#anyways have some angst

[sols-edge]

just an accident

[not-5-rats]

Imagine for me, if you will, an alternative universe where when Bodie was first thrown into the arena in his...state but it wasn't Rolden he was fighting...no it was someone a lot weaker

Also..ehm...this is a long one, sorry babes'. And warning as usual there's death and minor descriptions of violence so be aware <3

☆×.------------------------.×☆

"There's nothing left to save..."

☆---------------☆

The arena was perfectly lit given the time of day, the sun highlighting each nook and corner. Rows upon rows of people sat, excitement boiling up inside of them as they spoke amongst themselves. Suddenly a voice boomed out from a small stand, as it spoke the crowd fell silent, only a few voices remained, giggling giddily like a child on their birthday.

The announcer bellowed, their voice echoing around the arena, introducing the contestants as they entered the vast, empty space beneath them. Both new fighters, the first seemed tiny, he was barely a spec to some of the further back spectators. He seemed to be cowering, trembling just beside the gate he was pushed through, he seemed terrified, unsure, lost...he was very different to the beast that followed from the opposite end of the pit. A monster entered the other gate, gnarling and biting at the Guards handling him. He was pushing against his restraints, like he was desperate to get to the fight, like all he craved was blood, he wanted to cause bleeding, he wanted to harm...to kill.

The crowds cheered, though as they compared the two half-bloods some began to jeer and laugh. They weren't gonna get their fight...but a massacre could be just as entertaining, well to some, when they saw the competition a couple viewers seemed uninterested so stood and left but the majority were just as excited. It was odd...these people, they sat staring down at this innocent soul who was going to die for their pleasure, and yet that day they'd go home to their families, to their children and they'd claim they had a nice day out. They witnessed murder, they encouraged it and they would live guilt free...this creature, he was barely as tall as them and yet they cheered for his death, not that he could hear them.

Timmy shook as he glanced around at the thousands of faceless people watching him from every angle. He barely had time to process the sheer amount of spectators when his attention was drawn to the other half-blood thay came thrashing into the arena right across from him. His initial reaction was to back away, to try and run but as he remembered he had nowhere to go he realised something about the monster ahead...he recognised that face, he didn't want to believe it, he didn't want it to be true, he prayed silently that he was wrong...but he knew it wasn't

Bodie...no it wasn't him, it may look exactly like him but those eyes, there was no 'Bodie' left behind them. The Malascythe had sunk in, the half-blood left lashing out infront of him wasn't the one who had cared for him so tenderly these past years, it wasn't the man who cooked for him or aided him when he was sick or hurt...this was a shell of that man. His body but no more of his self left in it.

He wanted to yell at Bodie, to yell for help, for them to go home...but he knew it was useless. Timmy tried to think of some way to communicate with him, to reach through to him but before he could come up with even a rough plan the announcers voice boomed once more...and Bodie was released.

Instantly the beast stormed across the field, within seconds he was where Timmy stood seconds before. Fortunately the young gator was speedy given his smaller size, so he was able to run from the attacker...but it didn't take long for the larger half-blood to follow, claws striking out, swinging wildly at Timmy. The noises from the crowd grew louder, the heat from the sun intensifying as the two sped in circles, all this only adding to the aggression of the predator...his prey growing tired and breathless

As Bodie caught up to him Timmy went against his senses and began to desperately yell, the terror in his voice undeniable as he kept skidding around the arena,

"Bodie!! Bodie it's me! It's Timmy! C'mon stop it! You're gonna hurt somebody, you wouldn't wanna do that!!!"

No reaction, nothing at all. No matter how much he yelled, how much he begged, Bodie didn't respond to him. He kept chasing and Timmy kept running...but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. As their game of cat and mouse continued the crowds grew tense, the boy couldn't win by running, but if the beast couldn't catch him he couldn't kill him. Would he catch him? Would this ever end?!?! The cheers grew louder still and Timmys head began to pound, his legs were growing weak...but he couldn't stop...death was hot on his tail

...for Timmy the end was quick. One moment he was speeding away from certain doom, as he demanded Bodie return from his hazy state, he should've stayed focused on where his feet were taking him cause he ended up pushing himself into a corner. He couldn't run...and before he could even recognise what happened the monster caught him. The last thing he felt was the agonising piercing of claws digging into his neck. He dies withing moments of Bodie catching him...unfortunately for the squeamish members of the crowd it didn't end there. The beast tore the poor boy apart, it was a mess of claws, teeth, blood and flesh. Before anyone could do anything...all that remained were miniscule shreds of what was once a living boy

The crowds cheers fell on deaf ears, Bodie knew not what he had done, he knew nothing at the moment. He didn't feel a thing, even as the tranquiliser was sent through his system he felt nothing. He soon hit the floor as the crowds went back to talking amongst themselves, all these people, they just saw a life end and they felt nothing. Well...most of them felt nothing. There was one amongst them who just saw their entire world shatter infront of them. Bug had been talking with Marco when the two were first thrown into the arena, but as soon as they heard what was happening they ran into the crowd to keep an eye on things. They tried to stay calm, they tried not to draw attention to themself...but as they watched Timmys blood pour endlessly onto the group to join the stains which lay from previous failures they couldn't help but begin to silently weep in their seat.

☆---------------☆

It was a few hours before Bodie came round, his eyes groggily peeling open as he lay on the cold stone floor. He felt like death...his head was spinning and his limbs felt as though they'd been sawed off and lazily reattached. He tried to push himself off the floor...but that appeared to be too much for him, so he let himself remain there. He tried to think fo where he was...hiw the hell he ended up there, but nothing came to him, nothing made any sense

"...Bodie?"

His eyes spun around the room till his vision cleared enough for him to make out the shape of Bug leaning on the wall beside the gate to the...cell..he found himself in. He grumbled, he had tried to speak...but the words refused to come out, he made another attempt at standing and finally got onto his knees. He sat himself on the floor..though Bug seemed to be inching away from his as he did so

"I'm guessing you don't remember anything, do you-?"

"N- No, nothin's coming to me. What happened? We any closer to saving Timmy?"

Bug fell silent for a moment, their posture stiffening slightly as the words hit their ears. Tears were forming in their eyes at the mere mention of him...Bodie tried to think what happened, why was Bug so upset...but still he couldn't remember anything. Finally Bug spoke, their voice hushed..and broken

"The missions off Bodie...we can't save Timmy, there's nothing left to save..."

Once again Bug began to cry, though no noise came from them, only tears. Bodie tried to ask what they meant, he tried to ask them what was going on...but they couldn't find the words. Bodie called out to them, desperately yelling for answers but Bug didn't respond, they simply stared at the ground as the tears spilled.

Bodie just wanted answers, but that seemed to be the only thing he wasn't getting...really though...he knew what answer he would get. Timmy was gone...he could tell that much, he just wanted to know how, what happened. But Bug seemed so distraught, there was no way he could get answers whilst they were like this. Despite his entire body begging him not to, Bodie pulled himself onto his feet, ignoring the blood which dripped from his face. He wanted to offer comfort, to try and calm them...but ad soon as they saw him stand Bug shuffled away, almost falling in the process. Without a second thought they screamed at him,

"No!! Get away! Stay back there!! You monste-"

They fell silent, they tried to hide their panic, they tried to cover their words but it was too late. Bodie stared at them from his corner, he did something didn't he...he knew he had...but what...why were they so scared. Had he-? No...he would never...he couldn't have...killed Timmy-?

He looked at Bug, praying for some sign that he was wrong but as their eyes met they both knew....Bodie killed Timmy

"What..Bug...what happened-?"

They had to tell him, it wasn't fair for him to go on unaware of what happened...Timmy was dead and he deserved to know what happened

"Bodie...somebody...did something to you, I don't know what, I think they gave you something or some shit..but you, you...they threw you guys into the arena...you didn't even give him a chance..."

They fell silent once more, neither looking away from the other. As his face fell Bug wanted to hug him, to be near them, so they could comfort each other...but they couldn't go near him. It wasn't his fault...they knew it wasn't...but Bug had watched it happen. They saw Bodie tear Timmys head from his body...they saw the horrors...they couldn't get thay image out of their bead as they stared at the man across from them. Bodie was speaking...his voice was shaky, but Bug didn't care...they could barely hear what he was saying as the memory played on loop in their head

"Bug?"

They snapped back into the moment...Bodie stood there, his arms stretched out to them, offering a hug...all that Bug wanted at that moment

"Come on...it'll be alright"

They stared at him, but as they went to embrace him...they turned...they couldn't do this, they couldn't be near him right now...they walked to the door of his cell. Bodie would never do what he did, but he still did it, what were they meant to do? Just hug him and act as though it didn't happen?? No...they couldn't do this

They could hear Bodie speak behind them, but the words weren't reaching them. They stepped outside, and without a glance back...they left...and they never returned. Bug wanted to forgive, they wanted to forget...but they couldn't. So Bodie rotted away in the arena, fighting each day simply to survive, Marco attempted to help him but without Bugs support no approach seemed to work. So Bodie was never free, each day he though of Timmy...thought of the life he took...he never forgave himself. As for Bug? They were never seen again, where they went nobody knows...nobody even knows if they're still alive..they simply vanished.

...sometimes there really is no way to escape a bad situation...and by trying to help we sometimes just make things worse...alot worse

[sinnamonpork]

Sometimes I think about a scenerio where Hawks was asked to betray the League much, much earlier. The commission sees how close he has gotten with Dabi and saw the perfect time to strike.

Hawks, apathetic and would do anything for the sake of the mission, doesn't think twice about his sharpened feather hidden in the confines of his wings. He doesn't think as he gets on top of a sleeping Dabi, their body relaxed and vulnerable curled up on the bed of the no. 2 hero. He doesn't think about the tears flowing down his face as his expression remains impassive, staring down at the only person who was able to make him experience happiness in their short time together.

Their time that he is about to cut short.

It's a good thing that he refuses to think when blade meets flesh, turquoise eyes blown wide as Dabi registers what's happening around him. He blocks the amalgamation of anger, fury, and betrayal swirling in those eyes. He refuses to see the hurt rippling through the body beneath him, expression losing their fire and slowly morphing into sadness, then resignation. He refuses to hear as those lungs slowly give out, breaths fighting to wheeze out of the trembling villain.

Instead, he feels the grief of a love lost. He feels the guilt, knowingly betraying the man who had shown a side of himself to him and him only. He feels the shame when the rest of the League finds out about what happened, little Toga's expression crumbling apart. Most of all, he feels it in the ghost of Todoroki Touya, following him wherever he goes and not once allowing him a moment of reprieve.

[hinamie]

mentor

[bruciemilf]

Okay. But when Bruce discovers Talia knew Jason was alive? That she knew his child was the man under the red hood. His boy.

Oh.

Jason’s met and memorized every facet of Bruce Wayne. He knows Bruce by the way his eyes melt when he looks at him, to the hard lines of his cowl. He knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends.

When Bruce rips off his cowl to give her the deepest glare Jason’s ever seen, he’s reminded there’s no difference. Fear hits his stomach when he swallows,

“Hey, old man, don’t fucking blame HER. She has NO obligation to you—“

Bruce’s eyes are unblinking, wide, jumping from her frozen form to him. And Jason’s suddenly 10 again, running from hungry stray dogs cornering him in a place with no exit.

Bruce’s voice is shadow and whisper, “Quiet.”

“…Okay.”

“Damian,” he rasps, pointing at the small figure with dark hair and green eyes, who looks at neither of them. He looks at Talia. Jason thinks it’s fair. He’s never seen her scared, either. “Car. Cave. Stay. “

There’s something incredibly bitter in Jason when he just does. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t rebel. He wants to, with every fiber and matter and crumb in his body. And his body says no.

He grabs Damian like he’s an angry cat, not the small assassin he knew since he was born. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to, he realizes.

“Did you know?” Bruce asks, such a deadly calm to him, too calm for the winter in his eyes. Talia would’ve preferred a blade to the neck.

She can’t meet his eye. Almost like if she doesn’t face his hatred, his disapproval, his disappointment, it doesn’t count. “I did. “

“…Whatever you do,” she’d take it as pity if he didn’t sound repulsed , “you’re still his daughter.”

[hypnoticmoth]

Do you ever want to badly write a fic but you’re too self conscious about your writing so it stays a forever idea ?? Hahaha…

Anyway, i’ve had thought about Vox’s obsession with Alastor bringing the ruin of the Vees…. Many many ideas, and what happens and …. Augh

[aetherixs]

I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE

[hyenaa-euphoria]

hope 1/???

more angst!! i am actually building an au around this comic but I’ve never done aus before so like this is new to me!!!

[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.)

[egophiliac]

Please elaborate on your twst Pokémon headcannons I’m very interested

I had planned on drawing everyone for this (I made a LIST!) but it. hasn't been going well. 💀 soooo here's what I have so far!

Riddle - Roserade (I was going with 'no legendaries', otherwise I would've given him a Shaymin) (and I don't think Togedemaru is actually a hedgehog or I would've given him one of those too) (...they kind of do fit though. hmm.)

Trey - Alcremie (clover/mint cream + strawberry/ruby cream)

Cater - DITTO SQUAD! DITTO SQUAD! DITTO SQUAD!

Ace - Impidimp (I feel like there's probably a better one for him, but I can't think of it)

Deuce - Scraggy (meanwhile I KNOW deep in my heart that this is true)

Leona - Pyroar (but like. a nasty Pyroar. just a grizzly old Pyroar with the shittiest attitude imaginable. they pretend to hate each other but secretly they are a bonded pair, do not separate)

[lucabyte]

"So what's the weirdest possible first (second) impression Loop could make on the party in postcanon?" "Yeah, that, probably."

+ Bonus

theyre just standing there in direct party order while this happens. normal tuesday.

[secretly-a-trekkie]

cant save everyone

[itsnotmourn]

OH MY GOD ITS CARMEN AND RICHARD

[hinamie]

色彩 [Shikisai]

[mblue-art]

sans au sexyman polls doooodle

congrats to the kings<3 🫶🫶🫶

[strawberri-draws]

"Innocence died screaming, Honey ask me, I should know. I slithered here from Eden; Just to sit outside your door"

-From Eden, Hozier

aka: au where they grow old in the dungeon together in their monster forms.