#he is not who this fic is about

[1nksta1neddesk]

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 12: House Call

The next morning had all of us groaning when we finally gathered together in the dinning room for a late brunch. We all crowded at one end of the table, well it was really only me who had changed position as I had moved the farthest away from the doors as I could. Lucien was massaging his temples as I rested my forehead against the cold wood, it appeared that both of us were hung over as Tamlin sat straight in his chair. He was drinking water for once, evidence of his own hangover despite his denial when I had commented on it when I first dragged myself in.

I looked up at Lucien across from me as I pinched my brows together, “And where did Mr.’save my human hide’ go last night?” I purposely pumped the over exaggerated accusation into my words as I lifted my heavy head from the table.

“On patrol, unlike some people who like frolicing with the moon spirits.” I sent a pointed stare at Lucien at the same time Tam did, “With a little bit of company.” He was too snobby about it for my liking as I leaned back in the chair.

“Cauldron spare any poor female who has to share a night with you.” I groaned at him as I nibbled at a slice of coffee cake and sipped at some sweet tea that had found its way to me. He gave me an offended gasp with a hand drawn to his chest before he fell into a twisted grin.

“Rumor says Tam had to carry in a poor female mortal last night.” His eyebrow curled insufferably and I flicked a piece of hardened sugar at him, his hand swatting the air to deflect it.

“You try being a mortal drunk on two cups of solstice wine, though if you don’t enjoy the feeling of your skull being an anvil I wouldn’t suggest it.” He huffed at me as a slice of strawberry landed on my forehead. I peeled it away and glared at him, prepared to throw it back at him.

“Children, children, please not another food fight.” Tamlin interjected and I looked at him. He had been following my movements all morning as me and Lucien bickered at each other.

Lucien cleared his throat before straightening up, intent on saying something serious. “My contact in Winter Court sent me a letter this morning, Tamlin,” A damper on the energy as Lucien's face drew tight and his face lost the laughing warmth, “The blight took 2 dozen of their younglings, gone.” The cake in my mouth became ashen and where it sat in my stomach became rancid as my stomach roiled. “Burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is … unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack.”

We sat in heavy silence, none of us reaching for food or drink as we reckoned with the devastation. It was obvious Rhysand was tied to the slaughter, or at least knew of it. My hand was shaky as I reached toward Tamlin’s hand, the fingernails elongated and sharpened into claws where the tips just barely dug into the polished wood. I was just barely soothing the back of his hand before the claws tightened, digging into the wood and Tamlin was growling as his head bobbed higher, detecting something.

Silence echoed through the manor, unnatural as I had become used to the soft bustling of servants and birds that hung around the balconies. It was wrong as Lucien drew a short sword he must have taken with him on patrol as Tamlin’s canines were elongeated a gleaming with saliva.

“Get Feyre to the window -- by the curtains.” The command was stone as Lucien and I both rose from the table quickly, him pushing me against the wall, pinning me in the drapery as he leaned back into me as though willing me to flatten into paper and melt into the wall. The smallest twinge of smoking cedar pushed with him and I knew I was glammored from view. Tamlin stared at the open doors as Lucien's hand tightened on the hilt, knuckles going white as I wiggled against his back. Tam still sat in his chair, slouching to appear casual for just a moment before casual clicks of hard soled shoes echoed from down the call.

Rhysand appeared at the doors and I stopped wiggling as I stared at him. It wasn’t the same as Calanmai, now he held a mask as he strode into the room as though it was his own home. He stopped a few yards from Tamlin, feline and self assured as he surveyed the room, where Lucien was pretending to gaze out the window.

“High Lord,”he crooned, inclining his head slightly. Not a bow, never a bow. Tamlin stayed in his seat as he looked up at Rhysand, pretending the presence wasn’t causing those claws to remain razor sharp as he cleaned them with a paring knife.

“What do you want, Rhysand?” Tamlin was short in his words, seething it like a viper

Rhysand smiled and I knew he was the real snake, a constrictor already wrapped around its prey as put a hand on his chest. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don’t see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that.” His grin widened as he finished, and something I felt the tension squeeze. Lucien pressed me harder that would surely bruise my ribs against the stone of the wall as Rhysand turned, evaluating Lucien as prey.

“A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien.”

“Go to Hell, Rhys,” Lucien snapped.

“Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble,” Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. I struggled to breath against the wall but just barely kept from wheezing out each breath.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“We were in the middle of lunch,” Tamlin said—his voice void of the warmth to which I’d become accustomed. The voice of the High Lord, but it was weaker than the other High Lord in the room.

“Stimulating,” Rhysand purred.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

“I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.”

“Your present was unnecessary.”

“But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn’t it?” Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. “Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don’t know how you managed it. But,” he said, facing Tamlin again, “you’re such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I’m surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” conceded Tamlin, his voice low. Rhysand approached Tamlin, and each twitch of muscle that guided him was measured. His voice dropped into a whisper, the same whisper of silk sheets dragging against each other.

“What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin—and an even greater pity that you’re so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago.”

Lucien interrupted, “What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore.”

“Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons.” Aching pain tightened my chest further as I resisted the urge to separate from Lucien and soothe the cutting edge of those words.

“At least I haven’t bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell.”

Lucien’s sword rose slightly and I pressed a hand against his back, he gained enough sense to lower the tip of the blade to rest against the floor again, “If you think that’s all I’ve been doing, you’ll soon learn otherwise.”

“Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.”

I dug a sharp nail into Lucien as he growled and the blade twisted, screeching against the marble floors it scratched. It kept that blade down and I was thankful.

A small sighing laugh as Rhysand shook his head slightly, looking towards Tamlin, “Shouldn’t you correct this behavior, its unbecoming of a High Lords Emissary to be so hostile to another court’s High Lord, don’t you agree?” Darkness rippled from him like the invert of heat waves and my eyes became entranced by the fluttering aura around him.

“I don’t enforce rank in my court,” Tamlin said.

“Still?” Rhysand crossed his arms. “But it’s so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you.”

“This isn’t the Night Court,” Lucien hissed. “And you have no power here—so clear out. Amarantha’s bed is growing cold.” If my finger dug back into Lucien’s back he did not react. Anger boiled in me but I tried my best to sooth it as I finished the last touches on my mental shield, fashioned specifically for this meeting.

“I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born,” Rhysand snarled, and he was drawing back as though he had just come to talk about the wonderful weather. “Besides,” his hands slid into the pockets of his pants, “who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can’t truly believe he learned everything in his father’s little war-camps.” I scrunch my nose, not quite pleased to hear about gore and sex as a small sweat was breaking at my hairline.

Tamlin rubbed his temples. “Save it for another time, Rhys. You’ll see me soon enough.”

Rhysand meandered toward the door, a neighbor dismissing themselves. “She’s already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you’ve already been broken and will reconsider her offer.”

Lucien’s breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of my chair. “I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—” Rhysand’s eyebrows pinched just slightly as he studied the table, the extra plate with half-eaten cake on it. Lucien went stick-straight, pressing me harder against the wall.

“Where’s your guest?” Rhysand asked, lifting my goblet and sniffing it before setting it down again, the twinge of disgust on his face informed he did not find the sweet tea as appealing as I did.

“I sent them off when I sensed your arrival,” Tamlin lied coolly.

I felt the excitement at the same time I watched the movement of those shadows pick up. He sniffed the air as he turned and his eyes locked on Lucien, and it was excitement and small disbelief making his eyes glow.

“You dare glamor me?” he growled, his violet eyes burning as they bore into me and I knew he could see me now as Lucien just pressed me harder into the wall. Tamlin’s chair scratched the floor as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, deadlier than any of the knives strapped to him.

“I remember you,” he purred. I stepped out from behind Lucien even as his had gripped my arm and pulled me back towards him.

He turned to Tamlin. “Who, pray tell, is your guest?”

“My betrothed,” Lucien answered.

“Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries,” Rhysand said, stalking toward me. He was handsome even in his fury as I locked my eyes to his, keeping his gaze as he drew nearer. Dark pulsed from him and I clenched my hands to keep from reaching out to the sentient shadows.

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us. Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.”

The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” I was already ripping my arm from his grasp and pushing down the blade, careful not to slice open my hand as I did so.

“I knew you liked to take filth for your lovers, but to stoop so low as to drabble with the human garbage.” Still I did not break my stare, as I set the last soft layer of metal shield. I had constructed my mind like a stone fruit, soft flesh of mind that I bared to him covered in the barest shield of skin, but the vital thoughts I guarded were at the center, hidden by that flesh in an dense sheild of iron and stone.

Rhysand had not paused as he approached me. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

“Leave Rhys,” Tamlin’s voice led itself to a command but it was no more than a puppy's bark to Rhysand as he paused a body length away from me. I put one foot forward, crossing it across the other as I bent at the waist and bowed formally. I did not have any fear as I straightened from my bow.

“At least someone in this court has manners, perhaps you should teach them to your fiancé.” He grinned down at me ,“If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It’s a wonder that you’re still here, actually.”

“My stay ran longer than anticipated, but it is a pleasure to put a name to a face, Rhys.” If he had any doubts they did not cross his face as wicked enjoyment crawled across his face like a spider.

Rhysand was about to speak but Tamlin was growling again, “Get out Rhysand, you have seconds.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, “If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to me like that Little High Lord.” My body straightened like a rod was ran through every bone and muscle as I felt talons of a large hand scrape along the top most barrier of my mind. The skin of the fruit was sliced and I let small thoughts push out from them as glistening juice. Tastes of the night and towering trees hiding me as I rested during a hunt.

“Let her go,” Tamlin said, bristling, but didn’t advance forward. A kind of panic had entered his eyes, and he glanced from me to Rhysand. If I could reassure him I would, but I still stared back at Rhysand as I softened my eyes, “Enough.”

“I’d forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells,” Rhysand said. I felt one of the claws collect the leaking thoughts, tasting what I presented. “How delightful. You must have gotten a rare one Tam, unable to feel fear even as her mind is just shy of being obliterated.” He crooned at me as his hand wrapped around my throat, thumb tracing my pulse point. I pushed more thoughts out, this time the fear of heights as I strapped myself to a tree of the night, fear of nightmares that haunted me when I dreamed. “Oh it would be quick, I promise.”

“Amarantha will enjoy breaking her,” Rhysand observed to Tamlin. “Almost as much as she’ll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit.”

Tamlin was frozen, his arms hanging limply next to him, defeated. “Please” If he would just shut up and quit begging I could solve this, and perhaps I let a little too much irritation slip from me as Rhysand’s forehead rose just a bit.

“Please what?” Rhysand taunted as those claws traced swirling patterns into my mind, cutting more and more away and I left more and more thoughts pouring from it.

“Don’t tell Amarantha about her,” Tamlin said, and his voice cracked.

“And why not? As her whore,” he said with an accusatory glance tossed in Lucien’s direction, “I should tell her everything.” Tamlin pleaded again with short ‘please’s. Rhysand made him beg, a simpering mess as he pressed his foot into Tamlin’s head. Maybe I would have felt bad if I was not reminded of the slaughter of both of their families.

Those claws loosened from my mind and I gained control of my limbs again. I shook them lightly before I gave Rhysand a reprimanding smile, flickers of shock skipped over all of their faces as I rubbed at my head.

“It is quite rude to hold a Lady’s mind without asking first.” I pushed hair from my forehead that was leaking sweat. I reformed the shields into something easier to manage, a smooth wall of solid stone. The headache I had been dealing with since I rose from bed dissipated just a bit as my metal strain lessened. Disbelief and horror was across both Tamlin’s and Lucien’s faces as I smoothed out the violet tunic I had chosen this morning on purpose.

“A rare catch indeed, Tamlin.” Rhys grinned at me and behind the mask of cruelty I might have imagined amusement. “What’s your name, love? It is quite unfair that you have mine but I do not have yours.”

I did not let a heartbeat of indecision pass, “Emiline Jacobs.” I had the name on reserve for years, a young woman from The Children of Blessed that made a pastime of stealing from the elderly on market day. It wasn’t enough to condemn her to the death she would face but it was enough to know there wouldn’t be a house burned to ashes.

“Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I’ve had in ages, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing you three Under the Mountain. I’ll give Amarantha your regards.” He was curt as he nipped lint from the matte black tunic and winnowed. The air didn’t even move for a moment, the element afraid of shredding the last bit of Tamlin’s restraint. We were alone and that fractured each of us.

[noelledeltarune]

EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

[frownyalfred]

in the realm of like, rich kid problems, I want to someday read/write a fic where Nightwing is slowly establishing himself as a full-fledged JL member and everyone is relieved because finally, there's a nice Bat on the Watchtower who doesn't just shoot down their plans and deny their mission requests. but. while Nightwing is kind, and polite, and charming in all the ways the Bat isn't, he's still Dick Grayson. and Dick Grayson grew up as a very rich kid's suddenly very rich kid, which is to say while Bruce might not take it personally, Dick has been fending off people almost his entire life who were trying to use him for his Dad's money. which is to say, I think once Nightwing is on board and the relationship between him and Batman is at least somewhat well-known, there is suddenly a rush of younger, less-experienced members trying to take advantage of Nightwing, mistaking that kindness and openness for willingness to either voluntarily, or involuntarily, infringe upon and cross Batman's clear-cut boundaries. bribing Dick for a better monitor shift with Batman is one thing (it doesn't really work, Dick can't bribe Bruce with much as it is) but trying to convince Nightwing to lie to Batman? to go against him? his dad? the man who pulled him up when he had nothing and gave him meaning again? that man?? and then comes the inevitable, chilling realization, that while Nightwing might wear a different mask, might wear an open smile on the Watchtower and with friends off-shift, there are some lines he won't cross, same as Bruce. he won't, sure as the sun rises and the rot rolls off the Gotham Harbor in the morning.

[essayofthoughts]

Genuinely, I think one of the most fun and crunchy things about any character is

How far they will go for things they want

What they will do to get things they want

Things they won't do, no matter how much they want what they'd get in exchange

Because these things tell you some very important things about the character, namely their limits, their price, and their absolute No's. (And it lets you create some really REALLY crunchy conflict)

[radiance1]

Danny has been reincarnated.

Which was an odd thing to realize, it wasn't even a slow one he just... snapped into it one day. One moment he was staring at a wall out of boredom the next, well, he was staring for an entirely different reason.

It was a task for his now young -he thinks around three years old?- mind to work its way through the memories, but it wasn't like he had much else to do honestly. So, what does he know?

His name is Danny, like, his actual name and not just a moniker. He was once a halfa and he already knows he's going to be missing invisibility and intangibility. He, well, died. For like, a second time which actually makes sense because reincarnation-

Anyways.

He was a clone of two people from this thing called the Justice League which, weird name but probably some government or activist group. Wonder Woman and Superman. Which were pretty weird names to name your kids but eh.

He doesn't really remember much besides that from this life, or the one from before but he's an adult! He'll figure things out once he gets out of this containment tube thing.

Did he mention he was in a test tube? He's a tube baby now. He thinks? Or maybe it's more like he's being contained.

Whatever.

So he breaks out. Thank you apparent superstrength that he has no idea why he has but he's not going to complain! He then wandered around all of the other test tubes, able to remember just enough of English to see that yea, they're dead.

He probably was too, before he had memories zapped into him. Or a vegetable.

He then finds this really big container, checks it out, then opens it because the clone inside isn't dead!

'Project Match' it said. He'll just call him Match.

Was he thanked for helping him? Nope. You would think that he would be thanked or at least somewhat respected for saving this guy but nope!

He was, quite literally, held up by his leg and dangled in the air. Who dangles a three-year-old?! Well, he was technically and adult but still! The next few things were a blur but after pulling off the old Fenton charm he found him and Match outside as he tried to stop him from attacking random people.

Luckily the charms and privilege of the youngest (he's assuming he's the youngest, because he's physically three) was more than enough to get through to him. Sure, the guy couldn't form words, really aggressive for literally no reason, really weird but also absolutely cool looking eyes. But he worked around the first issue by developing their own personal language from like grunts and stuff, the second he once again used his youngest privilege to boss him around and the third a pair of sunglasses easily fixed.

He just had to steer Match clear of those random S crest mark thingies. Which was a weird thing to hate but hey, he's not there to judge.

[keferon]

Guess who spent two days trying to understand how to draw a kiss

Based on amazing incredible gut wrenching Mistakes on Mistakes until..

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[ghostpebble]

Dash: Hey Fenton! Kill yourself challenge, right now! *snicker*

A-Listers: *giggling*

Danny:

Sam and Tucker:

Danny: Going-

Sam and Tucker: DANNY, WE'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS

[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[liampaynememorial]

Honoring Liam Payne: A memorial across time and space

As we continue to process the heartbreaking news of Liam’s passing, I’ve created this tumblr as a space where we can come together and remember him.

Several of you, including some anons, suggested the idea of holding an online memorial, especially for those who can’t attend the services being held in various cities. I believe this is a beautiful way to honor him and support one another.

I’ll be posting more details on Monday, as it’s quite late now and I’ll be travelling tomorrow to attend one of the memorials. But I wanted to get this blog up and running to share a date and a way for us to contribute.

We’ll be holding the online memorial on October 29th. The time doesn’t matter — just join in whenever it’s October 29th where you are, so everyone can participate in their own time. What can you share?

You can contribute in any way that feels right for you —whether it’s edits, fan art, poems, a personal note or letter, song lyrics, gif sets, your favorite photos of him, special moments, stories… Just tag me and I’ll make sure to reblog it.

Please, take care and be gentle with yourselves during this time. I’m sending love and strength to all of you 💕

[cryptid-cave]

Currently thinking about a reader who, while having a full-time job and playing the part of a “real adult” pretty well for the most part, is still kind of lost and pathetic. It feels less like they’re living and more like they’re surviving, getting by on their own with just a cat for company.

Enter John Price, who’s currently on medical leave and just itching for a project. Maybe reader works at a store near his home that he shops at almost every other day, or works at the library where he goes when he needs to get out of the house. Either way, he spots this pretty little thing who clearly needs some love and guidance, preferably from a strong, gentle hand - and who better to do that than him?

Anyways, save me bossy and demanding Price with a savior complex, save me

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[otaku553]

New blorbo :)

Also a silly interaction with this piece

[benevolenterrancy]

Mobei-Jun getting abandoned in the human realm by his favourite uncle and being left alone and terrified?? baby???? gonna lie awake thinking about him and Shang Qinghua meeting as children

[keferon]

This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old so we made him look like a child. A lil baby robot. All cute and basically just like a human kid. <- the thing I see everywhere

This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old but he looks like a grown ass adult, strong just like an adult and can already transform into a jet even though he has just one brain cell and no fucking idea how to fly. <- the thing I desperately hope to read about one day even though I haven’t seen it to be properly explored even once