#THIS IS MUCH OF AN AU IT'S NOT MY CANON

[greypetrel]

@shivunin 's asked prompt n°22 for "Whomever I wished".

I have nothing else to say except: I'm sorry.

A character ship game had @n7viper suggest a Aisling and Fenris ship and my brain caught fire with a AU. Follow the link to read me rambling with more explanations.

Also this is one of my favourite tropes, there’s one scene in the Two Towers (book) that imprinted in my child brain and never left SO you see, my brain went on fire and I also gave this a proper title. And set the poor blorbos on fire as well. Enjoy.

CW: Mentions of abuse, trauma, difficult pregnancies and abortifacent herbs treated as next-day pill.

(did I mention it would have been very angsty?)

Part 2 here, you're welcome.

Some soundtrack if you need some more suffering.

Tis the prompt list if you want me to elaborate further on these two or have me writing some fluff, my brain is on fire

One for the Road

(Intentionally brushing against the other’s fingers when handing them something)

*Somewhere near the Tirashan forest, 9:34 Dragon*

The Arlathven wasn’t busy, this year. The absence of clan Sabrae was noticeable, and voices were running that Kirkwall wasn’t safe, that a storm was coming, that the Asha Bellanaris had been spotted there. But, after the first two day of reunions and ceremonies, the grand celebration for Mythal at the first moonrise of the first day, and the one for Elgar’nan at sunrise, the second evening was more relaxed, and free for everyone to entertain themselves. Usually, Keepers, First and Seconds were to rest and sleep after the first sleepless night of prayers and offerings to the Mother and the Father. But as it often goes, the younger ones would not oblige, and could be found around the camp village, entertaining and partying.

Pavyn was, as per usual, long gone who knows where, and Aisling and Radha were left on their own to find their fun, holding hands and chatting between themselves as they made their way around the aravels and clearings left for fires, tables, benches. People laughed, people played music and sang, hahrens told stories to fascinated groups of children, one big area left bare had some dancing, and they had been stopped twice already by hahrens asking young adults to taste their latest brews and give their opinion.

Getting drunk at the Arlathven was, after all, a rite of passage per se, as well as getting your Vallaslin. If you managed not to puke during the morning ceremonies of the third day, you could consider yourself officially a grown-up person. And the older elves thrived in the unspoken tradition, trying to lure the younger ones into drinking. Laughters all around, there were at least three different songs being sung at the same time, as the two sisters made their way back to their Clan.

“Do you think we lost her?”

“Keep on walking, now turn left-”

They did, briskly changing their course after an aravel, snaking in the narrow passage between that and the next, walking sideways but still refusing to leave their hands.

“And right!”

“Run!”

They made her way in a larger alley, laughing between themselves and slaloming through people, Radha leading her way and Aisling trodding right behind, smaller but swift on her feet. Another turn, another run, and they stopped in the clearing where the clan’s aravels were, catching their breath and laughing. Old Isene scolded her and reminded that they both were adults, technically, they needed to behave as such. But, they didn’t took notice, dismissing her and coming to sit by the fireplace.

“What happened?” Vyrina asked from their side, grumpy because her big belly prevented her from participating in much of the booze. The Keeper herself told her to stay absolutely put and rest plenty. TAnd after three miscarriages in two years, Vyrina wasn't prone to risk it.

“You remember that old lady from Clan Virnehn?”

“The one that brews that horrible thing with absinthe?”

“Her! She found us and wanted us to drink. We ran back here, she was following us with a flask.”

“Actually, she wanted Aisling to drink. As a celebration for her being First and doing so well yesterday.” Radha pointed out, ruffling her sister’s hair.

Vyrina laughed, bumping the blonde’s shoulders.

“Look at you, making a name for yourself!”

“Yeah, I won’t make a name for myself for the worst hangover ever, tho. I need to be up tomorrow, or Pavyn will eat me alive.”

“Do you remember the last time? I still remember the headache!” Vyrina chirped, giggling as she caressed her belly.

“Does he kick yet?” Aisling asked, changing the topic and lighting up.

“Oh yes, here!”

The mom-to-be snatched her friend’s hand, placing it over her belly and moving it around, a little, until-

“Oh!”

“There! Meet your aunt, da’len, she’s the weird one!”

“I’m not weird.”

“You are.” Both told her in chorus, affectionately. As affectionate was the pout that followed.

“Don’t listen to them, little one, I’m the cool aunt that can make sparkles.” Aisling whispered, bending closer to the belly as the baby inside give her another kick, with decision, and made her giggle. “He’s so tiny and cute! Can’t wait to kiss this tiny footsies!” She cooed.

“Don’t tell me. Honestly, wouldn’t recommend having a little gremlin kicking your kidney from inside.”

“Oh, come on, Vee!”

“If you’re so eager, get one for yourself and you’ll tell me how it is.”

“Fat chance.”

“Come on, as if it was a secret whom you dumped Ydun for!”

“I dumped her because she was bossying me around and never let me speak or decide anything! Also, she didn’t want me to study Tevene.” Aisling rebuked, crossing her arms on her chest and staring intently in the fire.

“So you did dump her to study that particular Tevene!”

Vyrina laughed, as Aisling turned ten shades of red one after the other. It wasn’t a mystery that she had a soft spot for Fenris, and that she did all she could to slowly, oh so slowly, creep behind wall after wall of what became quickly something more than a guest of the clan, ever since they found him on the run out of Hasmal and decided to hide him. He stuck around, weeks became months and months became three years now, the Lavellan moving around enough to make his tracks difficult to follow for whomever came searching, and small enough to slip under the radars. Or well, at least until three weeks ago.

Aisling had put her best efforts in making him feel welcomed and, in time, the two became friends. Good friends, and it was clear to the whole clan that the young First had a soft spot for the grumpy, broody fugitive that somehow tolerated her enough even she was a mage and he certainly made no mystery that he trust not mages, his reasons more than comprehensible. They were, honestly, as unlikely to be friends as cute, complimenting each other and finding common ground instead of each other’s differences, pushing the other in directions that they probably wouldn’t have gone on their own. What Aisling would have wanted, for once in her life, was being able to have a crush and pine over someone with none other the wiser. Without the whole clan looking at her and giggling knowingly, embarrassing her. And, right now, without her best friend bored to death because her hard-earned pregnancy kept her on a low level of activity and adoptive older sister both teasing her.

The point was that, all in all, she knew it was unrequited, and something that wasn’t meant to be. No matter how much she tried to appear reliable and controlled and stable, and help him know that not all mages were evil Magisters: the ambush three weeks ago and the meeting with that horrible woman -Hadriana- had very comprehensibly upset him, and remembered her that no matter how hard she tried… She still was a mage, she couldn’t (and frankly wouldn’t) help it, and he had walls that she couldn’t break, no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t undo the past and what has been done to him. And he had no reasons to more than tolerate her around him. She frankly didn’t know how much patience it took him to just… Deal with her sticking around him.

So no, she didn’t want to joke and speak about Fenris and indulge in daydreams that were just that. He helped her realise her first -and only- girlfriend wasn’t really good for her and she was thankful… But that was it. She wouldn’t have acted on it, no matter how much Vyrina was trying to tease her into it and trying to make her say she would have confessed and they would have been happy and have at least ten children with the greenest eyes ever. She didn’t budge, pointedly ignored Radha’s attempt to stop them from that speech. It wouldn’t do: Vyrina had started daydreaming about huge families with ten babies since Aisling was transferred in the clan and they became friends, and when Fionn asked her to bond with him she already had very detailed plans about everything, from her dress to activities and food and how to decorate the aravels for the party. Vyrina jumped at romances like Aisling jumped at sweets. And both were unstoppable.

In the end, the First was saved by her “fated beau”, as Vyrina kept on calling him, by said elf abruptly exiting from the Keeper’s aravel, not caring if the door slammed behind him and all but marching to sit on a loose stool in the corner, away from everyone as he could be without running off from the camp. It wasn’t the first time he brooded, and everyone by now knew to leave him be when he had that face. The girls stopped jesting, each turning to observe the scene, and Deshanna going out of the cart, as poised and calm as ever, looking at Fenris and shaking her head, clearly wanting to say something but instead turning the other way to speak to the hahrens nestled around the firepit and the dinner.

Vyrina and Radha instantly turned to her.

“What’s going on?”

“Radha’s her daughter, properly, why do you both ask me?”

“You’re her daughter too, and her First. And the one in the clan Fenris actually speaks to. They must have told you something!”

“Not a word… Not after… Well.”

She didn’t need to specify after what. Pros and cons of living in a small clan: everyone knew everything of everyone -save Isene who still ignored how Pavyn was having a tryst with her son, her precious son who had to be bonded to the First of Clan Ghilain in two days. So, everyone knew that a group of mercenaries had finally found Fenris and ambushed him, involving Aisling and Pavyn as well as three other hunters. And that Fenris had travelled with their First and Oshyn, the hunter master, to the hiding place of Fenris’ former master’s apprentice… That was no more. Nobody had really spoken about it as it became clear he didn’t want to, and that Aisling wasn’t really ok either.

It was clear that something happened, but they all got called for dinner, distracted from any other thought. The conversation shifted again, as Aisling and Radha rose to help with the meal, distributing bowls and laughing with the ones that didn’t roam around, and elves from other clans who decided to stay there for the dinner, visiting old friends. Arlathvens were like this: everyone was welcomed everywhere, food and shelter was granted to anyone who asked, no matter the Clan, it was a big party when rituals and meetings weren’t held, the atmosphere chilled and relaxed as they were all protected by numbers by any external threat. It was beautiful and warm. Except…

… Except Aisling had told herself a thousand times that she should really stop gravitating around Fenris and pestering him as she had done from the moment he arrived, relating to his being the new one in the clan. She taught him to read, he taught her Tevene. They were friends. And it was three weeks since they really talked for the last time. She may have feelings for him she shouldn’t be having, that would have been a nuisance for him, she knew well after what he told her. But, she hoped she still was his friend, and friends… Well.

Work done, she took the bowl to the Keeper and kissed her on the cheek just because, thanking her but saying she wouldn’t have sat with her this evening and excusing herself. She waved at Vyrina and Radha, still on their spot around the fire, and at Fionn who reached his wife and soon-to-be child, slung the handle of a goatskin over her shoulder, and grabbing the last two bowls of stew made her way to the most private, faraway corner in the clearing, close to the aravels, schooling herself and putting up a smile as she swallowed her nerves.

“Hello. Hungry?”

“Thank you.”

She handled him one of the bowls, which he took, careful to keep it stable and not to look at her in the eyes. He didn’t invite her to sit with him, didn’t say anything at all. But, she was used by now to his being silent, and it didn’t intimidate her one bit.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

She asked, but she was already sitting down, dragging a second stool closer to his -not enough to invade his space, she knew he cared for distances more than anyone in the clan and had learnt to respect it. It wasn’t a bother. So, she just sat, crossing one leg under her, sitting on her foot and slipping the goatskin down to the ground, with a soft thud, before starting to eat.

“Why did you ask if you just… Sat?” He asked, with that pitch in his low voice that was never clear if it was joking or angry. She didn’t mind and just shrugged.

“Politeness.”

“Weirdo.”

“Broody.”

It at least brought a smile on her face. He never called her weirdo when he was angry or irritated at her. Not with that tone. They kept on eating, none really saying anything or paying attention to the conversation and laughter and merriment around the campfire. Not much light reached them in that corner, casting them in a soft orange glow that really didn’t allow to distinguish colours or fine details. It was cosy, and private as an Arlathven could be. Which was not much, but it was something.

“Is everything all right?” She probed, not looking at him and trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes.”

Ok, so yes or no questions. He wasn’t in an elaborating mood. She could manage.

“Arlathvens are a lot, I know. Nobody would notice if you just shut yourself in your aravel for a day or two, really.”

“Mh.”

“But if you decide to stroll around, ignore the old woman with parrot feathers in her braids offering you absinthe liquor. That thing is despicable and is only good to help wood catch fire faster.”

“I don’t think I’ll meet her.”

He said, scraping the last morsels of meat from his bowl, before depositing the cutleries on the ground, beside the leg of her stool. So it would have been easier for her to take it back. A nice gesture, one of the many he had, under the grumpy, rough and unfriendly exterior he was always on the ready to help, and fit in the clan pretty well. At the same time, it was an invitation to go. But, the last sentence left Aisling with a bad feeling in her guts, and she needed to know more. She lowered her bowl on the crossing of her thigh, turning towards him.

“You’re planning on staying here all the time? Or in the aravel?”

He moved his head minutely, enough for silvery white locks to move and let him cast her a sideway glance.

“No, I’m not.”

“Here or the aravel?”

He didn’t reply, turning to look before him and slouching forward, elbows propped on his thighs. Sitting as if he was ready to jump right up. He never was fully relaxed, after all, Aisling didn’t blame him. Least of all after Hadriana. But… But, she knew him a little, and understood what he meant without him elaborating further. She wished she hadn’t eaten, her stomach tying in a knot. Except, she hated wasting food, she knew how hard it was to hunt, and… And so, she finished her meal in silence, turning his words and body language over and over in her head, extrapolating every tiny bit of information she could in search for a counter-theory that she really didn’t find.

“You know nobody in the clan would mind if you stayed, right?”

No answer, he just contracted his hands more.

“You’re… You’re family. You’d have more chances with us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped, harshly. The same tone of voice he had that day.

She lowered her gaze, not able to reply. He knew he was right, she did too. They both knew. So, she just raised his spoon and piled her bowl on top of his, carefully to place both spoons inside without makin any noise, slowly and carefully. And returning to look in front of her, crossing her arms on her chest. Tight. She would not cry now because he was leaving. She wouldn’t. She would have been an adult, waited for a good moment to rise up that didn’t feel like she was running away, and either jump right in the camp town and get horribly drunk, or close in the Keeper’s aravel and cry until sleep caught her. She was an adult, she helped performed the rites as her Keeper’s First. She could do it, as hard as she found it to be.

But, he must have sensed something, and she heard him sigh, loudly.

“I am sorry. About what happened with Hadriana. I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was… Not myself.” Every word came out slowly and clear, he made sure she heard.

“You disappeared for a day. We had no idea of where you went, we… I was worried.” She admitted. He found them back after a day, as if nothing happened. Except, he didn’t speak to her and avoided her.

“I needed to be alone.”

“I understand.”

He sighed, starting to explain to her who exactly Hadriana was, what she did to him. The abuse, the cruelty, everything. Her heart clenched more, as every time he let on some details about his past before they crossed paths. It pained him to remember, but he kept on talking without stopping or stalling. She listened to him, not replying, not making comments. Just… Accepting what he had to give. Saying she was sorry wouldn’t have helped.

“This hate… I thought I’d gotten away from it. I thought… The clan gave me some respite. But it dogs me no matter where I go and…” He paused, huffing breath through his nose. “To feel it again, to know who planted it inside me… It’s too much to bear.”

Oh, she would have died to touch him, to reassure him somehow as she knew how. Except, she knew he didn’t really like being touched. As much as it was difficult, she closed her hands on her arms, and just… dragged the stool a little closer to his, minding not to tumble the bowls. Not enough for their shoulders to brush, not enough to touch. But enough to communicate she was there, if he wanted.

A minute passed, before he deflated, back slouching a little further and a long sigh leaving his lips.

“Bah. I don’t want to bother you further.”

“… You still don’t need to leave, Fenris.”

She just said, convinced of what she was saying. It came out as more of a beg than anything else, and she quickly averted her eyes as he turned to look at her. Aisling didn’t want to look at him in the eyes and find… anything, really. Anything would have made her crumble and start crying, and he would have asked her why she was crying because he always did, and she would have had to… Explain things. Hurt him more if he wanted to leave for real. So, instead of slipping down that hill, she cleared her throat and bent to take the goatskin from the floor, deftly taking the cork away.

“So. Well. Thank you for apologising. One for the road? You really can’t participate to an Arlathven and not drink, it’s part of the experience. It would put all of us to shame if we let you go without even a drink.”

She started, talking fastly and quick, running to the edge of a knife and, to maybe make that edge a tiny bit bigger, rose the goatskin up.

“Prosit!” She toasted, in Tevene, before taking a gulp. She hadn’t asked which liquor it was, just… Took it out. Turned out it was something made out of sloes, sweet and tangy and with definitely too much alcohol inside.

She huffed, shaking her head as her throat finished burning up, as the elf beside her quietly chuckled. If he chuckled it meant that things were fine, at least, which was good. She didn’t want him to leave in sadness, and if all that she could do was this, she wanted to give him some nice memories and a last… Evening, or day, to remember fondly. That, she could do.

He prodded her, waiting for her to pass the goatskin on, but she stalled. Something nice to remember. Maybe… Maybe it was the alcohol. Or the butterflies in her stomach having nasty ideas of their own to whisper in her ears.

Maybe, just hypothetically… If he was leaving… Maybe she could… And then maybe -just maybe!-, he wouldn’t…

But, she was a mage. And he believed that magic ruined things.

But, he was there with her, didn’t move away when she got closer. He stayed when she sat with him, in a moment when it was clear he wanted to be left on his own. He called her weirdo with that tone of voice that held affection. He apologised and opened up, which was something he never did. Not in so many details and certainly not with everyone. There were things about his past that she was the only one he let on. So… Maybe…

“Are you gonna pass it on, or was it so strong that it struck dumb even you?”

“Maybe it was… Wouldn’t take a lot to strike me dumb, after all.”

He rose an eyebrow, not convinced. “I disagree. You’re very intelligent.”

She smiled, a little bolder from the compliment. She didn’t elaborate further, even if she didn’t agree fully with him. Because she was about to do something potentially very, very stupid. But, it was now or never, she guessed, so… She took another sip of liquor, praying silently Mythal to give her braveness, as he chuckled again at her.

And then, she turned to him, finally -finally­- looking at him straight in the eyes, intently. He didn’t lower his gaze, a small smile softening his face. She handled him the goatskin.

“One for the road, then?”

“One for the road.” He nodded, placing his hand on the container.

She didn’t let go right away, tho. Swallowing, her heart beating loud and fast in her ears, fluttering in her throat so hard that for one minute all that existed in the world was her and Fenris, she moved her fingers to brush against his, feather-light and ready to get away, still looking at him in the eyes. As soon as she realised, as her fingerpads found the back of his hand and brushed against his tattoos, she felt him contract and move, the softness in his eyes disappearing at once.

Something shone blue, she gasped and felt his hands clutching on both her wrists, goatskin falling down on the grass, her arms being dragged at the side of her bust.

It was a moment, nobody saw them as the party was keeping up and nobody paid attention to them half hidden in a dark corner in that one, decisive moment. Aisling instinctively called on mana, but… Stopped. Let go. It was Fenris, and she trusted him. She did, even glaring and towering over her.

And indeed, he folded on himself, harsh expression melting into one of regret and pain. Again, and she hated the comparison, as right after he told her that magic ruins everything it touches. Except, they were far, far closer now than they have ever been, balancing on stools too close together.

He lowered his gaze and let go of her, suddenly, moving back. But, she wouldn’t have it. He regretted it, she saw. She saw him, for a moment, looking down at her lips. She wouldn’t let go without a fight.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Mythal hearing her prayer and suddenly descending over her in some sort of divine inspiration that took all rational thoughts away, she called his name as assertively as she could be -a tone fit for a Keeper-, and when he turned again to her, she bent forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t a good kiss. It was sudden and unplanned and it had too many teeth clanking together, and she tasted blood on her lips, when she pursed them together to make it at least a little softer.

She turned back after a while, all sounds muffled and feeling like her face was burning in embarrassment, as Fenris looked at her dumbstruck, mouth still open.

“I-” She started, fumbling, desperately tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as the weight of what she did hit her. “I-I’m so, so sorry, I shouldn’t-”

He didn’t let her finish, and this time it was him kissing her. With less teeth, and better. Aisling soared, answering to him after a moment of pure surprise. Another break, they looked at each other in the eyes, finding the same dumbstruck expression reflecting in the other’s. Aisling giggled, still embarrassed, and he chuckled, smiling. Smiling for real. She tentatively rose her hands towards his face, he nodded without saying anything. She cupped his face, he tentatively splayed his hands on the small of her back. They kissed again. And again. And then some more.

And then they remembered what she suggested, not too long ago and yet a lifetime before, that if someone would close themselves in an aravel, none would be the wiser or really come looking. It seemed like a good idea to both of them, communicating just by looks and half smiles. He nodded, she took his hand, he took the goatskin – “It tastes good on your lips”- and dragged him inside. He let her drag him, let her undo his belt and straddle his lap.

The gin tasted good on his lips as well, and his skin felt even better against hers, warm and smooth. She let herself believe, and for a moment she was very, very sure of it as he nibbled her collarbone just so that her toes curled and traced her whole spine with rough, calloused fingers so delicately, that it wasn’t one for the road.

---

The next morning, Keeper Deshanna’s First came to the ritual for Sylaise with a lackluster expression, not looking at anyone in the eyes and not at all the cheerful, brilliant mage she has been but 36 hours prior when they celebrated Mythal.

She was dressed as her status required, in her best halla leather embroidered in gold trim, golden hair neatly braided against her head in an austere way. And yet, her eyes felt void, her smile didn’t reach them. She practiced all the rituals alongside her Keeper, didn’t miss a word. Didn’t say a word outside prayers, when it was done.

When the Keeper got back to the Lavellan area, her youngest strongly deflecting and refusing to say what was wrong, and saying it was all right, she was fine… She didn’t find Fenris anywhere. No one, when she asked, had seen him since yesterday evening, but one of the sentinels, who saw an elf with white hair and a “stupidly big sword” leaving quickly at dawn.

His aravel was empty. Aisling was to the working table, pestling flowers and herbs together in a frenzy. She didn’t say a word when Deshanna asked her what she was doing, to stop, at least change your clothes, da’len, it’s gonna stain. She didn’t speak. Didn’t speak at lunch, didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much Vyrina tried, caressing her hair and washing her green-stained hands. She, simply, wasn’t there, and Deshanna’s heart clenched, putting two and two together and remembering those first days, after another Arlathven many years ago, when she was six and finally understood that her mamae wouldn’t have come with her.

Deshanna stopped Radha, as perceptive as her, and even more sometimes, to track Fenris down and beat the hell out of him, saying it was no use. She consoled her middle daughter, caressing her high cheekbones and placating her rage. And sent her after Aisling instead, instructing her to take care of her sister. She would have started bleeding soon, if what she did that morning was what Deshanna thought. And Deshanna, as unassuming and humble as she behaved, as much as she didn’t care to have a bigger clan as long as they were united as they were, was renowned to be extremely talented with herbs and healing. And, she saw how the bottle of rue wasn’t as full as it was yesterday, and how the pennyroyal jar was stained green.

She sighed, kissing her daughter on the forehead before she went and sit close to Aisling, hugging her tight in the way they had of just… Avoid words and saying everything without them.

She needed to take care of things. Find Pavyn and tell him to both substitute her for the next day or two, and go easy on her, even if he was still angry.

It would have been a harsh winter.

[sboochi]

*sips tea* it's dumb crossovers time

I guess here King Arthur was a real dude who became legend after his death (in which demons and angels might have been involved). Our heroes now have a mystery to solve, with the help of a certain sorcerer.......

Part 1 >> Next

[demaparbat-hp]

She will (and he'll let her)

[hinamie]

I could've been a better man, but I'm not

more lmhs megu bc i love him. he is here fr ur lunch money :>

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[fluffyartbl0g]

Holy crap this is like world record breaking pace guys

Speedrun/Time Travel AU masterlist

[k1tty5]

another design for the au i’m working on (cough cough thinking about)

[butterflyscribbles]

Day off💜🥞🍌

Bonus:

[sensitiveheartless]

I’m in love with a fairytale

Even though it hurts

‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind

I’m already cursed

(Fairytale by Alexander Rybak)

(Link to fic!)

[chopperfancard]

I wanna make an AU where the False DoD are the *real* DoD so to accomodate the brainrot that came with that i made designs for this disaster of a found family

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[sammygender]

girlcoded sam readings are like. his arcs are so tied up with control and bodily autonomy and sexual assault and otherness and cleanness and a desire for freedom and rebellion against oppressive masculine forces to the point where an examination of his show-long arcs looks like a thesis on The Female Gothic. he’s never afforded the respect or the power of characters like john and dean and is in fact narratively punished whenever he isn’t subservient to them. both the show itself and the fandom surrounding it treat him like dean’s bitch wife. he is textually compared to female characters multiple times, by the narrative and by dean.

and then meanwhile girlcoded dean readings are like. Eldest daughter core! (his father handed down ultimate control over every aspect of sam’s life once he died like a family heirloom)(he is THE patriarch). Yes he does the cooking yes he does the cleaning (which he doesn’t even…. and even if he solely did all the housework how does that make him Girl Coded unless it’s being delegated exclusively to him like its his role and he’s punished for not conforming to it… which is not happening…).

like girlcoded dean readings rely on stereotypes about women in real life. girlcoded sam readings rely on noticing how much the narrative constructed around sam falls into tropes used in fiction almost always about women. even things like his psychic powers! the way people are always swarming around trying to ‘corrupt’ him! the fixation on his purity and innocence! the two readings are very different things

[chucktaylorupset]

I think there's something to be said for fanfiction that loves canon in a way that’s rude. Like thank you for this wonderful thematic tragedy made out of this character’s entire arc ending in death, it was emotionally and intellectually moving, but also fuck you fuck you fuck you they live, this time and every time they live, they never died, their flaws are not their undoing, actually they have no flaws, actually they save everyone, actually who cares about a story, any story, where this one dies, actually i cared about that story so much i made a new one, actually i cared so much i unmade the old one, you gave me morals and i left them for the mortal, but they’re mine now and i will never let them die, actually thank you, actually fuck you, strongly worded letter to follow

A kiss for canon and spit in its face all at once, it’s great

[acis-arts]

How would your au shitten look like?

Like this :3

But for the reasons I mentioned here before, the shitten won't be canon

[littlecrittereli]

Thinking about @martincrushcameback's apocalypse au....

I couldn't get the idea of this interaction out of my head so I had to draw it...

[hinamie]

fire nation festival wear aka a blatant excuse for me to push atla clothing design conventions to the absolute Limit

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[tinukis]

sabo redraw 🎩💙

timelapse and reference under the cut !