#but duke is really chill about it (at least this one)

[thoughtsaboutbats]

Duke: hey Tim, how did you join all this craziness? Cause everyone else has something terrible that set us in the path of Batman, but as far as I know you don’t?

Tim: Jason was dead and I was worried Batman was either going to join him or kill someone.

Duke: wait seriously? But how did that end up with you as Robin?

Tim: Blackmail. And persistence. I had proof of who Batman was and wouldn’t leave.

Duke: that’s all it took?

Tim: yeah

Duke: what kind of proof?

Tim: photos. I used to follow Batman and Robin around

Duke: and they let you?

Tim: they didn’t know

Duke: wait really? But you didn’t have any kind of stealth training did you?

Tim: Batman can be surprisingly unobservant at times. And I was small

[corkinavoid]

Thank you, @aceinacorner, for this gem:

You are the inspiration for

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 3]

[<- part 2 | part 4 ->]

Duke narrows his eyes.

He swears Tim was not in the Cave just five seconds ago, and yet, in the brief moment when Duke wasn't looking, he just materialized out of motherfucking aether. Smelling like Chinese food and holding a chicken skewer that looks so good that Duke's mouth waters.

"Can I have a piece?" He asks, the divine smell of food overriding the urge to ask 'where did you get it' or 'how did you get here'.

Tim nods, smiles, and hands Duke the whole skewer before going for the elevator.

Is it Duke's hallucination, or is he really humming something as he goes?.. Actually, that doesn't matter. The chicken tastes even better than it smells, and Duke is perfectly willing to keep his mouth shut in exchange for food.

You don't talk with your mouth full, after all.

~☆~

Cass watches Tim over the table. She hasn't heard him coming into the dinner room - no steps in the hall, no rustle of clothing or breathing. It's like the boy has somehow appeared right in front of the door out of nowhere before entering.

What's more, he seems obviously not hungry, picking at his food with an absent, if a bit dreamy, expression. Granted, Tim always picks at his food, but Cass can see the difference between 'Tim's mind is busy with a new case and therefore too distracted to eat' and 'Tim already had dinner elsewhere and is too full to eat now'.

The bags under his eyes are also not as dark as they usually are. Come to think of it, Cass hasn't seen him in a bad mood for a few weeks now, which shouldn't really be that strange, but it's Tim. The smallest of inconveniences can put him in a bad mood.

Tim notices her looking and raises an eyebrow.

Cass blinks and goes back to her plate. Whatever is keeping her brother happy, it deserves her full approval.

~☆~

Jason is... not so sure as to what is happening.

He did notice that Tim was really chill lately, but this is going a bit overboard.

"Did you spike it with arsenic, Replacement?" He asks, suspiciously looking the offered cup of coffee over without taking it. Tim - surprisingly, actually - doesn't react to the nickname in the slightest, instead giving Jason a deadpan look. Then, he brings the cup up to his mouth, takes a sip, and hands it back again.

Okay, well, that proves no arsenic, at least. It's still very weird. Tim doesn't just buy coffee for people, and he especially doesn't buy coffee for Jason.

"Am I going to owe you something for it, or what?" He asks, slowly reaching for the cup. Tim sighs.

"No. It's just a drink - my boyfriend loves it, and I think you'd like it as well," he explains with a shrug, and Jason is honestly too befuddled to ask about anything. Including the boyfriend part.

No, but since when does Timbers have a boyfriend? He sure hadn't mentioned anything about it to any of the others.

The drink turns out to be not coffee but something else, tangy and thick, and when Jason takes the lid off, it's green like Mountain Dew.

It does taste great, though, and later Jason considers asking Tim for another one. He hadn't had anything better in ages.

~☆~

Damian strikes through the last one of the training holograms, breathing heavily. And yet, just as the 'simulation complete' message pops up in the air, he hears a step behind him.

He turns around faster than a lightning, and-

Finds Timothy's neck at the tip of his katana, with his hands up in surrender.

"What are you doing here?" Damian sneers, lowering his weapon, and Tim swallows. Not because of surprise or fear, though, he clearly had some half chewed up food in his mouth.

"Inaccurate drop off," he says, looking Damian straight in the eyes, "I was aiming for the main floor."

He smells of Indian food and spices, and Damian almost sneezes.

"What do you mean 'aiming'?" He demands, but Drake just waves him off, heading towards the elevator up.

"No worries, I'll do better next time," he shoots a smile over his shoulder, "See you on patrol!" And with that, the elevator doors close after him, leaving Damian alone.

Drake has always been strange, but this is too much even for him.

Not that it's Damian's business. He huffs and starts the simulation over again.

~☆~

If Dick didn't witness it with his own two eyes, he would have never believed it. Alas, he did, and even though the swirling green vortex has already disappeared like it was never there, Tim, whom the strange portal just spat out on the floor of the Cave, is still here.

"What the fuck was that?" He nearly yells, and Tim looks up, a face of perfect innocence.

"What was what?" He returns the question, and Dick can't find the words to explain, so he just wildly gestures to the place where the portal has been less than five seconds ago. Tim blinks, "Oh, that. That was my date."

Dick chokes on his breath.

"Your date?" He parrots, hoarse and breathless, and Tim nods, like there's not a single thing wrong with anything that has just happened. "Since when do you go on dates? Wait, I thought you were engaged, you said it was cheating to date anyone else, even if you didn't know the spouse, you said-" he cuts himself off, feeling his own face slowly falling and his stomach sinking down in horror. "No. No, don't tell me."

But the shit-eating grin on Tim's face is already proof enough.

Dick clears his throat. Takes a deep breath.

Seeing that Tim is still in one piece, and, well, that he did just casually come out of a magic portal in the middle of the Cave, it's probably safe to say that it's not the first time.

And, judging by the mirth in Tim's grin, it's also safe to say he's been rather enjoying it.

Dick releases one long, loud breath and forces a smile on his face as well.

"So, how is it?" He asks, trying in vain to sound light-hearted, not suspicious. Tim's smile gets wider, and there's a glint of excitement in his eyes now, which Dick considers a good thing, all in all.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

~☆~

Bonus Scene (that somehow turned out longer than I planned)

~☆~

"Where's Tim?" Bruce asks when all the rest of his kids are already seated around the table for breakfast.

"At Danny's, probably," Steph shrugs before digging into the waffles on her plate. Bruce frowns.

"Danny's?" He asks. He hasn't heard that name before. Is that a friend of Tim's?

"Drake's paramour," Damian clarifies, not bothering to look up from his own food, and Bruce's mind comes to a screeching halt. He blinks stupidly, looking around the table and sincerely hoping it is some sort of a prank, but Cass smiles and nods, and Dick has an expression of pure exhaustion on his face, and Duke is huffing a snort of laughter at him for it.

"Since when-" Bruce starts, but he is suddenly cut off by a glowing circle that appears just a few feet away from them all.

It grows quickly, morphing into a vortex, a green and ominous tear in reality big enough for a person to walk through, hanging in the air a few inches over the ground. The space around it feels staticky somehow, and the color is too bright to look at directly, and it definitely doesn't belong to their dining room. But before Bruce is able to say another word or do anything at all, Tim steps out of it, his hair and clothes ruffled.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters upon seeing them all, and turns around, sticking his head into the vortex just as it starts to close. The vortex pauses.

Bruce is almost too stunned to move.

His kids don't share the sentiment, though, most of them not paying the portal any attention at all. Bruce would have reprimanded them for the poor awareness of their surroundings if he didn't notice how Damian simply glanced up at it before going back to his food.

They saw the portal. They just didn't deem it dangerous. For some reason.

Tim's face comes back out, and he turns to Bruce. His expression looks different than before: a bit smug, a little mischievous, and just a tad bit nervous.

Then, another head pops up through the surface of the portal. A boy - or at least they look like a boy - with snow white hair that floats in the air and bright, almost neon blue eyes. His skin is far too pale for him to be human, and- he has freckles that look like constellations.

For some reason, that's the part that makes Bruce finally resign to the fact that this is just how his life is. With breakfasts interrupted by green portals and otherworldly boyfriends - because who else might it be, really - before he even had his morning coffee.

"Hi!" Said otherworldly boyfriend grins and waves his hand. "I'm Danny, Tim's fiance," he introduces himself, and Bruce conjures the last scraps of his scattered mind to smile and nod back.

"Good morning, Danny. I'm Bruce." He has no idea what else to say; it seems like a bit late for shovel talk, but a bit early for welcoming speech.

"Would Young Master Danny care to join us for breakfast?" Alfred's calm, but still slightly amused voice comes from the door. Bruce turns to look at the butler with a sense of exasperation - is he really the last one to learn anything in this house? - but the man seems... well, not surprised, at least not on the surface. But his grip on the pitcher of orange juice is just a little too tense for him to have been in the know all along.

Danny turns to him and smiles nicely - his teeth are also way too sharp for a human - before shaking his head, "No, sorry, I was just dropping Tim off."

"For God's sake," Tim rolls his eyes, "Just put on some pants and come out, I refuse to suffer through this alone."

Dick chokes on his toast. Steph gasps, her eyes snapping between Tim and Danny in delight. Cass snorts and kicks her under the table. Damian groans.

"Spare me from the details of your personal life, Drake. Need I remind you that I am thirteen," he narrows his eyes.

The constellations on Danny's cheeks shine just a bit brighter, and Bruce has no idea what that is supposed to mean, but his guess is along the lines of embarrassment. Especially when the boy completes it with rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"You mean to tell me that, at thirteen years old, you don't know what sex is?" Tim deadpans, running a hand through his hair in a useless effort to smooth it and taking his seat at the table. Dick's coughing fit comes back with renewed force.

"We didn't-" Danny starts, still kind of hovering midway through the portal, but Damian pays him little attention.

"I do. Yet, I prefer my mind free of the knowledge when it applies to you."

"I want all the details, though," Steph pipes up, looking at Danny from her seat, "Can you, like, sprout tentacles or something, because I know for a fact Tim likes that kind of-"

"Steph!" Tim yells at her, face red, and then turns to Danny, who suddenly has a very interested, if a bit mischievous, look on his face, "Don't you dare."

"Yeah, okay," Danny snorts and disappears back in the portal. Bruce half-expects it to close after him, but the vortex stays.

Which probably means the boy - the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, Eyes of the Universe - is going to be right back.

After he puts on some pants, supposedly.

Bruce watches Tim rub his face in frustration while Steph giggles and elbows him in the side, and sighs. This is so not how he expected this morning to be.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Every single member of the Batfamily lies about their taste in music

Damian will claim that he only listens to classical music and that everything else is beneath him.

Damian will unironically listen to trashy Arab pop and the absolute worst Bollywood songs known to man (Dick introduced him to them and he hates the fact that sometimes he gets Sheila Ki Jawani stuck in his head during missions)

Tim will put on the most ear grating hyper pop you've ever heard and claim with full chest that these is the peak of humanities capabilities with music (Damian, Jason and Steph have all tried to kill him for this take) He will also play stuff like the living tombstones and sing it obnoxiously loud when he's working on the computer.

Tim however loves his 90s grunge and it's all that's playing in his headphones. (think nirvana, pearl Jam, Melvins, Alice in Chains etc) He has tracked down so many shirts and concert posters and watched every bit of content from the older shows.

Jason will claim he only listens to east coast rap, biggie, Nas, Jay etc and maybe some older metal. He will fight you on east vs west coast music, there will be weaponry involved.

Jason likes rap music... he unfortunately prefers west coast rap and has listened to no vaseline like 500 times. He will deny this till the day he dies...again. (Dick knows and threatens to tell Steph)

Steph will steal the aux and play Taylor Swifts greatest hits until one of the Boys threatens mutiny. Every single one of the bats has had style stuck in their heads during a stakeout at least twice. She will claim that the only rap song she can tolerate in Eminem and the 7/11 is Beyoncés best song.

Steph is an underground fan, think the dude selling mixtapes on the subway type shit. She also unlike Jason genuinely loves East Coast Rap music more than anything and knows every single wu-tang clan song by heart, same with Biggie. Not only does she love the music she also spends any free time binging those "history of rap and its consequences" videos and has been a firm believer that P.Diddy had a hand in a lot of the Death row records well...deaths.

Cass, well everyone thinks Cass has really good taste bc its Cass and she has zero flaws (don't @ me) she never takes the aux and will usually listen to her music while she's chilling or doing stretches. None of them have heard or seen a single one of her playlists except Duke.

its all 2010s top 40s pop music and like the trashy kind too, Beauty and the Beat, Kesha, Katy Perry. It's her turning of her brain time and she will be straight vibing to Rude! by magic or Boom Clap or Shower. she has shown this to Duke, smirked and told him that even if he tried to tell anyone they wouldn't believe him.

Duke is the only one who doesn't... lie. He just hides a few things. Lies of omission don't count as lies when the bats will lie to you about what they had for breakfast, while they are visibly eating breakfast. Duke says he listens to everything and he does. Literally everything. His patrol Jam is offensive bc it with start with Norwegian death metal and immediately switches to "like a G6" followed by kendrick Lamar and then descendants Disney channel movie music.

Bruce... Bruce is just weird, everyone asks him and gets a different answer. Bc he doesn't... like music. Like at all. It's all noise, his mother played instruments so he learned like 14 and he hates how they all sound. He just like vague batwings fluttering in dead silence.

Dick Grayson will obnoxiously play top 40 and radio music religiously around the bats. He claims it's the best music for rhythmic acrobatics and trapeze work and that true! Jason hates this kind of music the most, it's formulaic and holds no substance and drives him insane.

But Dick only listens to that music when he's moving, flipping doing high energy stuff. When he just wants to chill? This man has the most depressing music taste you've ever seen. You know that sad song from ur favorite artist that you can't listen to without crying. Yeah that's his bread and butter. Every single song is just flat out tear inducing, some of these bands have like 100 listeners and he is one of them and it's just their saddest song that reads like suicide note. The titans have conducted an intervention bc its just... concerning. He just thinks it's neat!

[sanguineterrain]

sunset anew | dick grayson

Summary: You're a little nervous to become the Mrs. Grayson. Luckily, your husband-to-be knows just what to say to soothe your worries. 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: wedding, anxious reader, the batfam actually gets along, fluff!! (dick is my wife.)

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

Contrary to popular belief, Gotham isn't a complete eyesore. 

Sure, it's no vacation spot, and it's probably not the ideal place to settle down. But there are beautiful parts within the grunge. 

Your wedding planner had shown you multiple locations, from Napa to the Bahamas. Bruce had insisted cost was no problem.

But that wasn't what made you choose Gotham. 

Your forearms rest on the polished stone-top railing that surrounds the rooftop of the nicest hotel in the city. Thirty-two floors, all rented out for you. 

You look down at the tiny cars and people below. Your heart swoops. 

Your heels are in one hand. The sun crests the horizon; soon, yellow will melt into buttery orange and pink. It’s the first sunset you knew. The only sunset you know. And it’s the same one you saw the first time you met your almost-husband.

You'd come up here so you wouldn't miss it. Just this one time.

“Found her!”

You jump as the roof access door opens. Damian and Duke walk out. Duke gives you a warm smile.

"Jesus, you guys," you say, hand on your chest. “Way to scare a girl.”

“Sorry. You look really nice,” Duke says, smoothing his bowtie. 

Damian crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed.

“Frightening you is the least of our concerns. We thought you’d run. Which would be understandable, considering the family you’re marrying into, but Father spent a lot renting the hotel. Plus, Grayson would’ve been inconsolable, and extremely annoying.”

“Dude,” Duke says, elbowing Damian. “Chill out. It’s not like she was actually going to leave him at the altar.” He squints at you. “Were you?”

“No! I wasn’t going to leave him at the altar, oh my God.”

Damian nods. “Good." He taps his watch and speaks into it. "Grayson, our work is done. Come to the roof.”

Duke gives you a wave and they wordlessly leave the way they came. You sigh and start to slip your heels back on. There’s some whispering at the bottom of the stairs, and Damian shouts “no!” before it’s silent. 

You have one heel on when Dick emerges.

He’s unfairly handsome in his tux, hair somehow both neat and tousled. He also has what looks to be Damian’s tie wrapped around his eyes. You step out of your heel, unsure.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It’s okay, baby. Why are you blindfolded?"

"Bad luck to see the bride, duh."

You can't help your idiotic grin at that. "I think it'll be fine, Gray. You didn’t have to take his tie.”

"Maybe you haven't met my family; we're not known for our good luck streaks.”

"I'm madly in love with you,” you say, feeling gooey.

Dick beams, and you nearly forget about the sunset altogether. 

"I'm madly in love with you too." 

You kiss him and he blindly returns it, following your lips even after you step back. You cluck your tongue and nudge him away. He obeys, though not without sliding his hand onto your waist and tugging you away from the roof. You follow because he's such a worrier.

Dick reaches for your hand and squeezes. 

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. Sorry I disappeared. I didn’t know the calvary would be sent after me.”

“Yeah, uh…” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Again. I got worried.”

The guilt sinks its claws deeper. You frown and touch his cheek. 

“I would never leave you at the altar, Dick.”

“I know! I know that. They’re idiots; don’t listen to ‘em, whatever they said."

You cup his face with both hands and kiss him again. He squeezes your wrists and you can feel the relief rolling off him in waves, as much as he tries to hide it. 

“Was my absence noticeable?” you ask.

"Just to us. Don’t worry about it. The Wayne family are professional crowd entertainers."

"I take it Bruce is doing card tricks?"

"Yep,” Dick says. “He’s pretty good too. Might retire the suit." 

You laugh. "Sorry I'm missing it."

"Trust me, you'll get your fill soon."

“We can go down now,” you offer, even though you’re still waiting for that sunset. 

He shakes his head. “There’s no rush.”

You smile and rest your head on Dick's shoulder. He accepts you instantly and wraps his arm around your waist.

"You feel really beautiful," he says. 

"Charmer."

"I'm serious!"

"I know. That's why I'm so damn sweet on you, Gray."

"I've got a shot with you, then?" he asks. 

"Oh, big time." 

He nuzzles your neck. You breathe in his scent: wine from earlier, detergent, the hair gel he uses to effortlessly capture the bed head look. 

"We didn't have to do this today, you know,” he says, voice vibrating through you. 

You pick your head up in alarm. 

"What're you talking about?" 

"If-if you're getting cold feet, I mean," he adds. "Second thoughts. We can always reschedule."

"Dick, no, I'm not getting second thoughts. I want to marry you today. I will marry you, okay? We've been together for almost four years."

"So? You know how long Batman and Catwoman have been skirting around each other? We've all got a wager going. Including Alfred!"

You snort. "Okay, well, excuse me if I don't want your family to bet on how long it's going to take us to marry."

"Afraid that ship's sailed."

"Of course it has."

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. His arms drape over your hips. You trace the shape of his lips with your index, up his Cupid's bow and up the tip of his nose. Dick has such a lovely nose. You've always thought so. 

“So who bet that I’d actually made a run for it?”

“That feels like a trick question,” he says. 

“Jason?"

“Jason adores you, actually. He didn’t doubt your loyalty once.”

“Damian had his doubts." 

“Damian's thirteen, he doesn’t know shit.”

You snort and kiss his cheek. “Well, I forgive him. He was protecting you, that’s all.”

"If it helps, everyone else was certain of your loyalty," Dick says, letting you paw at his face. “Myself included.”

"That does help, actually.”

Dick stops your hand in its journey and rests your palm on his cheek. 

"What were you thinking about?" he asks quietly. 

You stiffen a little. "Nothing. Just needed some air."

"You sure?" 

You know what he's doing: feeling your pulse to see if it changes, listening to your breathing, watching if your shoulders tense. He's a detective first, and a damn good one. 

You slump in defeat. 

"What if I'm not… good at this? At being… us?”

"What?" Dick asks in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Of course you’ll be good at it. The real worry is me, babe. I mean, you're incredible. I'm the one who runs around in spandex at night." 

"Gray, I'm serious," you say, resting your head on his heart. "All those people who’ve been watching us, waiting for the future Mrs. Grayson to slip up. I just—I can't help but wonder if it's prophetic. I wonder if maybe you deserve more." 

"Hey. Now I can't predict the future. But even if I could, I don't believe there is a timeline out there where I could ever want or need anyone but you. And you're not alone in this, you know? I'm scared too. I'm terrified I'm putting you in danger. Of fucking up completely. But I also know that sometimes… we get good things, you know? It's not all doom and gloom. I mean, you being in my life is proof of that." 

God, he always knows how to make your heart ache just right. 

"I really want us to work," you whisper, clutching his suit coat. "I just don't wanna let you down, Gray." 

"Baby," Dick says, curling around you. "Sweetheart, where did this come from? What makes you think that? You've never let me down, not once. I love you. It's okay if you feel like you don't know what you're doing, 'cause I don't know either." 

You reach to untie the tie. Dick lightly grabs your hand, but you continue to tug anyway. 

"Wait, babe—"

"Dick, it's okay. I want to see your eyes. Please?" 

He lets you pull it off. He squints at the light, adjusting. Then his gaze drops to you and his lips part.

"Wow," Dick says, hands sliding up your arms. 

You smile. "Like it? Selina helped me pick the dress, so it's all thanks to her."

"Fuck, baby. I wanna marry you right now. Screw everyone down there. Let's elope."

You laugh, combing back his hair with your fingertips and tucking loose strands behind his ears. 

"Gray, you know we can't do that. What about Bruce? He'd be devastated and more than rightfully pissed."

He shrugs. "So what? I'm the favorite, I can get away with it."

"Well, what about Alfred? You'd break his heart."

Dick pauses, mulling that over. You kiss his chin. 

"Damn it," he says. "You're right. I couldn't do that to him. He's arguably more excited about our wedding than we are." 

"Mmhm. But I appreciate your attempt to be spontaneously romantic," you say, smiling. 

Dick tugs you closer still, rubbing your back. 

"I would elope," he says. "If you really wanted to. You could convince me to do just about anything. Even if it unleashed Alfie's wrath."

"Don't tell me that," you chide playfully. "You'll give a girl all sorts of notions." 

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

Dick starts to kiss up your neck and you happily let him, eyes slipping closed. It's good, until—

THUMP!

You jump. Dick immediately pushes you behind him. 

The roof access door swings out so hard it slams against the wall. Jason glares, bowtie already loosened. 

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're gonna miss your own wedding, dumbass!" He nods at you. "Hey, future sis. Looking good." 

"Thanks, Todd." 

"Mm. Everything okay?" 

You smile. "Everything's wonderful."

"Yeah, I'm okay too, thanks," Dick says, scowling. 

"I know you're fine, idiot. Now come put a ring on it before Alfred hunts you down himself." 

Jason turns on his heel, shaking his head. "Responsible one, my ass…"

You look at Dick, grinning. 

"Seems like we should go do the marriage thing," you say.

"Seems like." He squeezes your hip. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, Gray. I do. Thanks. I love you."

"Love you too, baby. Let's go marry the hell out of each other." 

The sunset has morphed into a violet night. But you don't mind that you missed it; you know there will be countless sunsets to come. 

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 3: Tim)

<<Part 2: Dick    |    Part 4: Jason >>

[Masterlist]

Tim: Bruce, you should be happy to know that my presentation is educational and will help people be safer on patrol.

Bruce: Tim.

Duke: You’ve passed out on patrol enough times to make a powerpoint about it?

Barbara: I think Gothamites are used to finding an unconscious Red Robin on their roof at this point

Steph: And sometimes it happens to civilian Tim Drake

Tim: It’s fine guys I have a system don’t worry

Bruce: Just because I won’t have you arrested doesn’t mean I approve of you sleeping on rooftops

Damian: You imply that this has happened repeatedly

Tim: A few times.

Barbara: Seven, actually. I’m the one that has to clean up your mess every time. I can only take so many photos down, Tim.

Dick: what

Jason: How did you even-

[Bruce’s head is in his hands]

Tim: Don’t worry about it. Moving on

Steph: YOU WERE ASLEEP WHEN THAT HAPPENED?

Dick: TIM.

Jason: I suddenly feel more secure about my tenure as Robin

Steph: Yeah we may have died but at least we never pulled this crap

Duke: Not sure if this is endearing or concerning

Dick: It’s cute in a way that really worries me

[Bruce looks like he’s going to explode]

Dick: WHY WOULD YOU KICK HIM OUT

Jason: None of you should even know where my safehouses are much less show up in my apartment unannounced. I stand by my actions.

Steph: I don’t know what Tim expected honestly

Jason: WHAT

Damian: Classic

Jason: YOU BREAK INTO MY APARTMENT??

Steph: Wow, Tim. Thanks for exposing the best place to crash

Jason: YOU HACK MY SECURITY AND EAT MY FOOD???

Cass: (signs) You make very good pasta salad.

Jason: AND ROY LETS THIS HAPPEN?? REPEATEDLY???

Tim: Roy’s just chill like that. Moving on-

Steph: Yeah you’re for sure never living that down

Damian: Your incompetence will be remembered forever

Duke: Immortalized on the sticky note in the Batmobile that says “Red Robin banned from driving”

Barbara: And in the hole on the side of that Walmart

Bruce: Tim, after all this do you really think I’m ever going to give your Batmobile privileges back?

Tim: ...fair.

Jason: After all this I think I have to change your position on my slideshow.

Tim: I’m in your slideshow?

Jason: Oh just you wait

<<Part 2: Dick    |    Part 4: Jason >>

[Masterlist]

[mossfrg]

Jersey Gotham pt 2

Small one for this part but I Could Not get this out of my head because it’s the funniest shit ever:

Fellow Gothamites/jersey people are like… 85% positive Batman is the Jersey Devil or some offshoot of that. There’s three “camps”— Batman is the Jersey Devil, Batman and Jersey Devil are same species, Batman and Jersey Devil were/are dating. For the first camp, people just think the JD moonlight as a vigilante cause the Pine Barrens get lonely and he wants to help people.

For the second group, it’s widely accepted that Jersey Devil is rural cryptid and Batman is urban cryptid and they stay out of each other’s ways. Tim, Duke, and Babs in paticukar love this theory and fuel the flames when in costume. (“oh Jersey Devil? No no they’re so chill, Bats has them over for dinner sometimes.”)

Jason, Dick, Cass and Steph fucking love the third group. They tease Bruce about it all the time. Dick has gotten him Jersey Devil sweatshirts so he can “flaunt his mans” (Bruce debated un-adopting after Steph joked that the kids should get to meet their stepfather). Jason goes as far as to implying that Batman and JD have ~history~ and the real reason Superman can never come to Gotham is because JD is jealous (“no fr B and JD were a thing for decades and then they got into a fight and B broke up and moved away and that’s how he met Superman, and then they started dating but JD still loves B so Supes can’t visit but B can’t go to Metro cause it’s too bright and he’d melt”). Cass just smiles sweetly and says Bruce has a type for murder-inclined criminal badasses. Damian doesn’t quite get the joke for a while and is horrified that Bruce is courting “that thing” and not Talía who “may murder but is at least human!” I just really want Bruce debating whether Batman/Jersey Devil or Batman/Bruce Wayne is worse.

Clark makes a comment about the whole Jersey Devil-Batman thing and it pisses Bruce off, and while still angry he’s at a party and gets a bit tipsy; he starts flirting with the official Jersey Devil Twitter account as Brucie Wayne. Fanart is made. “Brucie has two hands” trends for weeks. Alfred, completely straight faced at dinner, gives Bruce his blessing to be with JD, or Batman, “I fought in the war I won’t judge your lovers Master Bruce”

[brucewaynehater101]

every family has a secret stoner and i absolutely need your opinion on who you think the stoner of the batfam is, like,,,,,, who’s sneaking away at thanksgiving to light up?? do they smoke together?? is it an open secret or does nobody know about them smoking??

I just... I need a sec. Y'all's family hides that shit? I kid ya not, my mom's offered me gummies, one of my siblings has a weed desk, and my father swore he'd constantly be smoking as soon as he retires. My other siblings' partner did weed a lot too.

I don't really like weed for myself (the lack of control freaks me out and I've had a few bad trips), but at least one of my siblings very openly uses weed often lmao.

I got off track. Whoops. Anyways, Dick. Dick 100% does weed. It helps with his anxiety and anger (also Discowing).

When Dick "sneaks out" to smoke, some of the others join him. Jason is always there regardless if he's taking a hit, smoking a cigarette, or just taking a moment away from Bruce (Bruce is rarely welcome during these moments. It's more of a sibling thing).

Steph probably bakes brownies and has a weed stash in Tim's room. She'll occasionally join them, but not always. She's usually hanging around Cass, Duke, Tim, or Damian.

Now... I adore the stoner Tim au. It's hilarious and great. For this post, there's two options for Tim.

If he's a stoner, then Dick didn't find out until a hilariously late time. Dick is reasonably upset that he found out so late when it's another way for Tim and him to bond.

If he's not, I'd hc him to be closer to how I feel about it. He's chill with other who do it, but doesn't like the way it fucks with his control, awareness, and ability to think. Instead, he'd rather drink alcohol.

Hmm... I'm curious how weed, alcohol, or substances would interact with Cass's ability to read body language. If it makes it harder or lessens the amount of signals she perceives, this could either freak her out or give her brain a break.

Funny answer for Cass is that she does a *shit* ton of weed and somehow manages to hide it from everyone but those she's told (maybe Steph and Tim?)

I need to learn more about Duke. Until I know otherwise, let's say that he occasionally does it for fun with friends or a batfam member, but usually refrains.

Damian is a kid. Maybe when he's older, he takes a night off every month or so to decompress with the help of weed.

Alfred does weed too. How the fuck else is he supposed to deal with all the stress of the Bats? He'll go out to "tend the garden" which is code for "leave him the fuck alone so he can de-stress and smoke."

Bruce might every once in a while, but he stopped heavy usage when he put on the cowl.

The whole batfam knows and is chill with weed. The substance they do hide, however, is alcohol. Some members have trauma and shit with alcohol. This means the others try not to consume alcohol around those members and obscure their alcohol consumption in general. Whether those with alcohol trauma consume alcohol as well, the others still refrain in front of them.

I can't believe I forgot Barbara! She probably does weed to help with her pain

[wandixx]

I didn't realized I haven't posted it before

Ghost of fries and hero of cookies art!!!

aka how I figured out Dani's Hoopoe costume design and some chibis (with my mediocre marker skills)

"Ghost of fries and hero of cookies" is a cute and fluffy fic I wrote about Dani going to Gotham and accidentally became Signal's sidekick. Here is tumblr link. Here is AO3

Anyway, let's get to the art

Photos may be poor quality, my scanner did shitty job, and I tried to fix it up a bit in Ibis Paint, but there is only so much I could do

Hoopoe with hoopoe, to get you hooked up :)

This is finished design, so now we can get to the journey there. Some drawings will be just Dani because, yes, she threw on a cape, but I still needed to know how she looked like underneath.

And in the love of Gods, I was not going to put a child in the crop top.

Or at least I changed that when it hit me that I can... just do that. I can redesign her. Anyway, chronologically:

As you can see, in the beginning, both her cape and her mask had some more interesting designs that I got rid of. Not because I don't like it, I still think it's pretty cute, but! Mask got simplified because I realized that Bats keep their masks pretty simple in color, and she got her mask from Duke, so it needed to be simpler. Just... let's say that the one with a bit more fun stuff going on was her original paper mask, and she was pouting up a storm when Signal gave her such boring mask in exchange. THE ABSOLUTE BETRAYAL!

And the cape got more boring because it's literally a blanket. I don't think she could get a blanket with this specific pattern. But for a funny bit that I thought out when it was too late, The Pin that holds her cape together is either something like "I ❤️ Central City" or Flash merch. I highly encourage you to suggest to me what it could look like

Anyway, then came actual figuring out of her actual costume

I don't know what to tell about this part, to be honest. Maybe I would vibe better with the first one if I kept green parts one shade instead of... 4 or 5. Second one just isn't it at all, though I could probably give her belt back at some point. Third one was pretty close but this 》 shape on her torso just felt weird, so I just simplified it to the straight line in the fourth, which is the final. The elbow protection there was literally spur of the moment idea when I looked at the figure drawing and decided "I like the elbow shapes. Let's keep them" and I kept them.

Anyway, this is other shot of finished Hoopoe!Dani, with better view of her costume:

And chibis! Chilling on the roof with Signal and eating fries like good lil gremlin ghosts oath to do:

I'm frankly really proud of the chibis because for the life of me, I usually cannot draw them without feeling that their faces went through a hydraulic press or at least met a wall at really high speed.

That's all for today

[egginthepit]

Got into playing Alaris recently and so here I am introducing my MC Maena:

Don’t really know where to begin with her, just starting to really form her personality. She’s definitely extroverted but like in a pretty chill way. She’s not afraid to go and talk to people, she also can actively seek out someone’s attention, but she’s also pretty comfortable with her own company.

She loves all kinds of plants like her mom but she’s got special interest in mushrooms. The fungi just appeal to her for some reason. She likes a good challenge every now and again but she does tend to involve herself in people’s business when she really shouldn’t or doesn’t have to. It’s her sense of justice that gets her into situations sometimes, she can’t stand bullies and will make it known to anyone within her vicinity

Likes: the color blue, rocks, mushrooms, and forget-me-nots

Dislikes: incredibly loud noises (think fireworks or a rock concert), hot summer days, extravagant flirting

Her current opinions of the different LI:

Kayn: These two got off on the wrong foot after the first encounter. Now Maena isn’t usually averse to people being in her personal space but with Kayn’s flirting added on top of it she got really wary immediately. Things did smooth over later on but it took a hot minute. Now she sees them as the perfect person to tease. They tease back of course but that’s just a given. Why dish it if you can’t take it right?

Druk: She sees Druk as rather reliable/dependable. He’s probably the first person she’d go to if she needed physical protection. Sort of sees him as an older brother figure.

Fenir: Do not get her started. She finds him incredibly fascinating. She isn’t quite sure what draws her to him (it was definitely the hair and eyes at first. She LOVES the color blue) but she does know his presence is comforting to her. Would probably love sitting down with him and asking him questions about the books he’s read. She likes to read but loves it more when people talk about how they felt or interpreted a piece of literature.

Etza: Sees them as a sort of mentor. However, tries her best not to depend on them too much since she feels that, like how she feels being a healer sometimes, having people constantly depend on you can become draining and stressful. So she just likes to drop by their office and ask about their day before skipping off to some other daily task or event.

Kuna’a: It is on sight for this guy. He is the main cause of her most recent woes of getting her personal space invaded. Once again, she doesn’t mind people being in her space, what she DOES mind is when absolute strangers with dubious intent manhandle her. She’s going to have to duke it out with him first before she forms any sort of relationship with him. And by that I mean at least one swing at his face.

Aisa: They are a mystery to her in a way that fascinates her. Despite her initial response of “I will fight you for putting me to sleep when I was owed answers, you jackass” she sort of felt as if they were… lonely. Now she just wants to befriend them and see what’s going on there. Everyone needs a friend, even if they insist on having nothing to do with you. Maena will be your friend one way or another, Aisa, just get used to it.

[numinous-scribe]

I’m seeing a lovely trend of recommending DPxDC fics going around so here I am throwing my hat into the ring lol

+++

Beauty lays behind the hills by Library_of_Chronos

Danny loses everything. He runs fast and he runs far, somehow ending up in a back alley known as Park Row, where a strange man with flowers in his hands changes his life.

While Danny does end up staying with Bruce and a much younger Dick, the story focuses more on giving Danny a good support system both within Wayne Manor and with the Justice League, as they all come together to help Danny fight against Vlad. Status: Incomplete

Law of Retribution by Michaelisunderatted

“The ghosts like you.”

Danny watched as Red Hood reeled. Now that he thought about it, that was probably a creepy thing to say. Danny hadn’t talked to living people in years though, so Jason really should cut him some slack. He was trying his best. It wasn’t his fault living people had such weird hang ups about things.

“Okay,” Jason said, taking a deep breath. “Okay kid, what the fuck.” ...

Jason starts seeing ghosts. Danny comes back to the Living Realm for the first time since the Incident.  He has a job offer for Red Hood

I have not caught up with this one myself, but so far I’m really enjoying the darker/more serious tone of the story. Jason sees ghosts, Danny fumbles the “how to human” ball, and Duke takes no shit. It’s great! Status: Incomplete

Sundials by AkelaNakamura

Damian Wayne is nearing sixteen and it's finally feeling like a future is something he might get to choose. He has a Soulmate, somewhere, who is no longer subject to Grandfather's judgement. He wonders though, how he's going to find him when he's unmarked. There's a thousand ways to find a Soulmate, he knows, but Damian has nothing physical to guide him.

Tucker Foley has always worried that Amity Park will be too much for his Soulmate, whoever they are. Soulmates are supposed to match each other, to walk with each other, but there's not many places that are as wild as Amity Park. The only mark he carries though, is the one that links him to Sam and Danny, so he's left to wonder how they might meet.

Damian turns sixteen and everything changes.

A really sweet Tucker/Damian soulmate au with wonderful lore and mechanics and just overall oozing with tender softness. 100% adore this one. Status: Complete

Bruised by DizzlyPuzzled

The Guys in White are preparing for war. The Justice League doesn't believe in Ghosts and wrote Amity Park off. And Danny just wants things to chill for a moment so he can enjoy his life. But now he is the only thing standing between complete reality collapse and peace.

Ghost King au + political drama + taking down the GIW and Vlad? Amazing, stunning, I’ve re-read this at least five times now. Status: Complete 

Ouroboros by Rhapsody_in_Pink

In the end, it was Jack and Maddie that caused Phantom. It was Phantom that caused the downfall of Jack and Maddie. It was Jack and Maddie that destroyed Danny Fenton. It was Danny Fenton who accepted Phantom. And so Ouroboros swallowed himself.

An alternate take on how Danny acquired his powers and interacts with the ghosts around him as well as well as dimensional travel. I genuinely don’t have the words to describe how much I love this one, it’s just so good! Status: Incomplete

Your City Loves You (And Your Home Was Always Here) by bongo_balderdash

After a meeting between the Reigning Monarch of the Infinite Realms and the Justice League, King Phantom asks Superman to stay behind for a moment. Superman is a little hesitant, but they’ve just agreed to a peace treaty between the lands of the living and the dead, and apparently someone on the king’s council has something they’ve been waiting to say.

Not just a message for Superman. A message for Clark Kent.

This one was so sweet and it made me cry. Status: Complete

A Vigilante A Day Keeps the Government Away by DeathlySilent13

Lucius Fox gets a phone call he'd never expected from a source even more unexpected. Now, he's got to figure out what to do with a betrayed child, a traumatized nephew, a protective son, and an adoption-prone Bat.

Very interesting choice in using Lucius as the main POV, and it provides a fresh look at the beginnings of coordinating a take down of the GIW. This is only the first part of the series, and while it is Complete, there is still more to come!

What’s a Spleen Between Friends? by Cielle_Noire

Tim gets Isekai'd a few times, which is really inconvenient. The guy (meta? ghost? half-ghost?) who keeps helping him is cute though, so it's okay. Well, it's not okay, but it could be worse. Probably.

OR

Five Times Tim Fell Through a Portal and One Time He Didn't

A very witty 5+1 Tim/Danny fic. Great lore, great plot, great jokes. 10/10. Status: Incomplete

[galpalaven]

13 oh please please please 13

13. on a falling tear Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (Miz'ri Jhalavar) Word Count: 3200~ Summary: Miz'ri helps Astarion wash the blood from his hair after Cazador. Content Warnings: Cazador Flashbacks Also on AO3!

blood and balsam oil

The world sharpens to a point in the bloody aftermath of the ritual.

His hands shake, still sitting on his knees, half naked on the cold marble floor. The chill of the room seeps into his bones as he becomes painfully aware of every part of his body. The edges of his vision start to darken, ears ringing, chest tight with the ragged, panting breaths he draws in as he stares at the still, bloody corpse on the floor.

He... he did it.

He did it.

Cazador Szarr... is dead.

So, why does he still feel like curling into a ball and sobbing? Wasn’t that brief moment of weakness enough?

Astarion nearly yelps when something warm and soft drapes over his shoulders. He glances around wildly, startled and feeling two inches to the left of his body — only to find his Miz'ri, leaning over him with a careful smile. Her cloak is what's been placed around his shoulders, warm from being worn. It smells like her — the faint aroma of her blood, tainted though it is from the parasites in her brain, wraps itself around him like an extra blanket, briefly drowning out the smell of Cazador. Her hands linger across his shoulders for just a moment before she pulls away entirely, a physical reminder of her everlasting support.

And that reminder of her support — of everyone's support — is what gives him the strength to stand, slipping his mask of composure back on, shaky though his hold on it may be.

She lingers by his side as he gives orders to his siblings. Something about... freeing the spawn in the cells, taking them into the Underdark. It's the least he can do for them, when it's his fault they're there to begin with. As he speaks, he can feel the heat of her against his arm, even where she stands a good foot away. It's grounding, even as all the world narrows to his body and the few feet around it. The stench of death and decay hangs heavy over the crypt, and the more he breathes it in, the tighter his chest gets.

He needs to get out of this accursed place. Now, if possible.

As the group turns to leave, he catches Miz'ri around the shoulders, pulling her close and burying his face in her warm shirt for just a moment. He thinks he mumbles a thank you into her back, but he really couldn't tell if it actually made it past his lips, or if he only thought it.

It doesn't matter either way, he supposes, because even though he pulls away before she can turn and hug him back, she catches one of his hands as he pulls away, squeezing before letting it drop.

"I've got you," she says softly.

It's hard to swallow around the lump in his throat — so he just keeps walking.

She'll understand. He knows she will.

Getting back to the Elfsong is a blur.

They travel through as many back alleys as possible, but the sun is setting, and with the cloak tugged up over his head, no one notices that he's positively drenched in blood. As it dries, it cracks and pulls at his skin, something he grows increasingly more and more aware of as they get closer to their home for the moment.

He needs it off of him.

He needs to get him off of him.

It's been long enough since the murder in Duke Stelmane's private quarters that the room is free to use. No one had taken it for their own yet aside from using the washtub in it for privacy, but tonight he intends to sleep there. He doesn't think he can take the hesitant glances and whispers just yet.

He needs... something.

Something, something, something.

He drifts between hyperawareness of his body and feeling like he’s dreaming, and he can’t decide which is worse. Or better, maybe. Thoughts start in his brain and fall off before they reach their conclusion, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t…

A hand runs up his back, bringing his awareness back to a sharp point. He sucks in a hissing breath between his teeth, shoulders bunched up around his ears — until Miz’ri’s voice reaches him through the fog.

“I’ll draw you a bath in the private quarters if you want?”

Normally, he would have laughed and asked if she even needed to ask, he’s dirty and anxious to be clean again, but all he manages is a stilted, mechanical nod. Her face comes into view as she steps in front of him to meet his eye, and his eyes start to sting again at the sight of the soft smile on her lips. He can only see one of her eyes, the other hidden behind her hair since the incident with the tadpole, but the glittering pink is full of concern as she looks up at him.

Pretty.

He clings to the thought as she cups his cheek running her thumb across the grime before pressing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Astarion leans into her, desperate for the warmth, for the gentle, familiar touch to drive the memories hanging over him like a storm cloud back into the recesses of his mind where they belong. She smiles a little brighter when she notices — lets her touch linger a moment longer — before she slips away to run his bath, leaving him feeling a little colder than before.

The world blurs again, until everything around him becomes nothing but colors and a jumble of unintelligible noises. The colors shift like the brush strokes of an oil painting in firelight, and the sounds of speaking and the raucous merrymaking of the tavern below are nothing more than a murmur in his head, as if someone had stuffed cloth in his ears. He’s sure he looks a mess, sitting in one of the chairs near the hearth in the center of the hostel-style room they’d been given, hunched as he watches the fire, still hugging his lover’s cloak around his shoulders.

Normally, he’d be appalled at everyone seeing him this way. He’d be putting on airs and laughing it off any other time, but it seems that whatever threshold he’d crossed when killing his sire — it’s reset him in a way he can’t even begin to fathom.

And so he sits, until his drow returns to his side.

“The bath’s all hot for you,” she says brushing his hair away from his eyes. His eyelids flutter at the touch, and she repeats the motion as if reading his mind. “Do you want me to help you wash your hair? A scalp massage can do wonders for the nerves.”

He’s shaking his head before he really has a chance to think about it.

“I —“ he starts, and then stops when his voice is nothing but a rasp. Clearing his throat, he does his best to sound normal and not approximately two centimeters away from a breakdown of some kind. “I’ll be fine, darling. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“If you’re sure,” she says, combing her fingers through his hair and grinning a little at the way he must look, leaning after her touch even now.

“I’m sure. You — you will join me in the private room tonight, though, won’t you?” he asks, voice tinged with uncertainty.

The way her face lights up makes his stomach flip. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

He tries to smile in what he hopes is a normal fashion, but the expression feels more like a baring of teeth than a genuine smile, and he thinks she can tell, if the way she lightly brushes the backs of her knuckles across his cheek is anything to go on. The touch nearly has his knees buckling beneath him, stomach flipping and breath catching in his throat. Astarion does his best not to curse out loud as he forces himself to his feet and out of the room, before he loses the will to leave her side at all.

The private quarters are pleasantly warm when he steps into them a few moments later, the air slightly humid with the hot water in the washtub. He drifts to the corner of the room where the bath is, dropping heavily onto the bench near the tub to start unlacing his boots and unbuckling the parts of his armor that survived the magic that tore at his clothes in the dungeon. Even the passing thought throws him right back into the overwhelming feeling of fear and nausea that had washed over him with the tearing of his clothes. Though it had just been his shirt, it had left him feeling naked and exposed — on display like some kind of sick trophy.

Bracing his fists on his knees, he tries to force the feeling back down — to force back the bile clawing it’s way up his throat, leaving fire in its wake. His eyes go in and out of focus as he bounces one leg up and down, until his attention catches on the blood covering his skin. Flecks of it have begun to chip off, having dried in the walk back to the tavern, and —

— hands covered in blood, nails missing, yanked from their roots by a skeletal hand. His hands shake as he uses a cold, dirty rag to clean the dried gore from his skin —

Astarion gasps, gritting his teeth as he reaches over and grabs one of the washcloths by the tub, dunking it in the warm water. The cloth begins to turn red nearly immediately, and it almost surprises him when it doesn’t sting as he wipes the blood from his hands and his lower arms. Eyes unfocused, he returns the cloth to the water, wringing it out and returning it to his skin, wiping at his face this time instead of his arms.

The warmth of the water feels nice, fighting back the throbbing headache that had begun just behind his eyes at some point. He scrubs at his face, taking a little pleasure in the scratchiness of the cloth, the little pricks of pain as he scrubs and scrubs to try and get every last remnant of Cazador the hells off of him. Eventually, the rag isn’t enough, and he drops it back onto the tray, standing up unsteadily to unlace his trousers, kicking his boots off viciously as he goes. Gritting his teeth, he shoves at his pants, ready to —

A memory, sharp with jagged, piercing edges, forces it’s way to the forefront of his mind.

“Take off your clothes.”

Cazador’s voice is a low purr, one hand trailing across Astarion’s shoulders as the vampire circles him. His stomach turns with disgust, though he knows better than to flinch away from his touch. His fingers still ache from the punishment the damned skeleton had inflicted on him last time.

This is… a new request, though, and it makes him nervous.

Gritting his teeth to avoid showing weakness, he slips his shirt over his head, letting it pool on the ground beside him.

“All of them.”

Fuck.

His body responds for him, though his mind screams its protest with every motion, and soon his trousers and undergarments have joined his shirt in a little pile beside him.

“Kneel.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Again, his body responds without his permission, and he falls to his knees on the plush carpet of Cazador’s office. He stares, unseeing, at the heavily polished wooden desk before him as Cazador stalks around the room somewhere behind him.

It’s not long before he steps into Astarion’s line of sight, a sharp, silver knife, humming with magic, in his hand. He uses the tip of the blade to tilt Astarion’s head up, and — sitting naked on his knees in front of this evil, horrible man, unable to say no, unable to run — he’s not sure he’s ever felt smaller than he does in this moment.

“I would tell you not to scream,” Cazador says, “but it will be more fun if you do, I think.”

And with that, he moves behind him once again, bringing the blade down —

“—Astarion!”

The world swims back into focus at the sound of his name. He is no longer on his knees in the Szarr palace. No longer under a spell that holds him still as Cazador carves infernal runes into his skin.

No, he is in a room in the Elfsong Tavern, curled in on himself, clutching a towel to his chest as if he’d been trying to cover himself from prying eyes after he got undressed to get into the bath. Pain shoots through his chest with every ragged breath he drags into his lungs, and — much like he had after killing Cazador — he finds himself feeling the urge to scream again.

“Astarion, my love, can you hear me?”

The voice that woke him grabs his attention again, as something soft gets draped over his shoulders, covering him more completely than the towel he has a death grip on. He tries to answer her — tries to answer his Miz’ri, to nod and lie that he’s alright — but all that comes out is a sob as his scars begin to burn, nerve endings still caught in a memory even as his mind has returned to the present.

“I — I can’t — I can’t breathe,” he gasps, sobbing into the hardwood as he presses his forehead to the ground. “I can’t breathe, Miz’ri, I’m — Am I dying? I can’t —”

Gentle, familiar fingers run up his spine. “You’re having a panic attack, I think.”

He tries to laugh, but through his gasping breaths, it sounds barely different from a sob. “For what? I’m free. I should — I should — I —“

“Trauma isn’t so simple, love,” she says, voice a low, soothing murmur against the roaring of his breathing in his ears. “Your body has finally left survival mode, and now it’s time to feel what you haven’t been allowed to feel.”

He snorts, or he tries to, and her hand makes another gentle pass over his back.

A minute or two must pass in which he just gasps for air like a fish on land — pathetic and desperate, clearly not helping because the room still spins and his ears begin to ring — before she speaks again.

“Can I have one of your hands, love?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that without making a fool of himself, so he just forces his body to uncurl enough that he can shove one hand toward her blindly. She catches his wrist — and guides his palm to the center of her chest, flat against her sternum.

“Can you feel the beating of my heart?” she asks softly. He nods, turning his head a bit to try and look up at her. She smiles at him sadly when their eyes meet, squeezing his wrist. “Focus on it. Match my breathing as best you can. In and out. Slow and even.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Her chest rises and falls to a similar, steady, easy rhythm. She takes deeper breaths than she might normally when resting, but the measured length between inhale and exhale is easy to follow. It’s not long before his breathing has calmed, and he feels in control enough to sit up, clutching the blanket around his shoulders as he does.

Exhaustion tugs at his frame as he leans against the side of the tub. It has been a very long day, and he can feel every second of it weighing down on him like stone.

"...can I help you?"

Her voice brings his gaze, which had been fixed unseeingly on the other side of the room, back to her face. She smiles sweetly when their eyes meet, shifting closer to brush some of his hair away from his forehead.

"You helped me," she says, hand making another pass when his eyelids flutter at the touch, "when my scars started to open up after the tadpole incident. I'd only be repaying you that kindness, helping you wash the blood off."

It's not an equivalent transaction, he wants to point out, but the idea is starting to look more and more ideal to him the longer they sit. Her hand smooths over his forehead in a rhythm now as she curls up next to him, and he realizes that perhaps the sweet familiarity of her touch might help keep him grounded in reality and fight away the worst of the memories that try to claw their way back to the surface.

It's that thought that has him nodding, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as she presses a kiss to his temple before helping him up and into the tub (after reactivating one of the warming runes). The warmth of the water makes him groan as he sinks into it, seeping into his muscles and sapping away the aches of the day.

A tiny part of him balks at the idea of needing this much help as Miz'ri starts to run a rag over his arms. That part of him that is terrified of relying on others, of needing anyone for anything, screams at him to pull away, to send her away and finish the bath himself. It's quickly drowned out by a much louder part of him that is melting under his lover's touch, especially as she trails a small line of kisses up his arm when it's free of blood. She repeats this for the rest of his upper torso — kisses for his hands and his arms, for the top of his spine and each shoulder, for the space behind each ear. By the time she turns her attention to his hair, he's smiling softly to himself, eyes closed as her fingers scratch and scrub, massaging the soap into his curls until he has all but melted against her.

It's such a simple thing, helping him bathe. He's not sure why, as she lathers another set of oils into his hair, it's making his throat tight. Not sure why his eyes start to sting with newly unshed tears as her hand smooths over his forehead, brushing any suds away from his eyes in a move so gentle and sweet that any question of her intention — any question of how she might feel about him — is abruptly brought to an end.

As she rinses his hair a final time, he tries to pretend like he isn't crying. Tries to pretend like tears haven't been streaming down his cheeks for a few moments now — but he should have known they wouldn't have escaped her notice. Not with her so close to his face.

He braces himself for the questions, or the comments at least, but all she does is return his head to the pillow of her shoulder (getting her shirt damp, no doubt) as she brushes gently at the tears before pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

"I've got you," she breathes.

As he turns his head to find her lips with his, he realizes that he believes her.

And later tonight, hopefully, he will be able to tell her exactly how much that means to him. How much she means to him.

Whatever comes next, he doesn't want this to end — and hopefully, neither does she.

[writtenonreceipts]

Ao3 Link // Part One

HA! I can’t do anything right.  Let’s pretend it was always spring/summer that the story was happening in, not winter.  Like why did I say winter in pt 1?  I feel like I knew that weddings in the regency/Victorian era were most always in spring/summer…Anyways here’s part 2.

And in true written fashion—we’re gonna need at least one other part to finish us off.  I’m sorry.  Really.  I’m posting this one before Rowaelin Month kicks off and then I’ll try and have it finished up in October.

Warnings: bits of abusive parents, mild violence, steam. ~7k words

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home

She was seventeen and still subject to the whims of her mother.  Two weeks after the chilly dip in the stream and Elain was confined to the house.  Because, really Elain how could you be so foolish as to do a thing like that?  And in front of the duke’s son, no less.

It was just as well, she supposed.  She caught a bit of a fever by the following day and needed all the rest and tea possible to get her on the mend.

Nesta at least wasn’t quite so clipped in her admonishments.

“I thought you knew to be more careful than to get thrown in the river,” Nesta commented blandly as she arranged a new tea service on the small table in Elain’s bed chamber.  For once, the eldest Archeron daughter didn’t sneer away from mundane tasks.

“It was a stream and I am fine,” Elain replied.  She didn’t look up from her cross-stitching as Nesta settled into pouring tea and preparing their cups.

She really hadn’t meant to fall but no one seemed to care beyond the fact that she, delicate Elain, had gotten soaked to the bone and was now ill.  Oh, Mother wouldn’t let her hear the end of this. 

“Are you?” Nesta asked.  She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows, her hair swept into an elegant coronet of braids.  Her coming out had been a smash and she’d already had many a suitor.  Yet…Elain could tell there was something weighing on her sister’s mind.  Just eighteen and Nesta seemed to carry a far too heavy load then most and Elain had no idea what it was.

“Yes.” Elain punctuated the word by casting aside her stitching and taking a cup of tea. “It’s merely a chill.  I shall be fine by the morrow.”

“You sound like a toad and look like a drunkard rolling in from the bar.”

“Nesta!”  Elain tried, and mostly failed, in hiding a smile.

Nesta merely rolled her eyes and sipped her own tea.  “Well, so long as you say you’re fine and don’t lie to me, I’ll believe you.”  She paused before continuing then nodded to Elain’s bed. “Why do you have a man’s coat lying about, sister?”

“Oh!” Elain nearly scalded her tongue.  She hurriedly set her cup down, and tried not to spit up hot tea. “It’s nothing!  Lord Lucien was kind enough to offer his jacket after resc—helping me.  I’ve yet to return it.”

“I can have Clare clean it up and send it over with an errand boy,” Nesta said.  She was already rising to the servant’s bell as though to do just that.

“No, no.”  Elain reached out and tugged at her sister’s sleeve before she got very far. “Don’t worry yourself.  It’s just a coat.  I’m sure the lordling has plenty more to use.”

Nesta eyed her with mild confusion.  But then she shrugged and plopped back in her seat.  “Fine.  Save’s me from having to do anything.”

Elain sat back and let her sister talk about the -ton and all the scheming of the other mama’s and daughters and how one way or anything she would have no part in it.  As Nesta continued on, Elain found her mind beginning to wander back to the simple green coat the rested on her bed and the strange little flutter it caused deep within her chest.

.*.*.

Evidently, her wedding was to be a grand affair, the talk of the entire -ton.  Once, Elain would have been elated.  Once she would have reveled in her mother’s praise and the expenses being rained down upon her.  Once she would have taken it all in great pride.  She was the daughter to make her parents happy and allow their grand dreams to come true.

But as she waded through fittings and talks of florals and guests and food—Elain was focused on something else entirely.

Lucien’s mouth.

It was strange really, to think about a man’s mouth such as she was.  There’d only been one other man she’d been interested in kissing and that had not ended well at all.  Since, she’d never been interested in kissing another. 

Lucien Vanserra threatened her resolve with only the briefest of interactions.  Him and his stupid smirk, his full lips, and that insufferable way he said her name.  Elain.  As though it were his duty to pronounce each individual syllable with the utmost care and precision.

If it wasn’t his mouth, it was his hands.

This probably was not what one friend thought about the other regularly.

She was not a very friend.

“Elain, darling, you must pay attention!”

Drat.

Elain looked up from her tea to find her mother and Lady Vanserra herself eyeing her.  Mother of course was very close to loosing her control and saying something unbecoming.  Lady Vanserra however had a genuine smile of conciliation.  She always did seem like a wonderous woman.

“I beg your pardon,” Elain murmured.  She straightened her posture and recrossed her ankles.  “There is just so much to think about right now.”

“It’s your wedding,” Lady Vanserra said.  She reached over and patted Elain’s knee. “Of course you’ve got plenty on your mind.  There’s so much to think about and worry over.”

Mother looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon, but she was a lady so she held her tongue.  A true miracle if Elain had ever seen one.

“Thank-you,” Elain said with sincerity.  She offered her future mother-in-law a small smile, even as her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of being caught lost in her own thoughts.

“Yes, well,” Mother said tightly, “we still need a decision on your bouquet.  Now we know there won’t be sunflowers, but I thought—”

“What?” Elain blurted. “There needs to be sunflowers.”

Mother’s nose crinkled. “Oh, there so strange, Elain.  Truly, the daisies and orange blossom will do nicely.  They’re far more elegant.  I know Lady Doyle keeps a remarkable garden of her own.  I’m sure she would be more than willing to—”

“I would prefer sunflowers, mother.”  It was the first time that Elain could remember ever being so firm in speaking to her mother.  Truly, she never raised her voice or spoke out of turn.  Not even when she wanted to most.  And now that she was, Elain could feel a new wave of horror wash over her at the reality of what it meant.

Her mother’s silver eyes flashed in warning.  Her mouth thinned impossibly and Elain wondered if her teacup would shatter from how tightly it was held.

“Sunflowers,” Lady Vanserra said, voice soft as the folds of her gown, “are lovely.  Margot, let me and my house prepare the bridal bouquet and other florals, please.  You’ve already offered up so much.”

Elain didn’t think she was breathing.  Not with the way her entire body seemed to contract and retract and her heart beat an entirely new tempo.  She kept her eyes trained on her mother, chin firm mouth set.  When finally her mother looked away Elain felt only a bit of relief.  But wondered if she’d truly won any sort of battle.

“That would be delightful, Dierdre,” Mother said.  Her ire, for the time being, had gone and Elain managed a deep, calming breath.

.*.*.

Dawn rose bright and warm on the day of the wedding.  It was a good sign.  A welcome sign.  Many ladies faced woeful downpours during these early months of spring, many forced to postpone parties and honeymoons because the roads grew too muddy in some stretches between cities.  Not today.

Pale blue sky stretched for miles without even a whisper of cloud to interrupt it.  That combined with the thriving green laughs, full trees, and vibrant flower bushes of the Archeron gardens—it truly was a beautiful day for a wedding.

And yet, Elain’s stomach churned with anxiety.

She rose far before her lady’s maid came to collect her and was found seated before the bay windows that opened over the back gardens.  It was usually her favorite place to sit and reflect.  She could spend hours there as the morning passed in lazy fervor.

Never again.

The door of her room burst open without warning, nearly sending Elain to floor in a panic.  She should have known her mother would come and make such an entrance.

“Are you not up?  Elain, we don’t have long to prepare you for the wedding.”  Mother swept through the room with various maids flowing after carrying fabrics, cosmetics, and other such items.

They in fact had hours yet to prepare meant nothing to a mama when her daughter was set to marry the son of a duke.

“It’s still early—” Elain wanted her mother to see reason and just give her a moment longer to herself.  It was in vain and soon enough, Elain was thrust into a heated tub and was scrubbed down with salts and oils and pumice stones.  She would be radiant if it was the last thing Mother did.

After bathing, her hair was taken over by brushes and pins.  The curls could get rather unruly, even when wet.  It didn’t help that mother hated Elain’s hair as it was.  Thankfully Nuala took over on styling her hair while her mother focused on the dress.

Elain hadn’t had time to appreciate the gown during all the visits with the seamstress.  She’d been too nervous over her upcoming nuptials that she hadn’t paid attention to any of the details.  Which, she supposed, she should be upset over.  She’d thought about her wedding often as a girl and young woman.  She’d planned every detail in her own might, straight to the point of what design her shoes would be.  This was supposed to be a remarkable day.

But as she had lotions applied to her skin and powders pressed to her nose, Elain felt like a stranger in her own body.  None of this was the way she pictured it.

“Where are Nesta and Feyre?” Elain finally asked her mother.  Maybe with her sisters present, some of her trepidation would ease.

Her mother waved a hand dismissively.  “They don’t need to be here.”

“They are to stand with me, are they not?” Elain asked.  Maybe if Nesta were here Elain could glean some of her sister’s iron will and feel even a modicum of strength.

“Your sisters are hardly worthy examples of virtue, Elain,” Mother said.  She pulled Elain from the vanity and into the center of the room, stripping the dressing gown Elain’s shoulders without any warning. “Now come along, step into the dress, we need to ensure there aren’t any last-minute adjustments.”

Elain bit down hard on her tongue.  Maybe once she was married, she needn’t be around her mother so much.  She could send for her sisters as often as she liked.  She could have a house to herself and a strange sort of friendship with her husband and child—no children.  That wouldn’t be an option, would it?  Lucien wouldn’t be under pressure to bare an heir.  Not when he still had four remaining brothers.  Besides, they were just friends.

“Arms, Elain!”

Elain lifted her arms for her gown’s sleeves. 

Well, she could still have a fulfilling life, couldn’t she?  She didn’t need children.  Nesta may have a child and Feyre was still unwed.  And she could always have her other hobbies, Lucien seemed amendable in that regard.  She could bake, she could garden, she could host scores of her own parties.

“Elain, could you at least try to appear amiable?”

Wrenched from her thoughts, Elain lifted her chin and plastered a comfortable smile on her face.  She was dressed in a pale gown of lilac and lace, the sleeves long as they flowed to her wrists.  The waist line cinched in a daring way against her ribs and the corset was tight enough to create the illusion of a full bust.  Elain turned to the mirrors that had been brought in for this exact moment.

She did her best to keep her smile in place, but she just couldn’t make it reach her eyes.  Her hair was twisted up and out of the way pinned with gold and orange blossoms.  And while a lovely style, Elain wished her hair could have at least hung a little bit so she could feel a touch more like herself.  The gown itself was beautiful and complimented her pale skin and slim figure.  At least her mother insisted on keeping with the fashions.

And yet…and yet…Elain felt nothing like herself.

“You really must smile better then that, Elain.”  Mother tutted and continued to move about as she straightened none existent lines and plucked invisible bits of lint from the dress.

“Yes, ma’am.”  And she did smile then, that practiced one that mama always said made her pretty.

She smiled as her lady’s maid applied a final round of blush to her cheeks.  She smiled as her mother pinned a necklace of sapphires to her neck (hardly Elain’s first choice).  She even smiled as rose water splashed against her wrists and she was ushed from her room for what would certainly be the last time.

No matter how badly she wished it—time would not slow down.  Not even as Mother ushered her through the house and to the waiting.  Not even as Mother barely explained what would happen during the wedding night consummation.  Not even as the chapel came closer and closer.

Time was a thief, Elain supposed.  Plucking memories straight from your mind and burying them deeper until they were barely whisps behind your eyes. It was thief and she a mere victim.

By the time the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the chapel, Elain was in a fit of worry.  She was certain the rose water had worn off thanks to an unholy amount of sweat shimmering against her skin.  That would be blamed on the unnatural heat of the day.

As a footman helped her mother down from the carriage, Elain nearly slammed the door shut again and yelled from the driver to hurry on and get as far away from here as he could manage.

It was to no avail because her father, having arrived earlier with the guests, was already reaching in for her.  As if someone else were taking over her body, Elain accepted the outstretched hand and stepped into full daylight.

She would have thrown up, right there on the church steps, if her eyes hadn’t caught on the flowers.  Vibrant and colorful, the steps of the church were lined with intricate displays of flowers.  Foxglove and marigolds.  Pansies and dahlias.  Lilac and sunflowers.  The sunflowers.  Elain had to stop and stare at the incredible sight of them all.  Their bright yellow petals wove in and out of the various floral arrangements.  It was beautiful.

Elain very nearly burst into tears as the sight.  She was so caught up in it that she almost missed Nesta who had been waiting along the steps of the church as well.  In her arms she held a simple bouquet of sunflowers and greenery.

“Lady Vanserra insisted this be for you,” Nesta said.  Her mouth barely upturned into a knowing smile.

Elain accepted the flowers, not trusting herself to speak.

Nesta wore a simple gown of pale yellow with her hair in its usual twisting braids.  As always, she looked lovely and elegant, perfectly poised for what was about to come.  Elain had a feeling she was supposed to be waiting inside, but was immensely grateful her sister had disobeyed their mother for this.

“Mother, shall we walk together?” Nesta asked, with all the innocence of a viper. “Feyre is already at the front and the groom seems very eager to see his bride.”

There was no other choice then to follow through on the suggestion (that really wasn’t a suggestion at all).  Mother and Nesta climbed the chapel steps and through the waiting doors.

That, at least, was a relief.  Elain didn’t think she’d be able to walk down the aisle if her mother were at her side yammering the entire way.  Her mother had all her expectations lined up in a perfect little row for Elain to follow through on.  Her father, however, did not.  Oh, he had his own expectations but he kept those quiet and to himself.  It was far easier to ignore his judgements that way.

Elain only had time for a single, steadying breath before her father reached out for her arm and tucked it against his.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “For all of us.”

How was she to respond to that?  Was it right to foist her down the aisle to a man she barely knew?  Was it right to ignore her own wishes because he had made mistakes?  Was it right to place this duty upon her shoulders and expect her to make things right in a world that looked down upon her sex with suck ilk and ire?

Elain sucked in a breath, the sweet aroma of the flowers calming her unease.  Lady Vanserra had outdone herself.  With the beautiful arrangements, the sheer amount of flowers, and the simple sunflowers that sang their bright joy on an otherwise bothersome day.

Everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?  The flowers had to be a good omen.

Father prodded her along the steps, up and up and up.

And the sun was shining.  Elain loved the sun.

The doors of the chapel were thrown open wide. 

And Lucien wasn’t terrible, was he?

Cedar oil mixed with incense cloyed through the chapel and Elain had to stop to draw in a full breath.  Even when her father very nearly dragged her along to the start of the aisle.  Her heart was beat heavily in her chest that Elain could feel her blood actually moving through her veins.  She could feel each of her pulse points practically on fire.  It didn’t help that her head pounded just as hard. 

There was no escape, was there?  No where to run.  No where to hide.

And while Elain was quite skilled at fading away and letting other dote upon her, skilled at ignoring a problem that was annoying and otherwise uninteresting, skilled at being nothing more than Elain—she did not, could not, let that define her now.

The soft chatter of voices came to a pause as Elain and her father approached the top of the aisle.  She couldn’t make out anything other than the thin strip of blue carpet that led all the way to the front where the priest waited—rather impatiently.  But she glazed right over that because beside the old man with his stiff cravat was Lucien.

Lucien stood tall and proud, his dark suit fitting him well.  His red hair was swept out of his face, leaving his high cheekbones and sharp eyes on display.  The sight nearly drew Elain to a stop.  His eyes were only for her as she began to walk down the aisle. 

Father set a quick pace down the aisle; far quicker then what Elain wanted.  If she tried to slow down herself, she was sure he’d drag her to the alter, appearances be damned.

So Elain did the only thing she could—she kept her eyes trained on Lucien.  She didn’t know what drew her to him.  He represented nearly everything she dreaded.  She’d thought so many times about what her future would hold and the shape it would take.  She’d always known she would marry, always known her life would lead to this point.

But when it was by the forceful hand of her father, when she didn’t have a say in who her life would be entrusted—everything inside her wanted to rebel.  Even though it had only been a scant month between the marriage announcement and the actual wedding (Mother would only keep up appearances where it mattered), Elain found that every thought she’d had for her future dried up like an un-watered garden in the summer months.

Lucien remained steady before her.

It was strange because she still felt a simmering rage towards Lucien for this entire mess.  And his stupid mouth.  But she couldn’t help and also remember the kindness he’d shown by offering to be her friend.  A small offer that allowed her a modicum of peace for this betrothment.  The warring emotions didn’t help calm her raging heart nor her flipping stomach.  In fact, they made it impossible to even walk in a straight line.

If it weren’t for the hard certainty in Lucien’s gaze or the firm set of his jaw, Elain may have tested her father’s grip.  As it was, she remained focused on Lucien’s calm nature.  He was holding himself together remarkably well.  Elain wondered if he were dreading this as much as she was.  He’d flirted and teased her enough while stuffed in that closet that she didn’t think she knew what the real him was like.  Would she ever know him?

Before she had time to even digest that thought, she was standing right before him.  Numb, Elain let her father pass her hand off to Lucien whose fingers interlaced almost perfectly with hers.  It was such an intimate touch that Elain felt heat creep up her skin, replacing the cold dread of just a moment before.

She looked up into Lucien’s eyes as he studied her.  It was just a moment, a singular moment that was just theirs.  Her father had retreated and the priest yet to speak.  And in that moment, everything else faded to nothing.

“What would you ask of me, as your friend?”

“To trust me, to talk to me.” 

His words from that night weeks ago echoed in her head and Elain let herself imagine that everything would work out in the end.  She gave his hand a single squeeze and then turned to the priest who waited impassively.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest said, voice raised as if he could reach the heavens.

Elain didn’t listen.  At least…she tried.  But the longer he spoke, the faster the blood in her ears pounded and lighter her head felt.  Truly, all she could focus on was the steady feel of Lucien’s hand in hers.  So big and warm she almost couldn’t understand it.  And there was the scrape of calluses that she finally realized couldn’t have been there because a duke’s son did not work with his hands.  His skin should have been smooth, soft, unblemished.  Yet here he was with a rough patch on his thumb that moves in slow circles on the back of her hand.

It was so distracting that Elain almost missed the prompt from the priest to accept her marriage vows.

“I do.” She could only speak in a mere whisper.  And truth be told, she was surprised anything came out to begin with.

As the priest reiterated the marriage vows to Lucien, Elain finally managed to raise her gaze to him.  He was already watching her, his russet eyes bright in the pale light that filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the chapel.  She’d never known a pair of eyes could hold such care or tenderness, never known it to be directed to her.

“I do.” Lucien replied to words Elain had long stopped trying to listen to.

“Then with a kiss shall this marriage be sealed and your lives entwined till death.” The priest retreated only a step, proffering a faux taste of modesty.

Elain wondered briefly if she should have let herself think about Lucien’s lips just a little bit.  Especially considering he was moving toward her now, one hand already reaching out to cup her chin while the other moved from her hand to her elbow.

As Lucien dipped closer, Elain took a sharp breath.  He smelled of cinnamon and sunshine, intoxicating to her as she found she couldn’t take a normal breath to save her life.

“Breathe, Elain,” Lucien whispered just for her. “it’ll be over before you know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him.  It wasn’t a silly little kiss she was worried about.  Everything that came after was a different story.

She never got the chance to say anything as Lucien took the opportunity to kiss her.

It was utterly chaste and hardly scandalous, but Elain could feel it pierce against her very soul.  It was in the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the feel of his fingers brushing against her chin.  She’d never been kissed like that before.  All her dalliances with Graysen Nolan were wet and quick and more for his benefit than hers.  This was something else entirely and it set her heart fluttering with unmanageable energy.

Thankfully, Lucien was able to keep himself composed as he was able to pull himself away, all the while maintaining graceful composure.  He grinned down at her, as if knowing what all was going on through her head.

“See?  Not so bad.”

“You’re an ass,” she hissed, utterly forgetting they were in a chapel.

If possible, his stupid smile stretched even wider at her irreverence.  He tugged her hand to lead them down the aisle.  Elain had never been more grateful for the ridiculous superstition of the bride and groom not acknowledging their guests until outside of the church.  With any luck her mother would be so hard pressed to send them on their honeymoon (for the sole act of baby-making) that Elain wouldn’t have to see any of them again for at least a month.  Maybe two if she was lucky.

They passed through the tall oak doors and into the bright spring sunlight.  Elain had never felt happier to be outside and in the open air as she did in that moment.

“Never a good sign that your bride is desperate to get outside, eh?” a chipper, rather proud voice, spoke up from the behind them.  Elain nearly screamed, she hadn’t expected anyone to be so close behind them.  But she turned to find it only to be Jurian Renault, Lucien’s best man.  The man, one of the most decorated officers in England, grinned broadly as he dashed a hand through his thick brown hair.

“Jurian,” Lucien said, with a bit of resignation accompanied by an eye roll.  But Elain didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched in amusement. “And where is your better half?  I’d have liked her up there with me more than you.”

Hardly offended, Jurian merely sighed. “Alas, my darling counterpart is unwell this morning.  But she sends her congratulations and will be more than happy to offer the summer manor for your honeymoon, should you need the accommodations.”

If Lucien was as shocked as she was by the offer, he made no notice, only looked down at Elain with a raised brow.  He was deferring to her?

“It would be nice to get out of London,” she said slowly, hoping to sound more diplomatic that she was feeling.  She would run halfway across the world if it got her away from her mother for a time.

Lucien squeezed her hand in understanding.  He nodded once and looked back to his friend. “The quiet would do us both well.”

“You would find no better place,” Jurian assured her.  He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the wedding party and guests finally emerged from the church. “I’ll send word to the house keeper to begin preparations for your arrival.”

It was all he had time to say before Elain was swept into a hug by Feyre (it was rather undignified a reaction and Mama made sure to make it known).  Elain wouldn’t let the moment be ruined, however.  She returned her sister’s embrace as tightly as she could.  They were soon joined by Nesta who, much to Elain’s surprise had tears in her eyes.  She couldn’t remember ever seeing her sister cry.

“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Nesta said fiercely.  And Elain was inclined to believe her.

.*.*.*.

Much to Elain’s delight, Lucien managed to usher them on their honeymoon not long after that.  Jurian and Vassa’s summer manor was a day’s ride away, meaning they would need plenty of time to get their reasonably.  They would end up spending a night at an inn all the same, but Elain could have kissed Lucien all over again for getting them out of the city as quickly as he had.

Her sisters had seen to collecting and packing her things, most of which would be delivered to her new home with Lucien.  It would only be a small cottage near the duke’s home, but it would be well enough for Elain.  So long as it put distance between her own family.

But she wouldn’t worry about any of that for a blessed month. 

Even though the carriage, provided them by the duke and duchess, had just barely left the main roads of the city, Elain found herself plastered to the window watching the change in scenery.  The large buildings and homes bled away into sweeping hills and fields of grass.  The actual road was still in decent enough condition that the ride was smooth and even.  It afforded her the peace of a settled stomach as the world swept by.

“Have you never come this way?” Lucien asked from his seat across from her.

Elain settled back, straightening her skirts.  Here she was acting like an over eager child.  She needed to show grace, decorum. 

“Only once when I was a child,” she said, “my aunt lives out here, I believe we’ve passed her road.  But it’s been sometime since I’ve traveled.”

She couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice.  She loved to travel.  At least, she expected she would.  Her limited exposure to the world had only sustained that to her.  Meeting new people, experiencing new customs, seeing the beauty of new lands—it all sounded magical and wonderful.

“Hmm,” was all Lucien said.  Though, he still watched her closely.

It was the first time they’d been alone together since the broom closet debacle and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to act.  He was her husband who was supposed to be her friend and not her husband.  Their relationship would take some time to sort out and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic herself.  She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him at all.

“Don’t you enjoy travel?” she asked, because that’s what a good friend did.  A good friend was concerned and involved and knowledgeable of their person.  “I’ve heard you did quite a bit of it.”

Lucien stretched out of his side of the carriage, his long legs bumping against hers but he made no effort to change his posture.  He looked so utterly relaxed that Elain didn’t know what to make of it.  He’d always been so meticulously put together, so at ease with life around him.  Yet here he was now with a slightly rumpled appearance and casual.

“I have,” he agreed, “my father needed someone to represent our house and since I couldn’t serve in the military, that’s wear I fell in.” A wry smile flashed across his handsome face. “It was never to places I would have liked, unfortunately.”

There was hidden meaning in his words that Elain couldn’t quite decipher.  She’d been witness to these offhanded remarks before, silently questioned them.

“Well, then we will need to some travelling of our own,” Elain said.

“Will we?” Another raise of his brow.

Elain felt a rush of heat to her cheeks.  She’d misspoken, it seemed.  Or she just spoke of things she needn’t have.  Or been too presumptuous.

“Well we’re newlyweds,” she replied as if that was a good response.  “We’re afforded our liberties.  Besides, it’ll keep us away from prying eyes.”

She was thinking exclusively of her mother but really the entire -ton could be included in that.  As soon as they returned, she knew there would be a bid out for whether she was pregnant or not.  A thought that both terrified and upset her.

“What is it?” Lucien asked.

Elain snapped her eyes back to his face unaware her gaze had wandered.  Nor that her brow had furrowed so thoroughly.

“Pardon?” She straightened, sitting up straighter, clasping her hands, and smoothing any doubt or frustration from her expression.

Lucien leaned forward; elbows braced on his knees.  He regarded her with a mute expression. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not,” she said primly, smoothing her skirts again.

“Liar,” he said.

Elain gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“You are outright lying to me, my lady,” he said, shaking his head morosely.  “Not even a day in to our marriage and my wife doesn’t trust me.”

My wife.

Elain nearly shivered at the words.  Which was a ridiculous reaction to have.  Heavens above.

“I don’t even know your middle name,” she replied, “how can I trust someone if I don’t know that, at least?”

His stoic façade splintered as he grinned.  She did like when he smiled like that.

“I don’t know yours.  So I believe we are at an impasse.”

He was taunting her. 

“Ah, but see, you’re the one who convinced me to take part in this arrangement, which means you owe me.”

Elain found herself leaning closer to him with each word.  She couldn’t necessarily help it, being drawn to him.  There was something about him that she couldn’t shake, an itch she couldn’t scratch.  Being close certainly helped.  But by this point she was impossibly close.  Close enough that she could see the outlines of his scars and the way the faded into his skin.  She could see the golden flecks of his eyes that melted into rich brown.

“I owe you?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Lucien only shook his head, that infuriating smile remaining on his lips.

The rest of the carriage ride passed by slowly, not that Elain minded.  She loved watching the world pass by, loved seeing the way the terrain rolled together, loved the way the sky faded from blue to a hazy gold and flushed pinked.

It was only then that she remembered they would be stopping for the night at an inn.  Her heartbeat kicked up and she felt her body flood with heat and then an icy chill.  She knew what the wedding night was about and what to expect, but she and Lucien hadn’t discussed that.  They were friends.  Friends.

“It looks like we’re pulling into the inn now,” Lucien spoke up.  He paused a moment and then, as though reading her thoughts, continued to speak.  “I’m sure we can arrange for two rooms.”

Yes.  No.  Before Elain could think of a proper response the carriage rolled to a stop before the inn.  A footman hopped down from his perch almost instantly to open the door. 

Cool night air filtered inside the carriage, reminding Elain just how chill the season could still be.  She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as Lucien exited.  He reached back with a proffered hand to help Elain in her decent.  She accepted, grasping his fingers in what would be the first time they’d touched since the wedding.  Lucien waited until he was sure she was grounded before release her hand and instructing the footman and driver of their duties for the evening. 

Just behind, another carriage approached, this one filled with their belongings and their respective servants. 

“I’ll make sure your room is ready and have dinner sent up,” Lucien told her.  He kept her hand tight in his grasp drawing her closer to his side.  She had to admit that she didn’t quite mind the protective nature.  Not right now at least.

“Thank-you,” Elain said.  She didn’t let him pull away either.  Not until they’d entered the inn and the keeper’s wife immediately swept Elain of with her.

Elain cast a single glance over her shoulder to find Lucien watch her as she departed.  She’d told herself that she wasn’t going to look back, told herself she didn’t need to.  But she did all the same, her breath catching at the soft look in his gaze.

She stomped down the feelings that rose in her chest, hard.  She did not need to feel things for him.  Especially not when they were still figuring out who they were to one another.  Married or not, friends or not, they still didn’t know each other.

The innkeeper’s wife led Elain and her lady’s maid upstairs to a room.  For once, Elain was grateful for her husband’s reputation and status as a duke’s son, it allowed a bit of an expedited process to get a room.

The room in question was a modest size, but not small by any means.  It boasted a spacious area with a large bed and fireplace already crackling happily.  A smaller doorway led to where a wash bin and the chamber pot were kept.  A footman dropped one of Elain’s trunks at the end of the bed before bowing out.  Immediately, her maid set to readying her night clothes.

“My lady,” Nuala said, voice chipper as it always way, “I can prepare a bath if you’d like before Lord Vanserra—”

“No,” Elain said quickly.  “It’s been a long day, just getting ready for bed is enough.”

She ignored the way her skin flushed and the sudden heat that washed over her.  She didn’t want to think at all about what her wedding night was supposed to be.  All she wanted was to get in her nightgown and go to bed and put this day behind her.

Nuala was just beginning to plait her hair for bed when there was a soft knock at the door.

Elain froze in her seat before the vanity.  Nuala gave her a significant look through the mirror, which she promptly ignored.  Instead, Elain tied off the braid herself and stood, running her hands down her nightdress.  It wasn’t scandalous by any means, a simple silk thing with lace hems.  She hadn’t even bothered to get anything nicer. 

“Enter,” Elain said.  At least her voice didn’t warble.  She tugged on her robe for good measure as she stood in the center of the room.  Nuala cleaned the vanity and tucked her dress away without a sound.

The door opened to Lucien.  He didn’t enter the room completely, only remained in the doorway.

“Lady Vanserra,” he said, telling her his own valet was with him as well. “It seems the inn is limited on rooms.”

It took a long stretch of silence before Elain grasped his meaning.

“Of course,” she said, “come in. I’ve finished my preparations.”

The door opened a bit wider and Lucien entered, his valet and a footman behind him.  The valet held a tray of food and the footman one of Lucien’s own trunk.  While the footman left immediately, the valet remained.  He held on to the tray, standing dutifully out of the way.

“Set the tray on the bed,” Elain instructed him.  “The washroom is available for Lord Vanserra to make his own preparations.  Nuala, you’re dismissed, go get some rest.”

Both servants obeyed with efficiency.  The valet extracting a few of Lucien’s items to take to the washroom. 

With perhaps five minutes to herself, Elain sat on the bed and grabbed a bowl of stew and roll that were waiting for her.  It was a simple meal; the stew had thick chunks of beef and potatoes, the roll light and buttery.  Her mother would have turned her nose to such a meal served in such a way, but Elain quite enjoyed it.

She wondered if she could finish and move the tray from the vanity and slip into bed to pretend she was asleep.  She barely ran through that checklist before the washroom door opened again.  Shame, she would have liked to avoid anymore awkward interactions that night.

Lucien dismissed his valet and when the door clicked shut, he released a long sigh.

“Tired?” Elain asked.  The question slipped out before she could stop it.  She didn’t know why it felt so strange asking him a question, so strange venturing into whatever this would be.

“It was a long day,” Lucien said, a wry smile twisting his lips.  He wore a loose linen night shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, nothing elaborate.  She didn’t know why she’d expect anything different.

“Well have a seat and eat something,” Elain told him. “You must be as hungry as I am.”

He paused a moment as if debating to himself what he wanted to do.  He came to some sort of conclusion before crossing to the opposite sit of the bed and taking a seat on the edge.  The bed sank beneath his weight.  When he took his own bowl of soup and roll, they fell into a companiable silence.

It did nothing to ease Elain’s anxiety.  Sure, when she was able to garden or bake and she could fall into a meditative state as she worked.  She liked having her thoughts to herself, liked being able to think about whatever she wanted.  But now, she felt a surge of energy building in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked, his bowl half drained in a matter of minutes. 

“Fine,” Elain murmured, “just tired.”

She tore a piece of her roll, nibbling it.  There was still plenty of space between them, she on her side of the bed and he on his. 

“If this is making you uncomfortable—” he began.

“Lucien,” she cut him off and smiled softly. “It’s fine.  I’m fine.”

When he set his finished bowl down, Elain thought that would be the end of it.  That he would clear the dishes and set the tray out in the hall for a maid to collect.  Instead, he reached over and took her hand in his.  Just like at their wedding, when their fingers touched, she felt a spark and gooseflesh pebbled on her skin.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

There was an earnestness in his eyes that had her heart squeezing.

“Of course,” she replied, doing her best to push against the rising heat in her cheeks.  She set her own bowl down and stuffed the remainder of her roll in her mouth before sweeping the tray up to take to the door herself.

She thought she’d managed to temper her emotions by the time she turned back around.  Only when she did, she found Lucien was looking at her with a small frown that clouded his features.  Elain wondered if she’d said something wrong or misspoke in some way.

“You,” he paused a moment, “I didn’t coerce you into something you did not want?”

“No, Lucien.” Her heart squeezed again, more painful this time as she thought on his words. “H-have I already been such a miserable friend you regret the offer?”

“No,” he said.  Again, he reached for her hand, this time pulling her closer until her knees bumped against the bed. “No regrets.”

She wondered, briefly, if he was lying to her.  Not that it would surprise her if he were.  They’d been friends barely a month, married less than a day—what reason did he have to trust her?

“If you would prefer, I can sleep on the floor,” he said, “let you have the bed.”

“Nonsense,” she said immediately, “you’re the son of a duke.  You’re not sleeping on the floor.  The bed is perfectly big enough for the both of us.”

Even if it would only be sleeping, she wouldn’t be alone in bed.  Not on her wedding night.

Lucien seemed reluctant to agree, but when Elain fixed him with a glare, he obliged and scooted to the other side of the bed.

With far more courage than she ever thought she could muster, Elain settled into bed beside him.

“We never did establish any rules, did we?” she asked, busying herself with flattening the wrinkles in the bedspread.

“Rules?” Lucien repeated.

“Of what—of how—” She bit her words off and stared forward into the fire at the opposite end of the room. “Of where we go from here.  I know there are expectations for us, for you.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s expectations,” he said, “we don’t have to define ourselves by anyone.  Least of all—”

He trailed off and Elain looked at him.

“Least of all?” she prodded.

“Nothing.”  Lucien turned down the oil lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a cold darkness, save the low burning fire. “Let’s sleep, Elain.”

Elain wasn’t pleased with his non-answer.  She kept looking at him in the darkness willing him to say something else, willing herself to work up the courage to speak up herself.  But nothing came out.  Hunkering down in bed, Elain turned on her side and closed her eyes to a dreamless sleep.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

out of curiosity, do you have any preferred headcanons for how tall the members of the Batfam are? who's the tallest to shortest?

listen I don't have exact measurements but I do have vibes. I'm going to say right out of the gate that I simply do not hold with DC artists and their habit of Russian nesting dolling the Robins so they're each a little bit shorter with age, it's a useful visual shorthand but it's also not my truth even if I sometimes agree with portions.

for instance: I do have to concede that Bruce needs to be the tallest of the Batboys in order to enable a lot of his whole schtick, especially your modern era Batmans who are built to be tanks as opposed to the sleeker, more acrobatically-oriented Batman of earlier ages. Batfleck honestly had a great build for it, 6'4 and built to loom.

on the other hand, I Know what male gymnasts look like and Dick came from a whole family of them; he doesn't need to be SHORT short but brother he is not the tallest Robin by any stretch. he's 5'8 if he's Lucky, likely shorter. and he's fine with it! he isn't insecure about being a compact king!

I strongly dislike the recent development towards drawing adult Jason as a brute, but I have long enjoyed the headcanon that he would have had a hard growth spurt after Bruce took him in and he didn't have to worry about food insecurity. he is absolutely taller than Dick but, HOT TAKE, I don't think he's a Lot taller. as Red Hood he's definitely exaggerating the difference with chunky boots + his stupid full-face mask for extra height, + his jacket and all his gear make him look taller and broader than Nightwing in his little skintight getup. out of costume they physically look much more similar.

I also super hate when Tim is drawn as a skinny short little waif, genuinely there's no reason for that. that's a little American rich boy who grew up on milk and white bread, there's no reason for him to look like he has Victorian urchin wasting disease. fuck this, Tim is taller than both Dick and Jason. same energy as the improv kid I went to high school with who was 5'11 but cool about it.

completing the circle and fully reversing the Robins, I know that other fans have pointed out that Damian's Asian heritage conspires against him being hugelarge as an adult, but genetics are a grab bag and I think he deserves to be Bruce-sized. adult Damian can pick Dick up and put him in the fridge if he wants. at present though his growth spurt is really taking its sweet time and he's hovering around Cass-height (see below).

Duke is hovering in a zone right between Jason and Tim but everyone forgets that and imagines him being taller because the little bat ears on his helmet give him a couple extra inches.

a lot of older comics, especially the Dixon run, frequently have Selina drawn like she's tall as all hell, and I honestly love that for her. 5'11, Megan Thee Stallion kind of build for her.

Cass is frequently drawn as tiny to an extent that is, frankly, implausible and borderline upsetting (if memory serves she literally got folded up and carried in a backpack once?) but listen: she's certainly not tall. I'm willing to offer her 5'3 as an absolute maximum. also literally no one asked but Michelle Yeoh is the Lady Shiva of my heart and shes 5'4, so that's canon To Me.

however tall Dick is in your head I want you to add one (1) inch and that's Barbara. this is so crucial to me.

Steph is like a deeply average 5'4 and a half, and I realize this Does mean that I've Russian nesting dolled the Batgirls (at least in order of appearance in comics, not the actual order they Batgirls) and I am Fine with that. throw Harper Row in here too, she and Steph are just chilling being average height gal pals.

Helena is freakishly tall by Italian woman standards, by which I mean like 5'7.

this is vile and I'm sorry to the Robins but unfortunately Jean Paul is a genetically engineered freak bred to kill so he's probably taller than all of them save for an adult Damian. 6'2 to my miserable boy. beginning to think I was lying when I said I didn't have exact numbers.

so I think in descending order the lineup I've created is Bruce, JP, Selina and Tim, Duke, Jason and Babs, Dick, Helena, Steph and Harper, Damian, Cass.

did I skip anyone vital you want to know about?

[devilsrecreation]

Some more stuff about the Croc leader!Nduli AU

adding onto this post

Unlike Canon Makuu and AU!Kiburi (and like Ucheshi in her au), Nduli was never necessarily “evil” when he first became the leader. He doesn’t do anything out of malice, he’s just really oblivious. Everything with the crocs that happened in Season 1 was Nduli misjudging the situation. The crocs taking over all the watering holes on the first day? Nduli was willing to share Big Springs, he just didn’t tell the others lmao. What happened in “Never Roar Again”? He was just trying to chill in the Flood Plains without Kion roaring at his friends. The incident at the flood plains? Uhh…I guess they’re just trying to eat but he didn’t wanna take Basi out! Honest! You get it. He thinks everything is fine but it…really isn’t, at least not at first

Have mentioned this before but I’ll say it again: The guard would TRY to reason with Nduli but it doesn’t work cuz his float are defending him for their lives. Kion tries to tell him off only to be met with the other crocs giving him and his friends death glares. Meanwhile Nduli’s just happily vibing like everything is fine lmao

Like in canon and all the other AU’s, the guard asks Pua if he could challenge Nduli to a mashindano, to which Pua is like “Yeah, I’m not doing that”. This is for two reasons

Pua knows he’s not as strong as he used to be due to his old age, so he points out the possibility that Nduli might beat him in a mashindano

He doesn’t have the heart to fight Nduli

Kiburi, Tamka, Neema, and Makuu are almost always with him. The only time they aren’t is during most of the “The Savannah Summit” episode. Even then, they would still make an appearance (i.e the “this is exactly why you’re in charge” quote from the first post)

Speaking of that episode, you just know Kion tries telling Simba about how Nduli may be up to something bad and Simba just looks at Nduli doing a frog blink and he’s like “Does he LOOK bad to you?”. Though imo I think the lesson of not jumping to conclusions fits better in this au than canon

Yk Nduli would either enjoy the “Everyone is Welcome” song or just not know wtf is happening but get into it anyway hfhtgd

Unlike in canon and other aus, Bupu doesn’t have the heart to try to fight Nduli. Argue, yes. But trying to stomp on him like he did with Makuu? Absolutely not. The one time Nduli actually gets annoyed is right when the guard steps in to stop him

Ig Twiga and Vruga Vruga would set the trap because they wanted to teach his FRIENDS a lesson but still feel super bad when Nduli almost falls into the trap instead

“Let Sleeping Crocs Lie” has a WAY more wholesome ending. Yes, the crocs still wake up and yes, Kiburi gets pissy about it, but Kiburi would NEVER challenge Nduli to a mashindano. Kiburi still goes against Nduli’s orders to try to take the water the float needs and they DO have a spat when Nduli brings up his idea but it’s less of a challenge and more like

Nduli: Then the mammals won’t get much water, that’s mean :(

Kiburi: If you got a better idea, then go for it

Nduli: Compromise on the watering hole

Kiburi: What?

Nduli: We’re compromising on our own watering hole so all the animals have enough water

Kiburi: Compromise? Since when is that the crocodile way?

Nduli: Please? 🥺

Kiburi: …. *sighs* I’m gonna regret this, but I can’t say no.

And what appears to be magical disney reasons, it actually works out well. Now Kiburi has to go reflect on the monster he almost became/hj

I think “The Little Guy” would play out the most differently in this au cuz I don’t think there would even BE a rival float lmao. Instead, Hodari would need to try to prove to Nduli that he can be a good (honorary) crocodile. Nduli’s still rejects him at first, albeit he’s nicer than his friends. I will admit, Nduli’s more confused than anything when Beshte introduces Hodari to him

Makuu and Kiburi still don’t like each other in the au but neither of them are willing to duke it out in front of Nduli for their leader’s sake. Nothing is worth upsetting him

Tamka and Neema are definitely still the same

Oh and Nduli still doesn’t like Thurston, so the entire float hates him now djhhehd

Nduli actually becomes a great leader. Maybe there’s a time where he orders his friends to stop disrespecting the circle of life and they immediately listen. They’re not gonna argue with him, it’s Nduli! He’s wonderful. He just wants everybody to be happy, who’s gonna fight that?

[boomgun]

Okay, I think the fandom is chilled out enough at this point to discuss in good faith and maturity how Edelgard has a tendency to rationalize working with people she hates while making enemies with people she likes/loves. I think this is a bad habit, but certainly one developed as a survival mechanism.

Just, imagine being Claude von Reigan staring at the Spare Or Kill bar over your head thinking "Duke Aegir gets house arrest and I get exile or execution??? Life is not fair." Or Dimitri thinking about how exile is not even an option for him, but Thales is still breathing. It is hilarious, in a tragic way.

Welcome to the Expanded Universe of Insane Edelgard Analysis where all of you who read my little analysis on Edelgard and Faith are going to get a completely inversed statement on Edelgard! So, to disclaimer, Edelgard is certainly more idealistic than cynical, although she would likely argue she is a realist (LOL), but she certainly has tendencies to dip into fatalism and such as. Edelgard thinks violence is inveitable, she sees a continent that Seiros reforged with violence, that was broken earlier by Nemesis's violence, and has been subverted by the violence of TWSITD and the nobility. Edelgard is willing to take up the tools of her enemies because she thinks this is the only way to play the game (how metatextual of her). She is driven by her ideals to win this game and make something better of it at the end, but it is still a grim reality to just accept as inevitable.

I think it boils down to Edelgard's dislike of losing control over things. Edelgard is working with people she hates, but they are people she has known for over half her life. She knows how they think, what makes them tick, what they want, all of that jazz. At this point, their naked self interest and penchant for atrocity do not surprise her (often, at least). Claude and Dimitri might seem like good people, Edelgard might be able to work with them, but in her mind her course was set years ago and she cannot go jeopardizing or even altering her plans on unknown variables. Edelgard does not know how they think, she often assumes the worst of them when they offer her any kind of laurel because assuming the worst has worked for her so far. This is not to say what she did was right, by the by, just to understand what she was thinking. Because "I will court the favour of Adrestia's nobility (who I hate) and secretly cooperate with TWSITD (who I hate even more), but I will not work with Claude or Dimitri (who annoy me sometimes, but are clearly not evil)" is a chain of thought that requires a complex answer and an interesting one at that. I think it is reasonable to say that not making an alliance with Claude or Dimitri (we are operating strictly with Three Houses, I adore Three Hopes, but what is going on there would make this all the more complicated) was a miscalculation, at least. A miscalculation that led to a continental war, but hey this is what they mean by the games of mice and men.

It is just so tragic, I think, that Edelgard was prepared for a world choked with evil, expected corruption and cruelty wherever she looked, and there was so much of it, but what she was unprepared for was a few sparks of good outside her own. If the odds were more against her, if Claude and Dimitri were not there, if there really was no one else willing to change Fódlan besides Edelgard, I think she might have had a better chance of victory than in the canon sequence of events. Edelgard really did not account for being in a Fire Emblem game where the power of friendship is real and it can kill your enemies (or you, if you make enemies of your friends). It is really funny, in a really heartbreaking way.

[andypantsx3]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Thank you to @itoshisoup @saetyrn9 and @seravphs for the tags!! I am late and so I apologize if I’ve missed any other tags while I was out!!

I want to say I think this is such a cute idea. I am very proud of how hard I’ve worked on my fics, and I am grateful for the chance to give my Andie director's cut lmfao even if I kind of wanted to curl up like a pill bug writing this.

Um, I think in no particular order, these are my top 5 recs of the moment:

Deceiving the Duke | Shouto x Reader

When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a lady’s maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

I am a huge fan of regency romances and I have incredible respect for them as massive drivers of the romance genre as a whole. So it sort of shocked me when I was talking to Mermie and Cat and we realized we hadn't seen any x Reader regency fics (although I am certain they are out there)!! As much as I love a good pro hero AU (my bread and butter), I really appreciated the chance to try my hand at something that's a little lesser explored in this niche. It's kind of messy in retrospect but I had so much fun working on it that I'll let past Andie off the hook for that.

2. ab intra | Shinsou x Reader

When a wave of disturbing crimes sweep the city, underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou is assigned to work the case with you. What’s even more frustrating than his obnoxious personality is the fact no one will tell you why he’s involved. Things only get more suspicious from there.

This fic was the first time I really sat down and tried my hand at a case fic. I was reading a bunch of Japanese police thrillers at the time, and although my attempt does not measure up, it gave me the tools to understand how to better execute on case fics in the future. Again I really liked trying my hand at something I'm not necessarily good at, because it was fun and I learned a lot. This is probably my most distinct out of all my fics in terms of tone and subject material!!

3. unconventional | Midoriya x Reader

HeroExpo is incredible, and that’s not even counting the really cute hero fanboy you just met. Well, you think he might be cute under that Deku cosplay. It’s hard to tell because it’s really, really good. Like, too good.

I was so nervous to try my hand at Izuku that I actually thought about not publishing this one several times. But this ended up being one of my all-time favorites to write and I get really nostalgic for the time of my life I was in while I was working on this. The fic was so light and fun and such a comfort to write, and to this day I am very touched by how kind people are about Izuku's characterization. It makes me feel really good. 🥺

4. vested interest | Shouto x Reader

You’d just thought Shouto was absent minded, accidentally leaving behind a jacket or a sweater or his vest. You didn’t realize this was a thing. (In which Todoroki Shouto—despite his quirk—has zero chill, and uses his clothes to ward off other men.)

I am probably best known for my Shouto fic if i could keep cool, but vested interest is actually my favorite child!! In retrospect this one is messy too but I had the absolute time of my peddling my little shit Shouto agenda. This fic actually forms the backbone of how I characterize Shouto currently, with just a touch more of spoiled youngest child energy than I had been doing previously. :) Viva la jealous Sho.

5. incendiary | Bakugou x Reader

When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

This is the fic I have worked the hardest on and I am very proud of it (and excited to publish the next chapter when I get back)!! This is my only attempt to tackle an issue of real substance and I am very grateful for the perspective I have been given by my sensitivity readers @cat-slippered and @darkenedniqhts.

I also feel really protective over this one as it got plagiarized and slightly rewritten into something that exploded in popularity and massively outstripped this fic. Though handling that situation was uncomfortable, and this feels like a strange thing to say, it was a good ego check for me. It reminded me that I still have a lot of growing to do as a writer if I want my ideas to be unique and memorable enough that a situation like this won't arise again. I will work hard.

My no pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged!!) @restwellsoon @bobawithpomegranate @darkenedniqhts @cat-slippered @ofmermaidstories @willowser @lorelune @petrichorium @heich0e @sipsteainanxiety @shibaraki @kedsandtubesocks @potionpeddlerpatchy @meggsngrits @coopigeoncoo @crowned-peony @stellamancer @namodawrites @streimiv @ghost-flakes @ghostbeam @kimkaelyn also @procrastination-artist @bluebird-in-the-breeze @acerathia bc I love ur stuff even if I know u have a smaller fic count.