#I wanna protect this level 20 fifteen year old with my whole being

[pearlaquaoceans]

I continue to think about this child. This is 15 year old mortal with all the weight of the sun upon his shoulders.

I laugh to think even as Downfall started that I never have imagined myself thinking so much of Pelor. Pelor was stern and haughty and above answering to his followers. And then Ayden spoke and he was hopeful and warm and protective and it hit me like a semitruck. I am in Amazon's walls with the fact I need them to turn it into a mini series just so I can have more Ayden in my brain to think about.

Beyond the fact I was pro-pantheon before downfall, Ayden alone could never make me want them gone just for the fact he is now rattling around in my head with other favourites let alone all the reasons I have felt during the many discussions.

I could never be made to hate the boy who tries to heal an old man or creates food to lessen the burden of a family. I might wanna beat the lights out of some of his followers, but I could never be made to hate him.

Sorry y'all. If you can't tell, I've been watching Downfall again while I work on this Ayden piece as I figure out what I want it to be and just struck by the softness of the dawnchild.

[danreblogsstuff]

Tagged by @darklordtomarry 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether). See if there are any patterns. Then, tag your favourite authors.

So I tend to write really long opening paragraphs, so this might be more than a few lines. If it gets too long, I’ll put in a break.

So let’s split this into parts:

Fanfic:

Bird’s Eye View (Batman, Jason/Damian and Tim/Colin, among others)

It wasn't like Tim was unused to walking in on awkward conversations—and even more awkward...encounters thank you Dick—when he was in the manor. It was actually one of the main reasons he'd moved out, along with needing a place where his various vintage collectables could be displayed without the threat of cat attack or Damian sabotage—“You're not supposed to take them out of the box, Damian!” “-Tt- Nonsense, they look much better on display this way. You can even remove their limbs to simulate battle wounds"—and his desire to have the occasional night off—“Bruce, I'm kind of busy tonight, can't someone else look for Croc in the sewers? It's not like he's actually hurting anyone this time.” “You're not busy. You've been refreshing your Tumblr page for the past two hours, suit up.” “Wait you're monitoring my computer? Bruce!”

Box of Memories (Batman, Jason/Tim)

It wasn't often Tim got nostalgic. How could he, when there was so little in his past to reminisce fondly over? It still happened occasionally, though. When he heard a particular song playing as a car passed him by, one Jack Drake used to sing under his breath. During a slow night on patrol when the air was clear and he could see the stars, and he remembered a younger Nightwing pointing out constellations until he realized Tim already knew them all, and then started making up new and increasingly ridiculous ones on the spot. When he saw Damian in full Robin gear bound into the car, impatiently waiting for Batman to join him so they could go out and protect Gotham together, and wished he could have had that for just one more night before it was taken from him.

But the one thing that never failed, that always pulled him in to lose himself in memories, was the box.

I Wanna Kiss You Like They Do In The Movies (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Batman, can I marry Damian?”

Colin looked up at Damian's dad—who was so, so tall—and tried really hard not to start shaking. He needed to be brave. He'd spent the whole last week—all seven days—gathering up his courage for this. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to say the Batman word if Damian's dad wasn't wearing the pointy ears, and it didn't matter that Damian's dad was the most scariest thing ever—scarier than closed spaces and spiders and even the Scarecrow. All that mattered was the thing that had happened to Colin last week. The thing that was like being hit in the face, kinda like the way Bobby back at the orphanage used to hit Colin sometimes, before he got taken away by that policeman and sent to the Jew Vee group home for sneaking into the apartment building across the street and taking off his clothes in front of Mr Norton's wife. Colin hadn't even known Bobby was Jewish, or that there was a special group home for Jewish kids, but really that didn't matter because Colin had had an Aunt Tiffany about Damian and he needed to do something about it.

Damian Wayne and the Ridiculously Expensive Wand (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim, Author/Harry Potter references)

There weren't many things that could surprise Tim Drake these days. Damian skulking around the manor? Definitely not one of them.

Damian skulking around the manor while wearing a black robe and pointing a stick at the curtains?

Maybe.

More under the cut

The Utterly Devastating and Not in Any Way Ill Conceived Revenge of Damian Wayne (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Father, the utterly unnecessary school you send me to has insulted me for the last time. I demand you use your wealth and influence to destroy them.”

Damian stared at his father, sitting behind his desk as he always was at this time of day. Just as Damian had planned. Because, though he currently had the appearance of a mere twelve year old boy, he was, as Grayson said, intelligent beyond his years. Grayson had smiled as he said this, as if he actually thought he had been giving Damian a compliment. It had been all Damian could do to refrain from stabbing him. As if there was anything special about being more advanced than the pitiful, uneducated masses that inhabited this country. If anything, Damian was what they should have been, if they cared to put in any kind of actual effort towards improving themselves.

Ask Me No Questions. No, Really. Don’t Ask Me This Shit. (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim)

If Jason Todd was the kind of person to bother with mottoes or life philosophy, his would probably be something along the lines of this:

Nothing good ever happens in Wayne fucking Manor.

Which was why he tried to stay the fuck away as often as possible.

Three Date Rule (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Wayne, can I please marry Damian now?”

Colin stood on the other side of Mr Wayne's desk, trying as hard as he could not to fidget, or blush, or do anything but maintain manly eye contact. It was hard, because, Batman suit or not, it was impossible to forget that Mr Wayne was the actual Batman. At least he was sitting down. Dami was totally right about the whole being at eye level thing. Mr Wayne wasn't... Okay, he was just as intimidating sitting down as he is standing up, but Colin had grown a bit since the last time he'd had one of these talks with Mr Wayne and, if Mr Wayne was sitting down and Colin was standing, Colin was actually just a tiny bit taller than Batman and it did a world of good for his self-confidence. (Dami had called it a “psychological advantage”, and Colin had kissed him for being adorable) Honestly, he had no idea how he ever managed to summon up enough courage to ask for Dami's hand when he was ten and Mr Wayne was standing in front of him. He'd been either the stupidest or the bravest kid in the world, back then.

Original Fiction:

Everything Will Turn Out All Right

         "Hi, are you using the machine?", came a sweet voice from behind me.

         I jumped, startled out of my deep concentration. I hadn't heard anybody coming up behind me, I was too engrossed (I'm what well meaning but sort of insulting adults like to call "smart for my age" which means I tend to get good grades easily and use words like "engrossed", you'll get used to it.) in the incredibly important decision of whether I was in the mood for lemon-lime or orange Gatorade from the machine in question, which in case you haven't already guessed is a vending machine.

Oh Radio, Tell Me Everything You Know

        My story, like all good stories, is about a radio.

        Wait, no, that's not right. I mean my story is about a radio, sort of, but all good stories aren't about radios. Let's try this again.

        My story, like all good stories, is about love.

Original Published Novels:

Awakening Aidan

"Hello, my name is Aidan, and I'm a wizard." Aidan Collins smiled out over the group of fifteen or so people sitting in a circle around him, trying to project a calm he didn't really feel. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep the agitation he was feeling from showing. Which was sort of embarrassing, because wizards his age should have been made of self-control.

Awakening Arthur

Aidan watched the wheels of the carriage bounce as they drove over the rough desert terrain. It was so strange, seeing them shudder so violently and yet barely feeling it. Suspension, the People called it. It was a way of putting some kind of springs on the wheels to absorb most of the impact of driving on anything that wasn't a road. They'd also added new tires, ridged to grip the ground and thicker to avoid damage. It had been fascinating, watching them work.

He also had to fight the sudden, unreasonable urge to yell at Eallair. It was completely unfair that someone who had never driven before was doing it so well, keeping straight even over the sandy 'road' and deftly avoiding sudden dips and large, half-buried rocks.

The Autobiography of the Dark Prince; As Written by Elias Sutterby

Strangely enough, many of the cultural practices of the Calvian Empire seemed to have survived the Great Collapse, with several being adopted by the fledgling kingdoms that rose to prominence after its fall. Even as far away as the White Kingdom of Ellington, there can be found several examples of Calvian culture that have survived to this day, including the Clockwise Tea Ceremony, the Anti-Clockwise Funeral, The Collision of the Great Beasts, and many fornicary practices as detailed in Kellan Collander's illuminating tome, Furniture Fellatio and Additional Assorted Abnormal Amorous Advances. It is a known fact in Ellington that one can actually see the most bizarre of said Advances being practiced in the dead of night in the Great Library by Scholar Elias Sutterby, whose deviant tastes—

With a small sigh of indeterminate emotion, Elias Sutterby paused in his reading. He blinked slowly, as if such an action would dissolve the offending words from the page in front of him, and when that didn't work he reached up and squeezed the bridge of his slightly pointed nose.

Awakening Camelot (Ohmigawg gaiz this one comes out May 19th this is UnReLeAsEd FoOtAgE, a SneeK PeeK, a preeeeeeveeeeU, it’s also just a really long description of a room which makes it probably the worst out of context cold open ever.)

Unlike every other office in the country, the office of the Prime Minister of the United States of America was very spacious. The decadently thick leather armchair, which rested behind the large, oak desk, was obscenely comfortable, with a matching, equally luxurious leather couch pressed up against the far wall. The small library to the right of the couch was filled floor to ceiling with any book a leader of men might need to occupy himself with, from dry magical treatises to the most bawdy of romances. And, if reading wasn't something a particular prime minister was interested in, across from the library was a fully stocked bar. There was even a small crystal ball which linked directly to the prime minister's personal kitchen, open twenty-four hours so not even a midnight craving need draw him from his office's confines. Since the building of the White House over two hundred years ago, every single new prime minister, without exception, had been stunned into an awed silence when confronted with such elegant and unusual accommodations for the first time.

And that’s that. The first few lines of everything I’ve ever written; including the stuff I’m embarrassed to admit to, lol. This was a lot of fun. Thank you for tagging me! If anyone wants to read any of these things, just message me for a link! Especially if you feel the urge to buy a book ;););) (<---Literally the first time I’ve ever marked myself in public. I feel ill)