not only because of his fight to come to terms with his sexuality, but also because of Havers' grief at the time being so great that it keeps him trapped, even all these years later?

[beyondthesefourwalls]

two for you!!

e: if you wrote a sequel to what comes around goes around what would it be about?

k: what’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Oooh these are good ones😍

E. First, I love that story so I’m so glad you asked about it! I think the sequel would explore her realization of the depth of her feelings for him, and the adjustment of what commitment means to both of them.

K. Of what I have posted, I think RYEWID is the angstiest overall. I have a few unposted WIPs though that are angsty as fuck lol. I’m actually working on a Forgetful Boy prequel story right now and there’s one moment in it that I’m genuinely not sure why I put Pumpkin through because it hurt my soul to write. I’ll let you know what specifically it is after it’s posted lol.

Thanks for the questions, Jordan! 💚

Fanfic Ask Game

[heclingmuzik]

If anyone's wondering where Ismael had been since yesterday, she's been cooped up in her home with the owls and Sal. She has been replying to texts, but no calls or in person-meeting.

While Sal stepped outside, Ismael lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling in a dazed-like state.

You're useless. You really did just replace your whole entire family. Disgusting.

BAHA! LAUGHABLE! And you claim that you love them. There isn't even enough ROOM for your sister and Kyrie anymore is there?

....

That's not true.

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[hinamie]

色彩 [Shikisai]

[were-wolverine]

things in DC canon i’ll literally never get over

1. dick finds out batman replaced him as robin (without asking him) from the NEWSPAPER and simultaneously finds out bruce adopted a new kid without telling him (to make things worse: bruce didn’t even adopt dick)

2. dick finds out jason died from the newspaper (AGAIN? REALLY BRUCE?) and bruce had the fucking funeral WITHOUT HIM while he was still in space

[itsnotmourn]

OH MY GOD ITS CARMEN AND RICHARD

[spooky-activity]

Practicing my comic paneling and action poses with some Firefly/Stelle angst. Set immediately after the end of patch 2.1, where we find out Firefly is still alive!

+ bonus

[mblue-art]

sans au sexyman polls doooodle

congrats to the kings<3 🫶🫶🫶

[insignificant457]

There is a nebulous jordie lives au which lives entirely in my head in which jordie recovers from the plague while Kaz is still sick. He gets up to find them food and water only to return and discover Kaz is nowhere to be found. Still recovering from the fever, he searches the barrel for days before he finally sees Kaz wandering down the staves in a sort of fugue state, soaked to the bone with a haunted look in his eyes.

Kaz won’t tell him what happened, but jordie knows it’s bad because his baby brother flinches every time he touches him, and soon enough he’s started wearing gloves, even in the height of summer.

Soon, they discover kazs gift for cards, and it keeps them fed and clothed, if not much else. Kaz is angry at jordie for losing the money, refuses to let him make any decisions. Jordie is beholden to his angry traumatized little brother because he can’t deny that he failed them the first time around.

Kaz is offered a place in his pick of the gangs, but the only one willing to take both him and his tag along older brother is the dregs. Jordie dies a little bit inside when they join up, when they take the tattoo side by side, but he’s not sure they’ll survive another winter on the streets.

And the plot of SoC generally goes on from there. Jordie tags along on the ice court, he and Jesper test kazs patience at every turn, he’s constantly offering unsolicited annoying older brother advice about Inej.

This lends itself to a really interesting exploration of Kaz and jordies relationship, what holds brothers together in the face of incredible trauma, the skewed power dynamic of Kaz becoming the breadwinner for them both at the age of nine, etc etc. But mostly, this au is a vessel for the sailing of the ultimate crack ship, which is of course, jordie/alys Van Eck.

[littletroggo]

p3 girls week day 5: grief inspired by 10 Ways to Say I Love You by blarfshnorgull on ao3. i come back to read it whenever i want the feels