#dawnseternallight

[tiredandwireds-blog]

@jennalistening i got u

Ok here's a list of all the best Dick and Damian(mostly with father/son dynamics) fics imo. Pls dont judge me.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40095006

The Stowaway (5099 words) by LittleLadybugs

Short sweet and fluffy! Damian sneaks a cat into the penthouse and struggles to keep it hidden. At least Dick always has his back!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32923282

Emergency Contact by DawnsEternalLight for grousemouse

Hilarious and cute! Damian gets attacked on a school trip and is just the way youd expect him to be lol. Dick freaks out ofc

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49322866

my shoulders are heavy already by a_alene

Ughhh its sooo goodddd! Damian and Dick sickfic cannot recommend enoughhh plsplspls read ittt

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36304804

a chance to celebrate by emavee

So cuteee! The batfam throws a party to celebrate Dick adopting Damian. Its such a cute story that gives insight into each characters feelings and its also fluffy as hell!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46392967

Father's Day (we were the best) by InkpotSprite

Damian decides to celebrate Dick on Mother's and Father's Day lol cute and absolutely hilarious!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40260231

I'll Carry You by BrickSheep

BrickSheep puts it best with the tag Comfort No Hurt. Its exactly as the title says dick carries damian and i get a rush of dopamine lol

https://archiveofourown.org/series/890946

I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus by pupeez4eva

Damian becomes convinced Santa is after Dick Bruce is confused and Jason is evil. So pretty par for the course lol. Tbh tho this fic had me laughing so hard my sides hurt an absolute beautiful nightmare to read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51531457

The Ping-Pong Wars by fadesfanfic

Stephanie and Damian bonding! Dick being worried over Damian! And oh the shenanigans! Its beautiful and sweet and funny and iloveitsomuchhh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186434

Paint Cans and Sneaking Out by CarrionCarnival

Damian sneaks out to do some graffiti and tries not to get caught lol. Cute and fun. A whole new look for Damian that I loveee

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544392

The R Stands for – by Cirth

A beautifully written look into Damian's adjustment to his new home. Honestly made me cry ngl but sometimes you need that

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52221118

Obsolete Tools and Tangible Miseries by Corybantic

Ok we def in angst territory now gang! Damian thinks hes nothong but a weapon and Dick helps convince him otherwise. Read at your own risk cause i was sobbinggg

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37052449

the city without stars in its skies by Alienu

Ok i literally just reread this one anddd. Ughhhh im dyingggg. Damian is sent to kill Officer Dick Grayson you see where this is goinggg its so gooddd plsreadplsreadplsread

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40538418

Home Is Where the Heart Is by LittleLadybugs

Ok ill admit this ones more batfam focused then just dick and dami but still. So good. Dick is adopted by Slade not Bruce and goes running to blüdhaven to hide from him. Sadly the Birds wont leave hime alone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395412

Not by Blood, Maybe by Heart by Ellegrine

Ok we back to fluff now lol. Damian loves his brothers even if he never says it. In this fic he shows it by protecting Dicks honor lol

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296282

Still the Best by Cdelphiki

3 great fics all in one spot! Literally some of the best stuff ive ever read! Iloveitiloveitiloveit pls readdd

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918887

Catch Me (All Records Indicate) by Engineerd

The evolution of the nickname lil D. Cute and so sweet. Short but such a comfort read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866386

This Too Shall Pass by DarthPeezy

Just oh. just so so goodddd. Another gorgeous look at Damian adjusting to his new life with the batfam tho this one is more plot directed and ohmygosh did that plot have me in a death grip

And finally my top 2 fav fics:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718083

Throughout Infinity by flumen

Damian is sent to an alternate universe and meets young justice Dick and crew. Ok no summary i can do will do this fic justice just know i read this in one sitting and immediately felt my sense of priorities and my mind shift. No joke this changed me.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021464

3:16 by partingxshot

AAAHHHH

Ok now i can talk abt this. Im in the process of rereading this AGAIN bc i literally cannot be left alone. Ok quick summary: each chapter follows Dick and Damian adjusting to their new life as Batman and Robin. I feel like most everyone who is in love with the dynamic between Dick and Damian has read this fic but i cant leave it out bc its literally my fav fic EVER. i will never be normal abt this fic if you havent read it yet plspls do

[batbabydamian]

question- do you mind doing fic recs? And if so, do you have any good fics centered around Dick and Damian's relationship? In particular anything that plays with their whole "I'm your brother but also your father/son but not but yes" thing they've got going on? If you see this thank you, you're doing the lord's work <3

anon if you’re still out there, thank you for your patience and hope you enjoy these! there’s MANY Dick&Damian fics i love so i tried to limit it to the “im your brother AND kinda your dad but not really” dynamic!!

3:16 by partingxshot

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

i think every Dick & Damian enthusiast has read this lol it may be ongoing but its latest chapter is left on a very satisfying end for an arc!! 

an endless road to rediscover by littlearrows

In the months before Mar'i is born, Dick and Damian take a cross-country road trip together.

if you enjoyed the Dick and Damian tension from Nightwing (2016) #16-20 you might like this! :’) encouraging everyone to read those issues tbh

to be human by newsical

None of his Gotham acquaintances look upon his old life favorably — this, Damian knows. Was his life not noble before? Damian feels like a waterboarded gnat, swirling towards a drain. Gently, as though he has not ripped out Damian’s stomach with his teeth, Alfred says, “Attempting to take his father’s place won’t work, Master Richard…” Their voices peter out, and the last thing Damian can hear is Richard huff and say something that sounds like, “No shit,” and he is alone. Somewhere, a clock ticks. Damian pictures it melting. (Dick and Damian over the years.)

lovely dive into Damian’s personal growth and his relationship with Dick!! reading the poem that inspired the fic, especially again after finishing the fic is a nice touch!

Do You Feel the Way My Past Aches? by fishfingersandjellybabies

Bruce finds a wayward Damian asleep on his couch. Dick then find them both. An unexpected conversation ensues.

a tender Bruce perspective on the dynamic! “Bruce thought back to watching them work, Dick the master of the spotlight and Damian his perfect shadow.” THEM

When You're The One Who's Loved by fishfingersandjellybabies

Damian doesn’t understand why Dick is so upset. Tim does, though.

SO SOFTT ykw just go thru all of this writer's Dick & Damian fics they just exude love and warmth!!

Tea for Two by StormLeviosa

Their apartment is full of smiles now. It is because of Pennyworth, he is sure. Damian did not realise how much he'd missed Pennyworth until he came back. He slotted into their little family like the puzzle piece you do not know is missing. It was pleasant, having a grandfather he did not need to fear, and Pennyworth was all that and more.

part of a series, but easily read as a standalone. they’ve given up the vigilante life and DOMESTIC DICK & DAMIAN + ALFRED!! WHOLESOME!! i also enjoy the other Damian installments of the series, fun explorations of his interests/skills like violin!! and animals (going to vet school!!)

Pop-tarts and orange juice by Ididloveyou_once

‘Do you ever wish that Father had actually died?’ ‘Never.’ And despite the vehemence with which Richard says the word, Damian thinks that he might be lying. But only because he hates himself for the truth. Or: Bruce has been back from the dead for three months. Damian doesn’t know how to feel. He does know that he misses his da- Richard. They talk about it… Sort of.

"He wants to tell him that nothing compares to being Robin at his side. To being Damian at his side." WAILING

The Weight of Legacy by DawnsEternalLight

Damian didn’t think. He didn’t have to, protecting Richard was instinct by now. Darting forward right into the arc of Crane’s scythe as it aimed for his partner’s neck was as familiar to him as breathing, etched into his DNA. For if he lost Richard again, how could he continue to exist?  The man was not only his firmest tie to Batman’s mantle, now that Father was home and clashing with Damian, but at some point during their partnership he had inexorably woven himself into Damian’s very being. Through training, and lessons, and quiet nights filled with ice cream. Patience and love–a thing Damian had not hoped to find here when he’d first set foot on American soil.  To lose Richard would be akin to losing a limb. And so Damian acted as if that were true. He wove protection of his mentor, Batman, sibling, into every action he took and refused to accept failure as an option.

"We Both Know You're The Last of the Graysons" as a fic prompt is wild...that panel never fails to make me cry... also, another writer with an abundance of fantastic Dick & Damian fics!!

Emergency Contact by DawnsEternalLight

Damian: Apologies for the intrusion into your day, Richard. I need you to pick me up from the gallery trip early, it seems I have been stabbed. Dick blinked down at the message then read it again. And again. His brain not quite processing the words staring up at him, backlit by the phone.

this ventures bit more into parent Dick Grayson, as in Damian explicitly calling Dick his dad at the end but it's a fun fic!! that preview always cracks me up LOL

The Stowaway by LittleLadybugs

There's a cat in the penthouse. Fortunately, Alfred has yet to find out. Now to keep it that way. OR Dick tries his best to parent Damian. Damian tries his best, period. They’re both a bit clumsy, but they’ve got the spirit. There might be a cat Meow ᓚᘏᗢ 💙💚

smiling and laughing through this whole fic THEY ARE SO SILLY I LOVE THEM

as love carries its strength, but not its labels by AlterHarpia

Bruce is on a trip beyond Earth’s Solar System for longer than he intended, making Dick and Damian fall into an old pattern. “I'm not Batman.” A mere reminder, perhaps, but when said to Damian it always sounds like an apology.

basically them putting into words their own funky lil dynamic!!

Let The Right One In by whaleofatime

Hot on the trail of Deadshot threatening mayhem in Japan, Dick and Damian find themselves going undercover as a father-son duo on House Hunters International. Deadshot won't be the only source of chaos in Tokyo this summer, and Dick's only a little apologetic.

okok kinda cheating here since they’re just undercover as dad and son lol BUT it’s such a fun read of the duo on a Japan trip (mission)!

the primacy of personal conscience by birdsofthesoul

"WHAT MAKES IAGO EVIL? some people ask. I never ask." — Joan Didion, Play It as It Lays Or: Dick, his family, and the moral morass of a wishing well.

cheating again bc plot not focused on Dick and Damian’s relationship, but it’s there! really enjoyed the characterizations and dynamics here!!

soft clocks by dustorange

Side effects of being revived by Lex Luthor may include amnesia, going undercover into a high-level espionage agency, not recognizing your family, fighting your family, and dealing with the emotional weight and guilt associated with encountering said family. Ask your doctor if being revived by Lex Luthor is right for you. (a.k.a. Dick has amnesia during his time at Spyral. The family grapples with finding out he's alive. Dick grapples with finding out he has a family. Inspired by this post by bigskydreaming.)

lol sorry another not focused on their relationship but!! came and stayed for the plot, then the Dick & Damian moments KNOCKED ME OUTT!!

[selkienight60]

🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃 🦇 Day 1: Serial Killers Wedges by CalamityJim

🦇 Day 2: Werewolves secrets un(revealed) by TheyReapWhatWeSow

🦇 Day 3: Ghosts Hey there ghosts it's me, ya Robin by SummerBummin

🦇 Day 4: Witches The Once and Future Batman by Electrons

🦇 Day 5: Vampires Come to My Call by ScarlettSwordMoon

🦇 Day 6: Demons Stars, Hide Your Fires by FidotheFinch

🦇 Day 7: Bats Jason, Tim, and the BatBat by Notawiseacre

🦇 Day 8: Cryptids umbra by TheResurrectionist

🦇 Day 9: Shapeshifters the flock by envysparkler

🦇 Day 10: Fae & Fairies Iron, Fire, Mirror-Glass by PurpleSoot

🦇 Day 11: Fantasy HeartFreeze by DawnsEternalLight + Laquilasse

🦇 Day 12: Talons & Owls Among the roots and baby's breath by Averia

🦇 Day 13: Death & Skeletons End to Which by succeeding

🦇 Day 14: Fear Another Mirror by byrambles

🦇 Day 15: Candy (Robin and Batman) by fyeahbatmanandrobin

🦇 Day 16: Zombies Echoes of You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

🦇 Day 17: Dragons On Dragon's Wings by PrincessMariana

🦇 Day 18: Black Cats Footsteps in the Dark by mildswearingat4am

🦇 Day 19: Mermaids The Grayson Family Marine Rehabilitation Center by OberonBronze

🦇 Day 20: Jack-O-Lanterns & Pumpkins Early Retirement by kittymaine

🦇 Day 21: Costumes & Disguises Robin's Nest by TheyReapWhatWeSow

🦇 Day 22: Nightmares Holding the Line by BirdChild

🦇 Day 23: Heroes & Villains Performance Piece by fight_knight

🦇 Day 24: Trick-or-Treat Batman, go grab your Robin... Wait, wrong Robin! by IzzyMRDB

🦇 Day 25: Robots Family Functions by Hawkstout

🦇 Day 26: Monsters The Ward of Kaer Wayne by sElkieNight60

🦇 Day 27: Secret Identity An (almost) Foolproof Lie by HiddenDreamer67

🦇 Day 28: Maze The Long Way Home by itsnatalie

🦇 Day 29: "SpoooOOOOOoooOOOoooky" The journal of Dick Grayson by DiseasedBreeze

🦇 Day 30: Fear Toxin Learning to Fear by zombiesbecrazy

🦇 Day 31: Murder PLUTO. by orpheusaki

🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃~🎃

Thank you to everyone who helped put together this list! With special thanks to @tevyaa, ScarlettSwordMoon, @canonicallyshort, @silk-scarlet-ribbons, @silverandsunflowers, and an extra special thanks to @they-reap-what-we-sow for the most gorgeous header!

Please help us spread the Halloween by reblogging this list and passing on to your friends!

🦇 Stay Spooky! 🦇

[damianbugs]

i adore your fic recs your taste is truly >>>> do you have any recs for damian and steph i love them so dearly and i need to read more fics with them :’)

i am so glad you like them <3 and YES!! I DO!! they are so so wonderful. truly the best duo ever and i wish dc hadn't forgotten what an awesome big sister steph was to damian when he first joined the batfam, or how they worked together later on as batgirl and robin !!! i hope you will enjoy these :]

STEPH AND DAMIAN FIC RECS ON AO3

in this quiet company (i forget sometimes, just how to breathe) by emavee

Steph and Damian kill time in Gotham and Damian tries his best not to experience Emotions. Oh, and there's ice cream.

MY NOTES: oh i am so fond of this fic forever. so sweet. stephanie is truly the sister of all time and damian is such a little brother oh wow there are tears in my eyes thinking about the marvelous damian introspection

Nearly-normal-almost-family by glitter_in_my_eyes

Steph hasn't worked with the new Batman and Robin duo long, but she doesn't hesitate to come when they call for backup. Their family's a little rough around the edges, but she'll do what she can to smooth things out.

MY NOTES: if you hear an explosion it's me bursting into a million tiny sad pieces at the thought of the steph dick and damian family dynamic during what was arguably the worst time for everyone. they are so complicated to me and i appreciate the way this fic focuses on that complexity but also the care between them all. so lovely

the spillways of your soul by paperxcrowns

She trips over a root hidden by the snow and swears loudly.

“Do you want them to hear us?” Damian grouses.

She sends him a vicious glare. “You try running in the woods in the dead of winter wearing high heels.”

Damian wrinkles his nose, but thankfully doesn’t make any further comments. Steph doesn’t move for a few minutes and instead focuses on catching her breath.

MY NOTES: only the steph and damian fic of all time. nothing says sibling bonding like near death experiences when stranded in the wilderness. truly my favourite batfam trope.

-> this author also has ANOTHER steph and damian get kidnapped and almost die escaping into the wilderness fic called 'you're just a little bit too much like me.'

do you ever think of me and my two hands by Le_tap_22

Stephanie has never thought, and will never think, of Damian as her child. He’s a child, sure. Bruce’s child, Dick’s child, Talia’s child. But not hers.

He’s her little asshole younger brother. But sometimes when she sits beside him— like now under the soft light of the sun shining through the curtain in the Manor’s library as she watches him write a letter to send to his mother— she feels a deep, almost indescribable emotion well up inside her.

Not for him, but for Talia.

Or, Damian and Stephanie sit together in the Manor’s library, two opposite halves of similar pictures.

MY NOTES: so i never considered this connection before, but after stumbling upon this my entire life has changed forever (very positive connotations). the way talia is written through stephs eyes, and the way stephs outlook on this aspect of her life is written is very special to me and i love this fic a lot

The Not-Babysitter by Hinn_Raven

Steph is volunteered to babysit Damian on his trip to the zoo, much to Damian's consternation. But an encounter with Steph's college classmates might force Damian to admit that things aren't so bad with her around.

MY NOTES: Hinn_Raven is by far my favourite steph writer and i can not recommend this writer enough!!! such a fun protective little brother damian fic

The Stories Between Us by DawnsEternalLight

Sometimes Damian doesn’t mind having someone in the room with him while he paints. When he allows Stephanie to study during one such painting session, he learns something about her past she never should have gone through, and it is his turn to comfort his sister. After all he too has dealt with issues of dying and guilt.

MY NOTES: if dc have decided to never bring up war games and what happened to steph then i have no choice but to find the angst in fics. this one is just. amazing. i need it inside my brain forever. there's a specific thing damian brings up about what steph means to him that literally made me tear up and yeah. im so okay about it

Top-Secret Mission to the Library by pennysparrow

Damian needs a book and only the Gotham University Library seems to have it, so he has to ask Stephanie for assistance.

MY NOTES: to end this off here is such a sweet and nice read. so adorable. damian the little guy that you are.

[dawnseternallight]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Persona 5 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist Characters: Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Time Loop, Character Study, Second Chances, Akira trying his best to save Akechi, He’s also pretty eh about his own death, give him a break he’s done this a bunch, Akechi is stubburn, but Akira is even moreso Summary:

One of Akira’s greatest regrets in life is being unable to save Akechi. He swears this time he will manage it. No matter how many times he has to die to make it happen.

~

“If you kill me here, I won’t stop.” Akira said, the cool tip of the gun already warming against his forehead, “I won’t stop. I refuse to. No matter how many times I have to try.”

The pressure lessens, Akechi’s surprise enough for him to pull away, even if the difference was only incremental.

It didn’t matter. It never did in the end. No matter what words came out of Akira’s mouth at this point, Goro Akechi never listened. He was too far gone into his fury, raging against Akira’s betrayal.

And why shouldn’t he? For all intents and purposes, Akira had betrayed him. He’d spent months lying to him, working to try and convince the other boy to give up his quest for revenge by whatever means he could.

It felt like Akira had tried everything at this point. He’d done this loop, starting from the day he’d first met Akechi at the TV station and going all the way up to the engine room so many times now. Most loops he didn’t even make it to the engine room, jumping the gun to admit to the other boy the truth of the matter. “I know who you are. I know what you’re planning.” It seemed the only way after watching Akechi self-destruct time and again without the admission.

So he’d changed tactics. If pure friendship couldn’t sway the other boy he’d try everything else. From pleading with him, to outing his evils to Sae early, and even one incredibly disastrous attempt to seduce him. That loop had to take the award for his quickest death. Akechi did not appreciate false interest in that way. It had been unfair to them both to even try. Akira didn’t want a relationship built on lies, and Akechi would grate against any attempt to puppet him in that way. It had been stupid. Desperate, but stupid.

“If I kill you here and now you would be forced to stop.” Fury was the main ingredient in Akechi’s voice, but it held an undercurrent of confusion as well, “Unless, but no. That would be impossible. The metaverse does much, but even it cannot control time.”

At least he was quick enough on the uptake to understand that Akira had gone back in time. Even if he was still denying it. He’d never actually given Akira enough time to explain just how he’d managed to go back in time. If Akechi wasn’t always so shoot first, ask questions later about Akira, he’d have eventually learned that while the Metaverse alone couldn’t control time, a few enterprising gods and beings that existed between certainly could.

“Furthermore, if I kill you, there should be nothing left to send back in time.” Akechi continued, brows furrowed.

Akira shrugged, uncaring of his friend…enemy…no friend’s confusion. He was just waiting on the bullet at this point. This was the point of no return. It was always the point of no return. Without fail every time Akira had told Akechi anything along the lines of the truth, his friend had shot him point blank. Too deep in his own plans to allow for the kind of chaos a time traveler might bring to the equation.

It was predetermined. The rule imposed on him by this deal he’d made. He could keep trying. Keep going. Keep pushing, until one of two things happened: Akira admitted that Akechi was irredeemable and would always fall to his fate, or he accepted Akira’s revelation that he’d known Akechi’s identity this entire time, and had simply been trying to save him from himself.

Akira absolutely refused to give into the first option. He was doing all this because he knew his friend could be saved. It had to be true. If he could defy the fate set upon him by Yaldabaoth and triumph over a false reality, then he could turn the fate of the one person he’d been unable to save.

See, Akira had spent a long time thinking about Goro Akechi. Years after the boy’s death he still haunted Akira’s days and nights. He’d spent so much time wishing for another chance to save his friend who’d had a fate forced upon him, one he’d never asked for. To reach his hand out to someone who’d never had anyone reach for him willingly. To be able to show Akechi that he was wanted. All those wishes had eventually piled up, matchsticks tumbling one after another into a mound set to become a roaring blaze.

And that blaze had become a deal.

Akechi cocked the gun, the sound sharp in the quiet space of the attic Akira had made his home.

His face twisted into a furious grimace, “If you’ve really done this before as you claim you have, you should know nothing will change my mind. Taking down Shido is my only option.”

“I know.” Akira said, “You remind me of that every time.”

He sighed, exhaustion lacing his shoulders. He’d hoped this would be easier. But Akechi was as stubborn as Akira himself was.

Instead he reached up, movement slow, and gripped the gun, pulling it back forward that same incremental distance Akechi had lessened, “Go ahead.” He said, “Do it so I can try again.”

The gun dipped in a sudden and shocking movement, still between them, but pointed more towards Akira’s shoulder. His hand fell with it, leaving Akechi’s expression clear. He was frowning.

“Why?” He asked again, tone softer now, before turning into a growl, “Why do you want to ruin my life? Why continue with this charade?”

Akira tilted his head to the side, “What makes you think I want to ruin your life?”

“You said it yourself, we’re rivals.”

Well, if this attempt was this much of a dumpster fire, Akira might as well throw a bit more fuel to it and set the whole thing roaring.

“Rivals sure, but we’re friends, Akechi.” He stepped back, hand dropping off the gun to run through his hair, forgetting it was even there, still hovering between them.

“Stop spouting nonsense.” Akechi spit, “We are enemies, diametrically opposed in every way.”

A broken laugh burst out of Akira’s chest, and he had to press the back of his hand to his mouth to surprise it. Akira was tired. Tired of trying so hard to nudge Akechi towards the truth. His whole life he’d been more of a listener rather than a speaker. He preferred to take in what others were saying, mull over it, and hand them back the important bits, shiny and polished by care. But there was something about Akechi that made Akira want to become a flood. The other boy pulled words out of his mouth like unstopping a dam piece by piece. First they flowed slowly, and then all at once in a rush.

Well, if Akechi was going to force the truth from him, this time Akira would give it to him, in all its painful messy glory.

“Don’t be an idiot, Akechi. You and I? We’re the same. Two broken boys who were rejected by their families shoved into the same role and told to dance to the tune of a monster who never cared enough to be fair when asking the world of two stupid teenagers.”

He could be talking about Shido. He could also be talking about Yaldabaoth. He was probably talking about them both if he were to be honest with himself.

Akira was on a roll now, heedless of the shock spreading across Akechi’s features,

“You’re so damn stubborn. We’re the same in that too, rushing forward with our truth held between our teeth like pit bulls. For once in my life I am going to be the selfish one, and I’m not stopping until I’ve gotten what I wanted.”

Akira shot him a grin, “I’m a thief, Akechi. I came here to steal your fate. And I’m not leaving without you. So go ahead, kill me here. I’ll just rise up again and try until I can convince you of my feelings. I will try again, and again, and again. As many times as it takes to make you see the truth far before you can self-destruct.”

Akechi’s eyes were wide, pools of crimson opened wide in an attempt to take in the downpour that was Akira’s monologue.

He clenched his fists by his side, still not done, unwilling to let the other get another condescending word out before he’d said everything that had been piling up within him for years.

“I’ll do it to save your stupid, foolish ass, you idiot.” Akira snapped, voice angry and hard, like he had on one sleepless night. He’d been raging at the sky then, Akechi’s face almost visible against the stars, “You died and I had to go on living. I had to step into the world each day knowing I’d failed you. Knowing that no matter what I did it still meant you didn’t get your second chance. And I’d rather fail a thousand times again and again if it meant that eventually I’d succeed.”

Suddenly the gun was back in Akira’s face, “Liar.” The word was a hiss.

“You couldn’t possibly want to save me. Fault my plans? Yes. Push your own stupid ideas of justice? Of course. But save me? Shut up.” Akechi spit the words, his tone solid venom, “I spent months plotting your death, and the death of your friends. I killed Futaba’s mother, murdered your friend’s father. Killed countless others. There is no saving me. You should not want to save me.”

Akira sighed, “Then shoot me. I don’t know how to make you believe I care about you, but I’ll figure it out.” He locked eyes with Akechi, “I swear it.”

They stood there for a moment, frozen in time, hearts beating between the decision. Slowly, Akechi shifted, brows furrowing before his eyes widened, the in the next breath sharpened.

“How many times?”

Surprise made Akira blink, “What?”

“How many times have you done this? And do not try to tell me you can’t remember.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Akira said, his shock at this question pulling the truth from him, not that he needed to lie. They hadn’t been sparring for a long time now, “Forty seven so far. Forty eight if you count the time I accidentally tripped into your sword.”

Akechi blinked at him, “You mean to tell me that you’ve allowed me to shoot you forty seven times?”

“And impale me once. But that was a genuine mistake. You weren’t even mad at me, in fact we were hitting it off really well in that loop. I thought it might be the one.”

Akira couldn’t describe the look on Akechi’s face. It had twisted up, but not with fury or confusion or even irritation. If Akira hadn’t felt this loop was already irreparably screwed up he’d have thought perhaps Akechi was about to cry.

“I hate you.” Akechi growled, “I—”

And then the impossible happened, tears slipped down Akechi’s face. He tried to glare, and instead it came out just sad.

“I hate you.” He said again, voice hoarse, “I hate you so much. Why do you have to be so damned perfect?”

His hand dropped at last, the gun falling to his side. Even with that concession, something burned behind his eyes, all that potential Yaldabaoth had seen in him smoldering even through hot tears. He stepped back, widening the gap between them to something far less intimate than it had been moments before.

“To think you would subject yourself to being killed by me that many times.” He shook his head, disbelief clouding anger, “You truly are a fool.”

He turned his face up, eyes locking on the cobweb lined ceiling, “I thought perhaps you’d only done it once. A single attempt to right a wrong. Yet here you stand.” Akechi looked back at him, “Tell me about the attempts. I want to know you aren’t lying.”

Akira smiled, hope finally blooming in his chest. Now that he thought about it, he had never managed to tell Akechi he’d been looping before. Even subtly. It was always over far too fast after he’d admitted simply to having gone back in time once.

Of course that’s what it would take. For someone desperate to experience one ounce of genuine care Akechi would believe nothing less than something as fool heartedly desperate as Akira’s scheme.

“I can do that.” Akira nodded, “I’ll give you as many details as you need.” He promised. “Because you deserve at least one person in your court.”

Because it could have just as easily been him on the other side of this mess. Jaded and furious at an unfair world, all his potential driving him to chaos.

“If humoring you has turned you into something sickeningly sentimental then perhaps I will not sit for them all.”

This only made Akria’s smile widen into a bright grin, “I can’t promise that, after all you’re listening to me at last.”

The other boy let out a bitter laugh, “After forty eight rejections, I feel obligated to give into your stubbornness at least once. After all, as you said, we are both akin to pit bulls.”

Akechi tucked the gun back under his coat, into the holster he’d kept it in, “Know this, I will be requiring a detailed explanation of your actions. While your earnest reaction to this conversation and your frankly baffling lack of self preservation has convinced me that you have somehow contrived of a way to go back in time, I need to know more. Perhaps a full explanation will stop me from making what I can only assume is a monumental mistake.”

“Something like that.” Akira’s grin could probably be described as goofy, relief was flooding him.

“Yes, well. I would rather not die in pursuit of my revenge, especially if it is dictated by fate as your story seems to indicate.” His lips twisted into a firm line, “My life is my own, not some puppet master’s.”

“I did try to tell you once someone was trying to control your fate.” Akira mused, remembering the rather explosive reaction he’d received.

“Do not forget you are trying to control my fate as well Akira.”

He waved off the words with the air of someone who had heard far worse, “Nonsense, I told you, I’m trying to steal it.” He shot Akechi a sharp grin, “I am a Phantom Thief after all.”

This prompted a genuine laugh, something Akira thought he’d never get to hear again.

“Indeed you are. Well then, Mr. Phantom Thief, do your worst. Tell me all about this plan to steal my fate.”

And for the first time, Akira knew he had finally succeeded.

[the-red-butterfly]

Airey Fisher the bard

Commission for @dawnseternallight of her beautiful D&D character. Thank you for letting me work with her friend! It was fun ✨

I am now doing D&D commissions fellas, if anyone's interested. Though I think I still have to make a post for that or a sheet specifically for D&D stuff. But that's a whatever bit.

.

Open for Commissions

[crows-murder]

thank you for the tag @imdefnotvanessa! 💜

rules: Make a new post, embold the themes that appear in your WIP, italicize those that are loosely covered and then tag 10 people!

gonna apply this to this wip im working on (rottmnt not batfam, tho i promise i have stuff in my wip folder for that akfdkdkl)

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | (found) family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfillment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

no pressure tags <3 @aeligsido @motleyfam @dawnseternallight @batshit-birds @batbirdies @sassydefendorflower @kgraces @fidothefinch @silverandsunflowers

[aeligsido]

Tag game #25765

Rules: Make a new post and post your latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

“Daniel,” Buck whispers, and Daniel smiles right back at him.

“Hey, Evan. Long time no see.”

It’s supposed to be a 9-1-1 coda fic,,,,, i need to go back to it and finish it oduffuh. 

I am not tagging 16 people alright. 

@they-reap-what-we-sow @fanfictiongreenirises @dawnseternallight @crows-murder @dottie-wan-kenobi @fidothefinch and whoever wants to <3

[queerplatonicbirdflash]

Bruce gets Damian legos because he’s trying to connect with him and the two end up completely missing patrol because they were to busy building all of Gotham with the legos

[dawnseternallight]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Fluff, Introspection, Character Study, Eventual Romance, Drabble Collection, more tags as chapters come, Future Hurt/Comfort, No edits we die like early game Gale 

Summary: A collection of stories featuring my Tav and Astarion, getting to know each other, grow, and learn to live in different ways.

And also, how Astarion taught Meliara that art theft is, in fact, okay.

Notes: I failed to post chapter one here (to call it a chapter is a stretch it was quite short), but now that I’m actually picking away at this fic properly I figured I’d start sharing it! So while the link is to the second chapter I thought I’d include both in a proper post. 

~

It started with a sketch, pinned roughly to one of the walls in the infected village they’d stumbled on. The sketch was simple, a girl lined in charcoal, her features delicate against the yellowing paper, face serene and hair so softly done it almost fluttered.

It was a miracle it had survived the elements and goblins, and whatever else had passed through the village before they’d arrived. Gale, Shadowheart, and the others had already moved ahead of them, feet sure as they’d explored the town, searching for anything of use on their quest, and perhaps even answers as to what had plagued the town –a question that had been on Meliara’s mind as well.

Despite the druids, and worms, and overall feeling of terror humming in their veins after the events on the Nautiloid and beyond, Meliara wanted to know. To understand what had ruined this quaint little village of families, smiths, and apparently at least one budding artist.

“Take it.” Astarion’s voice was on her neck, breath surprisingly warm as it brushed against her skin.

She did not jump. Not physically at least. The little pout on his face when she turned to glare at him told her he’d wanted to spook her. He had no way of knowing he’d at least succeeded in making her heart do somersaults. She refused to admit that much.

The infuriating elf hadn’t stopped making her heart race. Not since she’d caught him trying to slit her throat in the ship’s crash site, and she’d turned the tables, flipping him on his back to stare up at her. He’d been the most stunning elf she’d ever seen, even with his pale face streaked with dirt. His silver hair haloed out around him on the ground, red eyes surprised and intrigued.

Then he’d opened his mouth and false flattery had fallen out, intriguing her even more.

“That would be theft.” she huffed.

He rolled his eyes, hands motioning to the decrepit building around them, “My dear, it’s not theft if they’re dead.”

She bit her bottom lip, indecision warring in her. She had absolutely no use for the piece of art. Not on the road, not in her search to be free of the parasite, and certainly not as they were trying to sneak into a goblin camp to rescue a lost druid.

Still, her fingers itched to trace the lines. To study the artistry. To simply salvage one piece of art in all this rubble. Her eyes drifted back towards it

“Now, don’t be such a stick in the mud. It’s beautiful, and you know it. Take it for yourself.” He prodded.

The suggestion that she’d only wanted it for its beauty sparked irritation in her and Meliara redoubled her glare.

“It’s art.” she snapped, “Even if the artist is lost, it at least should be preserved.”

Astarion’s lip tilted up in a sardonic grin, “Lying to yourself, now are you? No. You want it because it is beautiful, and you–” his eyes roved her face, “You know beauty when you see it.”

With that he turned and strode off towards the group, apparently uncaring of whether or not she actually took the sketch or not.

She watched as he left, joining the bundle of her strange new allies as they circled around something or another. Gale’s voice drifted distantly back to her as he explained the mechanics behind a scroll they’d found in painful detail. Astarion slipped into them like he fit, like he fit anywhere he went because he made it so. And maybe he did. Maybe he knew enough about reading people to have that talent down to a science.

Maybe he knew her well enough to pierce her soul, and find the root of the years she’d dedicated to the artisans guild. The truth she’d buried under academia and studious training all these years.

She plucked the small sheet off the wall and tucked it gently between the pages of another book they’d picked up earlier, a history of the sword coast. When her eyes drifted back up to the group, she caught Astarion grinning at her.

Infuriating. She thought and bit back her own smile.

Chapter 2:

Meliara generally rested deeply. She was, to put it plainly, strange for an elf. She liked to sleep instead of meditate. And when her mother had let her get away with it, she defaulted to the world of strange otherworldly dreams. She loved it. Those odd, sometimes fascinating, sometimes frightening dreams were food for her imagination. They fueled her art, and had set her apart even from the other artists at the university. She knew it was strange, and so rarely told anyone about the habit for fear of the looks and words it often sparked. But she cherished it all the same.

Lately she’d taken to meditating again. The addition of new traveling companions, danger at every turn and the tadpole in her mind sparked more fearful dreams in addition to a need for lightness of foot and ear during the night.

The worm was troubling even during meditation. She was unable to get past the feeling of the tadpole lodged in her brain. Part of her knew she couldn’t actually feel it, it was settled in there in a way that she’d grown used to at the very least. But the worry she carried with her, of the terrible transformation into a mind flayer, made the knowledge of the tadpole somehow heavier.

She just couldn’t meditate like normal, mind centered on unwinding little puzzles as she rested for a few hours. Now she couldn’t focus on meditation well enough to use it for deep thoughts. Neither could she have a dreamless rest, for in the long quiet her mind kept drifting to the tadpole and all the ways their future could go terribly wrong.

So when Astarion got up in the middle of the night for the upteenth time since they’d started camping together she noticed.

There was something wrong, and she decided it was time to get to the bottom of it. The last thing she wanted was a sleep deprived companion on top of everything else.

Meliara got up and stepped out of her tent. As she did so, she easily spotted Astarion. He paced by the fire, shoulders tight, and muttering under his breath.

She made enough noise to catch his attention as she moved towards him and the warm glow that kept their camp alight. Astarion spun on his heel, eyes wide, hand moving to the dagger he kept at his hip before reality caught up and he recognized her.

He watched her, red pupils trailing her movement as she settled herself by the warmth. She raised an eyebrow at him and waited to see if he’d slink off or attempt a conversation. After a few beats a casual smile slipped across his lips, hand shifting to rest at his hip as he put on a mask of charm.

She’d hardly known him a few days, but already the pale elf was showing his cards. Not that he wasn’t very good at hiding truth under lies, Mel just was more observant than others. She’d had to learn the trick from an early age. The consequences of missing a microexpression that could tell her the truth of her mother’s thoughts had been a better teacher than anyone could. Even if she hadn’t been that observant, his pacing and worry she’d caught him at was obvious enough, a little charm couldn’t hide that.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked.

“I heard movement.” She said honestly, “What about you?”

“I sleep like the dead, darling.” He quipped, flashing his fangs in a grin, “Just heading out for a bite. Unless you’re offering.”

While his stepping out tonight for a midnight snack was plausible enough, it didn’t explain his nightly restlessness. Especially since, from what she could tell, he hadn’t been wandering out of camp.

He didn’t even need to sneak out to hunt anyway. Not since they’d learned his secret. After that first shocked time he’d drank her blood, Astarion had not gone hungry. Between the hoards of goblins they’d faced, and her gentle bullying of Gale to let Astarion drain their nightly catches for them he got enough under her own watchful eye. Not to mention the snacking he did while they were on the road, drifting off here and there to snag a boar or squirrel.

She shot him a wry smile, “If you need blood, please.” And held out her wrist.

Not one to waste a meal, the pointy grin turned into a proper, gentle smile, “Well then.” He said and with graceful movements slipped around the fire to settle by her side.

“I also haven’t been sleeping well.” Meliara admitted, as she felt his fangs slip into her wrist, attention more on the fire than the twinge of pain, “Or trance, or well either to be fair. Stupid tadpole keeps me up. Worrying that this might be the night.”

Astarion didn’t drink nearly as much as he might normally, pulling away from her wrist even as she spoke. He pressed a light kiss to the wounds as a kind of thank you before he sat back. Meliara found she wasn’t even light headed, let alone woozy.

Even so, his voice was a bit dreamy when he spok, “If our dashing dream visitor is to be believed that isn’t really a concern for the time being.”

She couldn’t help but wonder just how much blood it took to get him drunk.

“Still. Doesn’t stop my mind from making up all kinds of terrible fates for us.”

He chuckled, “That is understandable, if a bit silly compared to the very real dangers we face.”

“Like a weird cult? Or goblins? Or druid’s chanting?” She grinned.

Astarion’s laugh brightened up the night, “The chanting. Gods how do you think they stand doing that all day?”

“The thought alone is enough to scare me.” Meliara said, but sobered quickly, her eyes flitting up to catch his, “Still, those are my fears. What has you up so many nights in a row? I figured you to be one who values beauty sleep.”

Surprise widened his eyes for a moment before his features smoothed back out, “Observant are we?”

She shrugged, “I just told you, you’re not the only insomniac in the camp.”

They stared at each other for a few moments longer, Mel worried that he was a moment away from stalking off in irritation. Instead he sighed, a long suffering noise.

His eyes locked on the fire, the light flickering across his face. Looking it over, she realized it could actually use a log or two, and after casting around for a moment, Mel discovered a tidy stack of wood close by, set up by Gale no doubt.

While her companion collected his thoughts, Mel fiddled with the fire adjusting bits of log and wood here or there to keep it going, rather than accidentally smothering the thing like she’d done their first night of camp. A smile crossed her lips, now that had been a learning experience. This whole adventure was.

By the time she stilled, Astarion seemed ready to talk.

“I can’t sleep—or trance.” He corrected, eyes still on the fire.

Mel let the silence drag between them, the obvious admittance simply the start of whatever he had to say.

He picked up a loose twig to drag through the dirt, mouth twisted in a grimace, “It’s infuriating. For the first time in two hundred years I can rest without worry and I find myself unable to.”

He tossed the twig at the flames, and fell silent again, the air between them weighted with more left unsaid.

“I’m sorry.” Meliara said, real regret to her words, “If it’s just the uncertainty—”

“It’s not.” He snapped, “I—gods it’s stupid.” He looked up at the stars, then at Meliara, weighing his next words against whatever assumptions he held about her.

“I spent my nights prowling for prey, and if not doing that, then being tormented or starved or whatever else Cazador could come up with. When I was allowed to rest it was during the day. Best time for a vampire to rest after all. ”

Meliara blinked at him, realization dawning, “Oh, oh! That makes sense. I should have—I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Astarion scoffed, “That’s sweet but, no.”

She shifted turning more towards him, frowning, “But wait, Astarion you are an elf.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Please tell me you did not just realize that.”

Meliara rolled her eyes, “No, but—” she bit her lip, “Does being a vampire keep you from going into a trance? Sleep schedules changing are one thing, but going into a trance, well that can be done at anytime.”

While she preferred dream filled sleep, it didn’t mean she didn’t frequently trance. She understood the mechanics well. And with patience and practice she could do it any time, any place.

His hands curled into fists in his lap, “It does not. Two hundred years of misery well—” He shrugged, an attempt at flippancy, “You’ll understand if I’d rather not relive any of that.”

Meliara’s face flamed, “I’m—hells, Astarion. I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t imagine it. She chose to dream, but still valued trancing. It was important, no sacred for elves. To be forced into a life where you had no desire to remember hundreds of years—it was unthinkable.

Meliara was not familiar with the feeling of rage. She hadn’t lived a life where she could indulge in simmering anger or the lack of control that came with rage, but she felt it now for this not quite stranger beside her. The injustice of it all. No matter who he’d been or how he’d lived his life before Cazador, no one should go through what she imagined he had. And that made fury bubble up within her, hot and fierce enough to break the tempered calm she worked so hard to achieve within herself.

Astarion waved a hand, dismissing the words, “It doesn’t matter.”

Mel turned to him, suddenly fierce, “It does. That man deserves to be eviscerated.” She hissed.

He blinked at her shocked, “Well yes, that is the plan. I’m surprised to hear you so violent, dear. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you say an unkind word yet.”

“I might be bleeding heart, but evil is evil, Astarion.” She said, the echo of Astarion’s irritated nickname for her bitter on her tongue.

“Huh.” He seemed to be considering her before smiling, “I’ll remember that.”

They sat there, silent for a long while, the fire crackling between them, night air quiet beyond the camp.

Meliara stewed, trying to reign in her anger. Every new fact she learned about Astarion’s past sparked something in her. Stars above, every fact she learned about all of her companions further hacked away at the carefully crafted wall she’d created to protect herself. The one she’d erected to keep herself safe, to keep blinders up so she didn’t run herself ragged trying to save everyone she met. Not that she’d had much power to solve most of those problems.

This one though. This, she could help with.

“I don’t trance.” She blurted, red creeping up her cheeks, “I like to dream.”

He frowned at her, “Not because of some secret evil vampire hiding in your past I hope. I’d like to be unique in that fact.”

She snorted, “No evil vampire lords in my closet, I’m just weird.”

“Weird?” He repeated, rolling the idea around.

Weird was how she’d rather paint it. Admitting she’d started it as a young girl eager to escape reality and hide from the world would make her too much the main character tonight.

“But that means I have some experience with sleepless nights. If you’d like, I could walk you through some relaxation exercises. It’s akin to falling into a trance, just a step apart to help you sleep.”

“I would like that.” Astarion said, surprising her with how unresisting he was in the response.

She smiled, “Great, lets get started.”

[damianwaynezine]

✏️​ Writer Spotlight: DawnsEternalLight ✏️​

@preciousthingsareprecious' way with words creep upon us like dawn does, softly and surely ​🌇​ We're thrilled to have her on board!

Read her fic Emergency Contact now!

[Text in Graphic]

Q: Favorite Damian moment / thing about Damian?

DawnsEternalLight: His little button nose! Kidding, kidding -- although it is very cute -- my genuine favorite thing about him is how much he's grown as a character, and how we get to see him opening up, learning to be comfortable as himself, and how much he loves his family. He's blossomed so much in the years he's been around, I can't help but love that best.

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Hey Dottie!! How about #1 This is the fun of investigating!” “No, it’s not!” with Dick and either Jason or Damian?

Ahh thank you for the prompt! I ended up including both Jason and Damian, hope that’s okay lol

---

Damian scowls as he carefully stomps around the old, truly dilapidated warehouse. It’s cold, wet, and utterly useless, with nothing of worth as far as he can see. Empty cardboard boxes, puddles of rain, knocked over machines overtaken by rust.

“Why are we even here, again?” Todd complains from across the room, kicking at an overturned stool. “How does any of this have anything to do with the stupid puzzle?”

“Riddler said the next clue would be in one of these warehouses. Which you know already, because you stood next to me while he said it.” Richard says this altogether too cheerfully considering the circumstances. “Now keep looking! He probably hid it somewhere really obvious.”

“If it’s so obvious we should’ve already found it,” Todd mutters, but he goes back to searching in all the dark corners.

Damian sighs. He could be cuddling with Alfred the Cat right now, or fighting off muggers in the street, or any number of other things right n—

The ground suddenly gives out from underneath him, and he accidentally lets out an undignified yelp as he falls into a hole in the ground that comes up to his chest. A hole in the ground which is somehow even more disgustingly wet and full of spiderwebs than the rest of the building.

“Robin!” Richard bounds over, immediately reaching out to help him up. “You alright??”

“Fine,” Damian bites out. He gets back to his feet and backs away from the dumb hole, nearly bumping into Todd.

“Oh, look,” Richard says, leaning down and pulling a slip of laminated paper from the dark. “The clue!”

“Oh my god,” Todd groans, appropriately annoyed with the situation, Damian thinks.

“This is the fun of investigating,” Richard says with a laugh.

“No it’s not!” Damian and Todd vehemently deny at the same time.

“You fall in the hole then!” Damian adds.

Richard smirks, ignoring him in favor of calling in the find. Damian scowls again and stomps off to wait for the others to arrive.

[tsfennec]

When I first set up this tumblr, lo those many years ago, I was contemplating names I might want to use as a pen name. The fantasy world I was writing at the time - now back-burnered - had come creatures based in part on fennec foxes and I liked the sound of Fennec, so I just played around with potential initials that sounded good until I settled on this, lol.

My current WIP (the "Jurassic Park with Faeries" book) is very different in tone, target audience, and subject matter, but... I'm still rather attached to the name. Who knows if I'll keep it if/when I ever publish, but for now I'm sticking to it.

Tagging - @lady-merian, @albatris, @fictionadventurer, @freenarnian and @dawnseternallight if any of you care to?

what made u guys pick ur url's !

[lemonadegarden]

Aaaahhhh I’m so glad you’re taking prompts. What about 39. “If you don’t rest, you won’t get better/heal.” with Bruce and Damian? Thanks :D

this is a billion days late, but here ya go!

--------------------------------------------

“If you don't rest, you won't heal.”

It only happened because Damian was curious.  

It was stupid, he knew. He just wanted a break from those stupid Judo drills Father kept making him do, so he'd snuck out of the cave, and wandered around the property, running and jumping through the wooded area a little ways from the West lawn. It even had a little stream, and Damian splashed about in it for a minute, chasing little silvery fish and tiny frogs, before he grew bored.  

After that, he went to the Manor garage. The garage was one of Damian's favourite places in the whole house. It was a huge shed, almost thirty metres long and about a quarter as wide, and it always smelled like engine oil.

It was where Father kept all his cars. He had almost twenty of them. He enjoyed collecting old ones, and tinkering with their engines, which Damian found strange. They were called Vintages.

Father said that put together, they were almost as valuable as the Manor. And then he had said that Damian was to be very careful when he went there, and to not touch anything.  

So of course, Damian went there all the time. And he touched everything.

It was only later that he realised what a stupid thing it had been, to do.

He ran up to the red Ferrari, which he liked the most. Gingerly, he opened the door and got in, and sat inside. He put his hands on the steering wheel, and pretended he was driving down the highway, making car noises.

Then he flushed, looking around. He was acting like a child. He was far from a child, at eleven and a half. If Drake saw him now, he would never let him live it down.

He jumped out of the car, running over to the end of the garage. There was a smaller shed pushed up against the very corner, and he looked at it curiously. It was tiny, practically a wooden closet. In his six months of living in the manor, he had managed to explore almost all parts of the property, but he'd never gone into this particular shed before. He hesitated for a second, and then he opened the door.  

Inside, there was a bicycle. He stared at it.  

It was painted a bright, sky blue. The colour of the sky, during the hot summers back at home. The spokes of the wheels were painted blue as well, as were the handles and the basket and the pedals. It looked like what Damian thought a painting of a bicycle would look like, much less an actual one.

He was frozen in place. It didn't belong to him. He shouldn't– he couldn't–

He slowly reached out to touch the handles. It couldn't be that hard. Anyone could ride a bicycle. Even Drake, who was arguably a little mentally challenged, knew how to do it. All he had to do was get on and… pedal. That was it.  

That would be it.  

*

Grandfather had always told him that he lacked focus.  He knew that sometimes they spoke about it, when they thought he was asleep.

“He's too much like his father,” he had heard Grandfather say once, his voice quiet and furious, “always asking questions. Always wanting answers. That boy needs to learn how to keep his head down and follow orders.”

Damian's eyes had been closed. He was lying in bed, his body weary and drained from a long day of training. He had foolishly asked Grandfather if he could take a few hours off to go and see the fair in the nearest village by the compound.

Grandfather had said no. Damian had been furious, and he'd raged on and on about how he was already a better warrior than most of the apprentices Grandfather kept, and wasn't he less than half their age? He didn't need any more of this training, and certainly not from an old man like his Grandfather and–

Grandfather had slapped him.

He remembered freezing in shock. Mother had never touched him. It was– it was wrong. He stared wordlessly at Mother, waiting for her to do something. But she had only looked away.  

“Make sure he listens,” Grandfather said, when they were outside his chambers.

Mother had been quiet. “Yes, Father,” she said at last. It was strange, how mother let no one order her around but Grandfather. Damian realized with a start that perhaps– perhaps she was scared of him. The idea troubled him. Mother wasn't supposed to get scared.  

After he had left, Mother had come into his chambers and sat on the bed, next to him. She had stroked his head, while he pretended not to sniffle.

“Shhh,” she said gathering him up in her arms. Her threw his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He had only been five then, and such foolish things had been tolerated because he was so little.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice small.  

“Don't be, habibi,” she said. Her voice was sad. “It's just the way things are. You are a soldier first. A grandson second. At least, as long as you live here,” she said. There had been a strange edge to her voice, when she had said that.  

“Where else would I live?” he asked curiously, climbing onto his mother's lap. She smelled like Jasmine and tea leaves. He inhaled, closing his eyes.

Mother stroked his cheek. The one that Grandfather had struck. “Don't worry about that now,” she said, her voice soft. She smiled at him. “I'll tell the stable boy to sneak you to the fair tomorrow evening, when your Grandfather is at his meetings. He'll never know.”

Damian grinned back. “And I can skip training?”

She only laughed and kissed his forehead. “Don’t push it. Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

The next day, the fair in the village had been set on fire. He and Mother watched from the high windows of the compound's main hall. An example had been made. Mother's hand was gripping his shoulder very tight. He looked up at her.

He had thought then, for some strange reason, that Mother would say something. Tell Grandfather that he had gone too far. That it wasn't just. He was only a boy. He should have been allowed to have his fun.

All Mother did was stare at the flames. There was something in her eyes, some inscrutable thing that Damian could not recognize.

“From today,” she said finally, her voice as hard as iron, “you are never going to raise your voice against your Grandfather. Or any superior. Your pleasure is secondary. All that matters are the orders you have been given. Is that clear?”

Damian had nodded, mutely. He remembered, after that. He would keep head down. It didn't matter what he wanted. He was a soldier first. A son second.  

It was only later that he realised that the strange thing in his Mother's eyes had been fear.  

*

He was lying on the floor of the garage, his breath coming in fast little gasps. There was a shooting pain in his wrist. When he looked down at it, he saw that it was at an odd angle. It hurt so badly it was making his eyes wet. He wiped at them, embarrassed.  

The bicycle, he thought suddenly, and for a second he stopped breathing altogether. It was as though time had stopped. Father was going to kill him.  

He sat up a little, clutching his wrist, looking for where the bicycle had skidded to, when he'd fallen. When he saw it, he let out a helpless exhale.  

The bicycle was all crushed up, the metal bent, the sky blue paint chipped off in several places. But that wasn't the worst of it. It had skidded into one of Father's cars. The red Ferrari.  

Damian looked at the massive dent on the side of the car, his eyes wide. He was going to die. He was going to die. He wasn't supposed to be here at all. He was supposed to be practicing Judo drills in the cave, and doing his French homework when that was done, and now Father would– he would–

He squeezed his eyes shut, and lay back on the floor. He inhaled shakily, trying to beat back the swell of sharp, hot panic that was rising in his chest.

All he could remember was what Grandfather had done every time he'd tried to sneak out of the compound, or the way the men would watch silently as Damian was pushed into the pits, as a child.  

“He's too little,” one of them had said, once, “I can't fight him.”

He could remember the silence there had been in the room, after he had said that. Everyone had looked at his Grandfather. Even the man. His face had been pale.

Damian started to cry. He couldn't help it. His wrist hurt and his chest felt tight and he had ruined both the bicycle and Father's car and he couldn't breathe and–

“Damian?” he heard. It was Father. He had come into the garage. There were soft footsteps coming his way.

Damian whimpered, turning away so that Father couldn't see his wrist. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know.  

“Damian?” Father said again. The footsteps stopped. Father was seeing the damage now. He was seeing the car and the bike and Damian lying on his side and he was going to so so angry. He heard the footsteps again. Father had broken into a run. He turned his face onto the cool cement on the floor of the garage, screwing his eyes shut. No, he thought. No no no no.

When Father touched him, he flinched so hard that Father reared back.  

“I'm sorry,” he was crying, his shoulders shaking. He was a coward, was what he was. He ought to have been facing his Father with dignity, ought to have looked him square in the eye and apologised. Grandfather had always said that crying was for the weak.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, sobbing. Father was only staring at him, his eyes wide, “I didn't– I didn't mean to. I'll fix it, Father I can fix it, just please don't–” he was babbling, and he knew it. Saying anything that would keep Father from hitting him.

“Damian, I'm going to–” Father said, reaching over to touch him, and he flinched again, shaking his head. He tried to stand up, face his father like a man, but he overbalanced and landed on his wrist and he started to gasp again. It was like he couldn't breathe. He was still crying,of course– like– like some kind of insane, hysterical child. It was like he had lost all control of his body.  

Father moved closer to him, crouching before Damian, not touching him until he had quieted down. “What happened?” he said, his voice very quiet. Like he was calming a horse.  

Damian's shoulders shook. “I don't know,” he sobbed. “I don't know.”

He was still cradling his wrist. When Father saw, he made a quiet sound, cupping it gently in his hands. Damian watched him, warily. It was strange. Father didn't seem angry. He looked… worried.  

“That's broken,” Father said, his voice still doing that quiet thing, “we need to get you inside so I can set it. I'm going to pick you up, okay?”

Damian started to breathe faster again. “I– I don't–”

“Okay,” Father said quickly, “I'm not picking you up. Can you walk?”

Damian was trembling all over. Just shaking. It wasn't like it was cold.  “I just–” he stopped, swallowing. His mouth was bone dry. “Can we just sit here, for a while,” he whispered, his voice small.  

Father studied him. “Alright,” was all he said.

They sat there, by the wreck of the bike. Damian kept his eyes trained on the floor. He could feel Father staring at him.  His wrist hurt so much.  

“You're not– angry?” Damian said, finally. He was still looking at the floor.  

“What for?” Father said.

Damian sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his good hand. “You didn't see it?” he whispered. “The car? It's right here.”

Father took a handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping at Damian's face, his touch feather-light. “I saw it,” he said, “I'm not angry, Damian.”

Damian stared up at Father. “Why not?”

Father stood up, helping Damian up. His hand was warm on Damian's back.

“The car is replaceable,” he said, his voice low, “you are not.”

*

Inside the manor, Damian watched Father as he set his wrist. He was sitting on one of the high graphite counters in the kitchen, and even then, Father was taller than him.

“This next part is going to hurt,” Father said, “I'm going to have to wrap it up very tightly.”

“Oh,” Damian said. He felt drained. First the fall, then the crying, and now that he was in the aftermath of it all, the shame had started to set in. He had completely lost it, and right in front of Father too. He had behaved like a stupid, emotional baby, not at all like the warrior he had been trained to be, and now Father was disappointed in him.

He hadn't yelled, not yet, but he could tell that something was wrong. Father was being very quiet. Even quieter than he usually was.

Father started wrapping bandages around the splint, his hands working deftly. Damian inhaled a little sharply when the splint dug into his flesh, once or twice. He was not going to cry out. He wasn't. He had already done enough damage.  

Father glanced up at him, briefly. “You know,” he said, “when I was about your age, I would hurt myself while playing all the time. Alfred would sit me down on this very same counter, and he'd give me a spoonful of sugar to put in my mouth while he was dressing my cuts and scrapes, to make me feel better.”

Damian just looked at Father. He couldn't understand what he was trying to say.  

“Behind you,” Father said, still wrapping bandages, “third rack.”

Damian looked. There was a little jar of sugar on the rack. The one Alfred used to sweeten their tea.  Damian looked at Father.  

“Go on,” Father said.

Damian unscrewed the jar slowly, and put a spoonful into his mouth.  

“Better?” Father asked.  

The inside of his mouth felt oversweet, and he still felt the last dregs of panic and shame in his chest. But Father's mouth had curled up just a little while watching him eat the sugar, and his hands were still cupping Damian's wrist, even though it had already been set, and he still didn't look like he was angry, not at all, not even a little bit.

“Yes,” Damian whispered. He meant it.  

“Good,” Father said.

After that Father started cleaning the rest of his cuts and scrapes. Damian hadn't even noticed, but he'd skinned his knee badly. He'd tracked blood all the way to the kitchen. He watched now, as Father crouched down and painted the cut with iodine.

He cleared his throat. Now was the time. “Father,” he said, hesitating briefly, “I…apologise. I– I shouldn't have been in the garage at all. I was supposed to be doing my drills. I just saw the bicycle and–” he bowed his head, trying not to fidget. A good warrior must have perfect form, Mother had always said. Perfect in mind, and in body.

Grandfather had always said that as well.

“It will not happen again,” Damian said, “You have my word.”

Father offered no comment for some time. He was still cleaning up Damian's cuts. He carefully put a bandaid on top of his skinned knee, his brow furrowed intently.  

“Damian,” Father said finally, his eyes still on his knee, “do you not know how to ride a bicycle?”

Damian shook his head. “I never was– it didn't seem important. Learning to ride a bicycle was inessential to my training.” Damian said. A pause. He fidgeted a little, before he remembered what Mother used to say and stopped himself.  

“Also,” he said, his voice quiet, “no one ever taught me.”

Father looked up at him. He was still crouching down, his head level with Damian's knee. He tried to think of Grandfather, or even Mother dressing his cuts like this. He couldn't imagine it.  In the compound, it was always the servants who bandaged his wounds.

But then Father often did servant work. He made his own bed, and would make tea for Pennyworth in the mornings. He went grocery shopping occasionally. Once he had taken Damian. It had been strange. But not… unpleasant. Father had bought him a pack of marshmallow flavoured chewing gum for a dollar, and they had split it on the way back home. It had not been unpleasant in the slightest.  

Father was still looking. “I see,” he said, after a bit. “Well, rest up. Once your wrist is better, we'll see about buying a new bike.”

“What?”

Father stood up again. “A bike. Don't you want to learn how to ride one?”

Damian swallowed, trying to speak through the lump in his throat, “Why are you– why are you doing this?”

Father tilted his head. “Because you don't know how to ride a bike yet, and you're already eleven. I'm your dad. It's my job to teach you.”

Damian blinked. “That's not what I meant,” he said, “I meant– why aren't you angry? I ruined your car. I lost control of my emotions. I– I cried like a baby.”

Father looked thoughtful. Then he leant on the counter, next to Damian. They were close enough that their shoulders were touching.  

“When I was your age,” Father said, “not a day went by when I didn't lose control of my emotions. My parents had died very recently and I hadn't… I'm afraid I hadn't taken it very well. I was… a difficult child, Damian. I can't say I made things very easy for Alfred.”

Damian stared. It was hard to imagine Father being anything other than calm and in control.

“I can't speak for Alfred,” Father was saying, “but I know that if I had been in his position, it would have been infinitely more terrifying to raise a child that buried everything he felt deep inside him, rather than one that happened to let himself feel things.”

When Damian was silent, Father only smiled. “It's alright,” he said, “All you need to worry about right now, is if you want me to teach you how to ride a bike or not.”

“I– yes,” he managed. “Yes, I do.” Then he looked away. This was some strange and fantastical world that he had dreamt up. He was sure of it.

“Alright, we'll start as soon as your wrist is better.”

Damian nodded, mutely.  

There was a hand on his chin, all of a sudden, tipping it up. Damian looked up. Father's eyes were warm. “There's another thing Alfred always did, when I got hurt,” he said.  

“What?” Damian asked.  

Father pulled him close, until his head was resting on his chest. He was cradling the back of Damian's head with his hand. He was hugging him, Damian realised. This was a hug. There they were, sitting on a granite counter in the kitchen, Damian with a broken wrist and a mouthful of sugar, and Father, with his iodine stained fingers. They were hugging.

Damian wrapped his good hand around his father's neck. Tight.

I love you, he wanted to say. I love you I love you I love you. So much more than I ever loved Grandfather.

“Let's start tomorrow,” he mumbled into Father's shirt collar, instead.  

Father laughed softly. “Maybe in a few weeks. If you don't rest, you won't heal.”

*

They walked down the mile long driveway slowly, Damian pushing the bicycle with him as they went along.

It was new, and it was bright green. It had a basket and a bell and gears and a little cup holder.  

Damian loved it.

“You're going to hold on, right?” Damian asked, flexing his wrist. They'd only just got the cast removed yesterday. Six weeks of waiting. Of staring at the new bicycle ever since the day Father had gone to the store with him, and they had picked it out together.

“Yes,” Father said. “Come on, get on the seat.”

Damian hesitated, and then climbed on. He was not a coward. Grandfather had always said– Damian pushed the thought away. It didn't matter, what Grandfather had always said.  

Father was holding one of the handles with him. He looked patient. Like he had all the time in the world.

“We could go tomorrow,” Damian had said yesterday, in the Batcave, “after I get the cast removed.”

Father was looking at something on the main monitors, his cowl pushed back. He looked exhausted. He'd been off-world for a week, and he'd only just come home. He was going through reports to help Drake with some case.  

Father was scrubbing at his face. “I have meetings all day tomorrow,” he'd said, “and you have history lessons with Mr. Alvarez. Maybe Thursday, Damian.”

“Oh,” Damian had said. “Alright, Father.” and then he'd gone back upstairs to finish working on his Biology assignment. Around dinnertime, instead of Alfred calling him downstairs, Father had come to his room, and sat on the bed. He'd watched Damian drawing anatomical diagrams for a minute.  

“You're good at that,” he'd said.  

Damian had blushed, setting down his pencil.

“Maybe we can skip our prior engagements just this once,” he'd said, and laughed when Damian had jumped on him, wrapping his arms around him.

Now, Damian exhaled. “Don't let go,” he said, one more time, as he began to pedal.

The wheels began to spin as the bike went faster and faster, and soon Father had to jog in order to keep up with him.

Damian could feel himself grinning. Father was grinning too. A proper, real smile, with teeth and all.

“I'm doing it,” he said. He was laughing. He hadn't even realised it.

And then he was riding. Truly riding the bike. His heart soared as he rode down the driveway, watching the trees on either side blur into a band of greens and golds. The wind swept at his face and his hands and his magnificent green bike cut throughout the air like a well oiled, beautiful ship. He rang the bell, laughing at how good it felt, how excellent he was soon going to be at this, how he was going to go everywhere on his bike, and he turned to tell Father, but Father wasn't by his side anymore.

He stopped a little clumsily, pressing the brakes. Father was standing at the far end of the driveway, a small figure, next to the large presence of the Manor. He had let go, and Damian hadn't even noticed.  

“I did it!” Damian yelled over to him. Even though they were far apart, he could see the smile on Father's face.  

He grinned, getting on his bike once again, and rode back towards him.

[fidothefinch]

Hello :D I’m going to try again guessing a word...Smile?

Smiling? In one of my stories?!

. . . it’s more likely than you might think ;)

Richard gave Damian a small smile. “You know, I used to say the same thing to Bruce, when I was your age.”

I am honestly shocked how many times this word is in this chapter. who even am i?

[camsthisky]

Back rub Ed and Armstrong

“Hey, uh, Major?” Ed calls out to Armstrong, just as the two of them are exiting Mustang’s office. “Can I, uh, ask you a favor?”

Amstrong turns and (for some goddamn reason) strips his shirt off, flexing his muscles as he exclaims, “But of course, Edward Elric! If there is something I can do for you, just say the word! I will do it to the best of my ability!”

“Right,” Ed says, still a little off kilter. His left hand twitches towards his right arm, and he grabs the metal limb carefully and pulls it towards his body. He can’t quite look the Major in the eyes right now. “It’s just. It’s raining, and, I mean. Usually I would have Al do it, but since Al’s still at the library, I just—”

Armstrong sets a gentle hand on Ed’s flesh shoulder, and it startles Ed enough that his words cut off, and he’s staring at Armstrong.

“Whatever it is, Edward, I would be glad to lend my assistance,” Armstrong assures him.

Ed finds himself relaxing a touch. “Thanks, Major Armstrong. It’s my automail port. Sometimes it gets achy in the rain, and I can’t really reach my back, so I can’t rub it out.”

Armstrong nods sympathetically and leads him over to the couch in the anteroom outside of Mustang’s office. No one is here, seeing as most of Mustang’s team is on an assignment in Central. Ed strips out of his jackets, just in his black sleeveless shirt as he lies face down on the couch.

“Please tell me if I hurt you, Edward,” Armstrong says as he gently pushes his large fingers into the swollen flesh pressing against his automail port. Edward tenses at the first touch, and Armstrong falters. “Too much?”

“No,” Ed grits out. “It’s gonna hurt no matter how hard you press at first. ‘S how it always is.”

“I see,” Armstrong says, and he presses hard. He goes at it until the tension finally fully slides out of Ed, and he’s practically putty under Armstrong’s soothing fingers some ten or fifteen minutes later. “Is that better?”

Ed hums. He doesn’t want to move.

“Edward?”

Ed blinks his eyes open, never realizing that he’d actually closed them. “Oh. Yeah, thanks Major Armstrong.”

“You seem tired, would you care for a nap?” Armstrong asks, his voice lilting with concern. “I’m sure Alphonse wouldn’t mind picking you up a little later if he knew you needed the sleep.”

Ed’s eyelids flutter. “I hate to ask this, but could you call him in like, half an hour? We really need all eyes on the books right now.”

“Of course,” Armstrong agrees easily. “Did you sleep last night?”

“I...think so,” Ed says, his forehead creasing. He’s not really functioning at full capacity. “I had to stay up and finish that report for the Colonel, and then I spent a couple hours helping Al research. Then, I think I fell asleep? I don’t remember how long I slept, though.”

“It sounds like you could use the rest,” Armstrong tells him. “Sleep, Edward Elric. I will call Alphonse in half an hour.”

“Thanks, Major,” Ed sighs. And then he’s out.

“Hey, Al,” Havoc greets Al the moment the suit of armor is about to step into the room leading to Colonel Mustang’s office. “Here to pick up the sleeping beauty?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “Thanks for letting my brother sleep here.”

Havoc waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, Major Armstrong was about to fight the Colonel about keeping Ed here, and the Colonel didn’t want to deal with the headache.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to thank the Colonel, too,” Al tells him. “Do you know where I can find Ed?”

Havoc smiles. “He’s in there. Come on.”

And with that, Havoc leads Al into the open room where Ed’s pretty much passed out on the couch. He looks small curled up like that, Armstrong watching over him like a hawk—small enough to remind Havoc that Ed’s only a fifteen year old.

“Ah, Major Armstrong!” Al says, delight obvious in his voice as he clanks over to the couch. “Thank you so much for staying with my brother.”

“It’s no trouble, Alphonse Elric!” Armstrong exclaims, though it’s rather quiet compared to his usual shenanigans. Probably because Ed’s still sleeping. “The poor lad was sleep-deprived, as well as in pain. Automail is harsher on a person than I had realized.”

“Yeah,” Al says, kind of quietly. “It used to be a lot worse, when he was still going through rehabilitation, but it still strains him a lot more than he likes to let on.”

“It’s good he has you to take care of him, then,” Armstrong says. 

Al laughs shyly. “I try. He can be a handful sometimes. But he takes care of me, too. He’s my big brother, after all.”

“This is sweet and all,” Havoc interrupts, no matter how much he hates to, “but the Colonel is due to have a meeting in ten, and if he finds Ed out here still sleeping, he’s probably gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Oh, right.” Somehow, Al looks sheepish, despite being a suit of armor. He bows his head to both of them. “Thank you again. Both of you.” Then he turns to his older brother and shakes him lightly. “Brother, it’s time to wake up.”

Ed squints and groans. “Already?”

“You can sleep back at the hotel if you need to,” Al tells him.“No, no,” Ed grumbles, sitting up. “I’m awake now. Let’s go.”

And that’s it. The two Elrics are gone in a fit of playful arguing over Ed’s sleep schedule. Havoc sighs and looks over at the Major.“Those two are really something, aren’t they?” Havoc wonders.

“Indeed, they are,” Armstrong replies.