#before the chaos unfolds

[bitchapalooza]

Why my parents get so pissed when I say I wanna do nothing but rest in bed on my day off is a mystery 💀

[ozymandian-hymn]

quick aggie doodle — nov 16 pogbur but he stood maybe a little bit too close to a TNT, and there was no c!Phil to save him from the blast. died as he lived: never whole and alone

also because the breaking bad gus fring death scene won't leave my head, like holy shit look that's peak rule of cool (cw gore)

[intheticklecloset]

Hi, Nym! How are you? Can I please request a ler!Dazai lee! Fyodor coffee shot? Imagine! The two are in bed (either cuddling or just doing their own thing) and -tall-bitch-Dazai kind of just sits on Fyodor's hips and Fyodor is absolutely unfazed- going as far as to taunt him... until Dazai starts 'air-tickling him'. So Dazai is just wiggling his fingers above his boyfriend's giggle spots and Fyodor is trying his best to avoid his fingers, meanwhile Dazai is teasing him with, 'I'm not even touching you!' Please tell me if you get sick of this ship/lee and ler pairing LMAO- I don't want you to get sick of it.

“Oh?” Fyodor mumbled with a sleepy smile as Dazai pushed the covers aside to loosely straddle his hips, grinning down at him. “You want to go another round already? I thought I’d tired you out.”

Dazai ran his hands up and down his partner’s arms. “You did. I’m too tired to go again right now, bunny. Don’t worry.”

“Hmm. Then what are you doing?”

Dazai tilted his head as though the answer should be obvious, lightly trailing his hands down Fyodor’s chest. “Just thinking of how I can get you back.”

“Aha.” Fyodor smirked up at him. “And what have you concluded, moy blestyashchiy?”

The detective hummed again, dramatically shifting into a “thinking very hard” pose. Then his eyes lit up like fireworks and he snapped his fingers. “I know!”

He wasn’t even touching Fyodor – he was hovering almost six inches above him, in fact – but the sight of Dazai’s wiggling pointer fingers over his bare torso made the Russian full-body shiver, and he instinctively brought his arms in to protect himself, despite not actually needing to…yet.

“Moya lyubov’,” Fyodor muttered, his voice wavering ever so slightly, “don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?”

The Russian wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that trick. He attempted a glare, but it was halfhearted at best with the way the brunette was beaming down at him.

“Worth a shot,” Dazai chuckled, switching from wiggling just two fingers to wiggling all of them, darting down as though he were about to attack before pulling back at the last second. It was worth it to hear Fyodor’s sharp intake of breath, to watch him twist uselessly to the side as if he could go anywhere like this.

“Dazai, don’t.”

“Don’t what, bunny?”

Fyodor hated the way the too-smart-for-his-own-good detective was looking at him. Like he was just waiting for an invitation, an excuse to go for it – like hearing him sputter out helpless giggles would give him all the fuel he needed to get through his next day.

“Don’t…tease me,” Fyodor relented, refusing to make eye contact. “Just do it already, pridurok.”

“I don’t know what you called me, but I’m sure it was a loving pet name, right, bunny?” Dazai giggled, then finally brought his wiggling fingers down to Fyodor’s sides, watching him arch and snicker with immense satisfaction.

“Ya tehehehehebya nenahahahahavizhu!”

“Love you too, Fyo~”

[bloodsoakedurge]

‪❝I see everyone is trying to stab each other with knives tonight. I’m curious… how many of you would dare try such a thing on me?❞‬

[likethecolour]

pov: (begrudgingly) letting your partner do your hair because they're better at it than you

[catwouthats]

I’m just gonna put this here

[likesaly]

An impertinence.

Your insincerity and avarice made me hate you. /Ref

Pretty happy w the lighting since it's been a while since I did this type

This took like around 15 hours? I just know mid drawing emo music wasn't cutting it so I ended up putting on a true crime podcast to get through this one, new developments fr, I also found out I can fall asleep to this man's theme so that's smth /lh

Flower meanings + Inspiration (/lh)

Geraniums - Stupidity

Foxglove - Insincerity

Meadowsweet - Uselessness

Yellow Carnations - You have

disappointed me

Orange Lilies - Hatred

Butterfly Weed - Get out of my Face

Peonies - Passive Aggressive sign of Anger

Rhododendron - I am out for you

Petunia - Anger and Resentment

Black Dahlia - Shame (Betrayal and Sadness)

Narcissus - Selfishness

Lavender - Distrust

Hydrangea - Heartlessness

Black roses - You're dead to me

Yeah so I had this post saved a while back so might as well /lh

Bonus:

[unproduciblesmackdown]

don’t forget the reason for the season (would you kiss your clone? yes. and you’re mr. maccabee)

[uitzinnigmp3]

this sure is a skam season huh

[roscolate]

THE FREAKIN’ CHEEKS I CAN’T DEAL 🤣🤣😂😂

TW // Character Death

BGM - King Croacus Appears - SPM

ACT 1

ACT 2

ACT 3 - 1 <<< 21 / 22 / ???

I apologize at how long it took for this update to come out.

Things happened and I’ll leave it at that.

I also posted everything (except one comic) to TikTok! So there’s that too!

I will try to aim for my original schedule of an update every couple of days. If I don’t keep my word, I have failed.

I am also not apologizing for killing Cooper off. He was fated to perish the day he tossed the penguin 🤭.

[morimess]

i keep seeing songs on TT that remind me of Linebeck...and I don't...really know how to feel about it.

[alteredphoenix]

I have this idea for a Velvet/Eleanor/Magilou Modern AU fic, which is - basically an idea based off the "2 AM" prompt from the 64 Damn Prompts (because I literally just thought of it yesterday).

All I have to attribute to it so far is Eleanor asking Velvet "Why are we out here at two in the morning?" to which Velvet goes "That's a good question. What are we doing out here at two in the morning?" while giving Magilou a very pointed look, to which Magilou gives them both a very patented shit-eating grin.

[pomefioredove]

now I'm actually invested in this idea. maybe I'll write a full length fic someday idk... for now I have short hcs

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: crowley decides to "give away" yuu to the highest "donation" for financial reasons type of post: headcanons characters: all nrc students additional info: can be read as platonic or romantic, except malleus is pretty romantic, second person pov, yuu is gender neutral, maybe a little ooc I wrote this as soon as I got up

crowley has had his fair share of "what the fuck" moments from you but this was really taking the cake

he acts so... casual about it?

swaggers into ramshackle one morning and says times are tough and your personal expenses are straining the budget so he's decided to "put you in someone else's care"

"The screening process will be vigorous to make sure you end up in good hands!" like you're a cat or something "Your expenses will be covered and you'll have somewhere to go during break!"

okay great. pretty obvious you have no say in this, so you don't even argue. what's the worst that could happen?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel find you the next day to say they're pooling their money to buy you

"To what?"

Epel shrugs. "Oh, well Crowley said we need to offer a donation to prove we're capable of supporting you..."

(you think that if not for the laws of this land you would have slaughtered that old fart)

Jack goes on a really long tirade about how shady and underhanded this is, making sure to reaffirm that he believes you should be free to make your own choices

"So you'll let me go once you get me?"

"Uhhh..."

Ace thinks once they buy you you'll have no choice but to do all of his homework for him

Deuce says that's not really how it works- and even if he tried, Riddle would kill him

(they've already gone over this twice before finding you)

Epel happily volunteers to take you home with him over breaks, probably the only positive in this mess

even if he thinks the whole thing is kind of funny

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

incapable of keeping his mouth shut, Ace accidentally spills the plan to Riddle, who is understandably aghast

you can't just give away a person under your care like a toy!

of all the irresponsible things...

of course, he'll have to put up his offer, too

purely for your sake! with a nicer room and a brand new copy of the dorm rules, maybe you'll stop getting yourself into trouble

he's got some family money (doctors, naturally) and considers this a worthwhile purchase, for his sanity and yours

of course, Trey and Cater overhear and may or may not be pooling their own cash for a chance, too

going behind Riddle's back on this is a risky venture, but hey, someone's gotta be on your side, here, right?

I mean, between a bunch of sixteen year old boys, the housewarden, and them, who would you choose?

actually don't answer that

...not that it's much of a secret, anyway. Cater's already got their gofundme equivalent link in bio

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona initially plans to have you become a live-in lackey like Ruggie

but then he really starts thinking- and, hey, the possibilities are endless, right?

for one, you'd make a really good pillow

he might have to kick Grim out for your full attention, but you could learn to live with that

and malleus would hate it

...that's reason enough for him

plus, he's got money to burn, so why not?

either way, he sets his bid at a reasonable (maybe too confident) price and sits back to watch the chaos unfold as everyone scrambles for a piece of the pie

news travels fast around school, after all

then Ruggie finds out that you could dethrone him as Leona's #2 and is understandably a little annoyed

that's his cushy post-grad job gig, thank you! he's worked hard for that!

besides, why should Leona get to hoard you? the guy can barely take care of himself!

so, Ruggie ends up outsourcing to a few dozen classmates for the necessary funds at a steep I-owe-you price

he's gonna be eating nothing but dandelions for a while...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now, Azul is annoyed

once the news goes school-wide, it's all anyone can talk about

talk about good marketing...

why didn't he think of such a brilliant scam? he could have negotiated with Crowley to have a café brand deal tie-in!

of course, he's already set his bid, with Jade and Floyd offering to pitch in as necessary

it's a risky investment, sure, but a worthwhile one

Azul tells everyone that with the prefect's "obvious" popularity, having them at the café a few nights a week would drive sales through the roof

though that's really just what he says to shirk suspicion

a likely excuse coming from him, though, really, it would just be nice having you around

and if not for his own affections, Floyd's incessant begging and Jade's subtly manipulative comments about "how nice" it would be having a new face around would be enough for him to cave eventually

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Kalim, no," is the first thing that Jamil says

"I strongly advise against this. It's another one of Crowley's silly scams and you could end up a target bec- are you even listening?"

hint: he is not

the second Kalim found out that he could get to take in his favorite magicless student like one of his treasures, he was all over it

(AKA infinite sleepovers)

and for what? a little optional donation to prove he's got the funds? he's got cash to spare!

he's already got your new room in Scarabia set up before he even puts his bid in

right next to his of course :)

and despite what Jamil insists, he himself might be working behind the curtain just a little to ensure he's the one who ends up with you

after all, why should Kalim get everything? this might be a valuable learning opportunity for him

You don't always get what you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

as much as Epel tries to keep the rest of his dorm from finding out, it's inevitable

he's actually a little surprised that the news didn't get to Vil sooner

with Rook around campus, surely he must have said something...

when Vil does find out, though, he just sighs

oh, of course. what next, will everyone meet each other in the arena and fight to the death over the prefect?

of all the silly, immature things...

oh? what's that? he's bidding anyway? of course he is, silly potato. he can't have some unwashed miscreant making you sleep on polyester bedding

(really, he's the only person on campus worthy of your time)

Rook has also been mysteriously absent from the dorm lately, though his initials on a poem and a strangely large sum of money end up in the donation pile

but really, that could be anyone... Rook would never dare betray Vil again, right?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ortho finds out directly from the other first years and sends Idia the details immediately

with a little note of encouragement, of course: "could be excellent for improving your social skills!"

Idia understandably freaks out

"WTF!!!! nooo way! this is a person, not a chatbot we're talking about here! I can barely keep virtual pets alive!!!!"

(liar)

(...but this is still different)

the conversation ends there, but semi-anonymous bid from someone named "gloomurai" gets cashapp'd directly to crowley

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

everyone in the room immediately turns to Malleus

"For the record, I think it's wrong to be bargaining over a human being," Silver says first. "But if anyone could handle it with grace, it's you."

Lilia laughs. "Oh, you're just saying that because you like the prefect so much!"

"Father, you're the one who likes the prefect so much,"

"Oh, right! carry on then. After all, I'm sure we could share,"

Sebek is the only one relatively against the idea, though Lilia luckily manages to get him to lower his voice after his third speech about how you aren't good enough for his liege

Malleus is rather quiet through the whole evening, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with any of the points made

he disappears for a short while, and when he comes back he seems a little more confident

though, of course, he goes to you first

seeing him at Ramshackle in the middle of the night is a familiar and welcoming sight after all of the chaos of your week

and he's in a great mood!

"Child of man! I've come with news," he says. "I have heard of your predicament and have come up with a solution!"

you immediately sulk. "Oh, no. You know I think this whole thing is terrible, right?"

"Yes, Silver mentioned you might not like the idea of being bought and sold like a trinket. But worry not, I do not plan on paying for you in money,"

you pause, at a loss for words, and then tentatively continue. "You're not...?"

"Of course not. What a primitive idea, I was baffled to hear it myself. My proposal will be more traditional: a modest sum of treasure, and a generous amount of livestock and the finest crop Briar Valley can offer,"

certainly he's not this naive, you think

"You really think Crowley is going to accept that over money? I'm pretty sure Kalim just bid away an entire country's worth,"

he laughs. "You speak as if this is some kind of business deal! I'm quite confident that my dowry will be best,"

huh. that was a strange way of putting it

but then again, you still didn't really understand how things work here, so you go along with it

and you allow yourself to relax. he seems confident in his offer, and he doesn't even see you as some kind of prize to win!

"Oh, well, alright. Thanks! I'm glad you're on it,"

he smiles. "Rest assured, child of man, you're in good hands. My dowry will far outshine the others, and the wedding will be even better,"

"I was honestly getting a little nervous for a momen- wait- wedding!?"

[aaliyahtheawkward]

Okay, but listen. Canonically, my baby honest to God just isn't that creative. 15 year old Jason will 100% believe that he wrote an absolute masterpiece, then post-resurrection, 19 year old Jason will overcome his trials and tribulations, only to eventually discover that his masterpiece is actually the Batman/Bruce Wayne fandom's better written version of like, My Immortal or some shit.

Jason Todd spite writing a very well written, multi- chapter Batman/Bruce Wayne fanfic as petty revenge against Bruce for benching him during his Robin days is absolutely the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard. Also 1000000% in character for that theatre/literature nerd. I also know it would be at the top of the Batman/Bruce Wayne page if you sorted by kudos/comments/hits

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[maiiuelle]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

“take off your top.” the man on the couch across from you barks with a toothy grin, prying eyes focused on you as he puts a bottle of beer to his lips.

you know rafe doesn’t like playing games at his parties. it’s so below him, he’d rather sit back and relax, for once leaving the chaos up to everyone else. in the comfort of his own home he can truly let loose. now that tannyhill is technically his, he couldn’t care less if someone breaks one of the gauche vases rose picked out, or puts a hole in one of the walls — he’s too busy seizing the opportunity to drink, smoke, or snort whatever he pleases.

you like it when he’s chill, it gives you the opportunity to get exactly what you want out of him. you caught him at the perfect time — nursing a drink, swirling the brown liquid in his glass as he nodded along to something topper was saying. you seized the moment, attaching yourself to his side. “come on, rafey! please, it’ll be fun!” you bounced like a little bunny, slipping your hand in his to sweeten the deal. “please, please, please — i don’t wanna play by myself.”

“nah, babe. truth or dare? that’s some fuckin’ high school shit.”

“please, just this once?” you press your cheek against his arm, pushing your cherry-glossed lips into a pout.

that’s how you end up perched on his lap, your boyfriend tucked comfortably into the couch on his porch. you’re really regretting it all now, the feeling of everyones eyes on you makes your skin crawl. you wish you could just disappear, caught like a deer in headlights, sputtering as you peer around the room.

rafe breathes out a laugh, and the room quiets in anticipation. he adjusts his position to lean forward, his hand squeezing your thigh like a stress ball.

“what’d you say?”

“i think everyone heard me.” the boy gawks, still watching you.

“that’s funny.”

“i’m not joking. it’s the game, bro.”

your face feels red hot, matching the heat you feel radiating from rafe. you’re afraid to move, your eyes only shifting to your boyfriends face, who you’ve never seen so angry.

“nah, nah, you’re real funny, man.” he hooks his hand under one of your legs, the other arm around your back to lift you up off his lap, dropping you haphazardly on the couch cushion beside the two of you as he pushes himself out of the seat to confront the kid.

“rafe!”

he’s already got the boy by the collar by the time topper and kelce try to stop him, your hands fly over your mouth as you watch it all unfold before you. rafe shakes him, “you’re a comedian, huh? you think i’m about to let you disrespect not only me, but my girl, in my fuckin’ house?” he raises his voice, everyone else completely silent as he shoves the kid toward the door. “take that shit somewhere else, get the fuck out.”

rafe’s shoulders heave, watching the boy scamper away with his tail between his legs before he turns around, looking at you. “game’s over, let’s go.” he cocks his head, and you jump out of your seat to follow him, leaving the room stuck in a stunned silence.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆