not-a-real-fan

[not-a-real-fan]

fun behaviors to give dragons that aren't feline/canine based

cause as much as i love dragons purring and roaring i wish there was just more variety in how they would act

clacking their teeth together to show contentedness/happiness (budgies)

using tails as a defensive weapon in a whip like fashion (iguana)

twitching to express that they're not a threat to members of their species (hognose snake)

feeling calm when eyes are hooded/covered (birds of prey)

head bobbing as a threat display (anoles/bearded dragons)

flattening neck or sides to appear bigger (snakes/lizards)

mantling over food to protect it from hatchmates (birds of prey)

wiggling neck as a courting maneuver (budgies)

audibly grinding teeth as a warning (macaques)

maintained eye contact as a challenge (gorillas)

pounding wings against sides as a threat (gorillas)

slapping other dragons with their claws when their personal bubble is invaded (seals)

hoards used as a site to impress mates (birds of paradise)

snorting when undergoing heightened stress (horses)

making repeated loud noises with surroundings to establish territory (woodpeckers)

loud constant arguments with other dragons when roosting (bats)

building lairs that cause a domino effect of change in the land around them (beavers)

slapping their tails against the ground/water as a warning (beavers)

plucking or scraping off scales as a sign of stress (parrots)

raising spines/frills as a response to danger and carrying on with their usual business as they believe they're protected (lionfish)

and im not saying canine and feline behaviors are wrong or bad to give a dragon (people wouldn't write dragons with those behaviors if they weren't fun in the first place!) but i feel for creatures that are mythological giant winged lizards that you can do more and get experimental with it. often the more unfamiliar behavior the more dragons get that much more dragony

[not-a-real-fan]

Daemon enjoys singing too, and just like his kids, he encompasses all the angst.

big thank you to all the artists and their fanart featured in this video as well as @syndrossi for writing this story!

@lidoshka @klnghen @mememachine132 @immortalwalnut @cheeze-whizzz

[not-a-real-fan]

so originally Jason was buried in Gotham Cemetery, which i think makes his whole ‘disorientatedly breaking out of his own grave’ thing so much funnier. because like. that’s a public graveyard. there’s probably walkways going through it that people take to get to work or school every day. and i know a lot of people retcon that with the excuse of the loa cleaning up the broken grave so that they can keep Jason away from Bruce, but what if they just. didn’t?

Gotham is a fucked up place, and the people that live there are so used to it by now. they don’t bat an eye at the vigilantes, the fear gas, the clowns-, they have been desensitised to the weird and unexplainable. so i imagine with the fact that Bruce Wayne’s dead son’s gravesite suddenly becoming the CLEAR location of a broken out corpse, with the scratch marks on the inside of a burrowed out coffin, mud and dirt bursting up in the way that could only happen if something was emerging from below, the probably muddy footsteps leading away, not to, away from, the grave…

what i’m saying is the general public of Gotham are probably well fucking aware that there’s a zombie Jason Todd walking around somewhere, and they’ve all just collectively decided to mind their own fucking business.

there’s no new zombie-rogues, no people being eaten, and after a week or so the caretaker of the cemetery sighed and filled in the mess anyway, so nobody really thinks to mention it. of course, the Waynes are too overwhelmed by grief to ever go to Jason’s grave, and people are too scared to bring up such a sensitive subject with them, so it gets to the point where literally everyone in Gotham knows that Jason is probably alive…. but his family.

Jason comes back to Gotham as Red Hood and he doesn’t even try to have a secret identity as a civilian. nobody fucking cares. he just gets an apartment and starts walking around during the day and everyone who recognises him as Jason is just like ‘heyy! glad to see you back man, we were wondering where you’d popped off to!’. literally nobody gives a shit.

(Tim knows. he used to walk through that graveyard to get home from school, he’s known from the beginning. he knows that whatever Jason’s staying away for is his own business, and to be honest he really didn’t want to be the messenger for that particular shitstorm of information. politely, he will not be touching that with a ten foot pole.)

(Damian knew before he even came to Gotham. quite frankly, his opinion on his father dropped astronomically when he found out his English teacher knew of his brother’s residence in Crime Alley and Bruce didn’t. it’s more entertaining for him to just sit back and watch anyway. he too, refuses to say shit.)

Eventually the news reaches the upper side of Gotham, who all immediately assume that if Jason’s walking around again then the Wayne’s must of course be aware of it, so they never think to bring it up then, either. but Jason Todd-Wayne is back, and there’s always been a special fondness for that cute little street kid who nervously started getting brought along to galas and tried his absolute best to fit in and be polite, even if half the time he ended up fucking around with Dick or that Drake kid in the corner to pass the time. so if he’s back, then the elites all immediately assume that he is once again going to be a part of higher Gotham society.

so Jason Todd, secretly the Red Hood Jason Todd, hiding from his family Jason Todd, living in a shitty apartment safe house with two pieces of furniture and a lot of swords Jason Todd, starts getting invites to high-end events from all the city elites. he doesn’t even know how they got his address.

but well, he was free that evening… and he couldn’t deny that it might be a little bit funny…

his identity reveal ends up being much less explosive than originally planned, but it sure is entertaining. at least for him. Damian and Tim looked positively suicidal the whole night.

[not-a-real-fan]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[not-a-real-fan]

I love love love hellblazers apprentice so much

Just wanted you to know that

EEEEEEEEEEE

Me with your message:

[not-a-real-fan]

AI disturbance overlays for those who don't have Ibis paint premium. found them on tiktok

[not-a-real-fan]

(A/N—This is so random, but can someone teach me how to make a master list, lol? Or do it for me? Idk, I just wanna organize stuff but I'm clueless.)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Insecurities with Jason Todd feels like they shouldn't exist. This man is tall, dark, and handsome. He's built in ways other guys envy and has the kind of strength and stamina that takes years of discipline few men actually have.

Yet...he is insecure.

He knows he is all those things, yes. And he's well aware that by normal standards most people would appreciate the biceps or abs, even the muscles on his back in some weird sort of way. But not him. Because when he's with you, feeling how soft your skin is, how comfortable you feel laying on top of him, all he wishes is that he could do the same.

That you could trace his skin the way he traces yours and not feel every scar he's ever been given. That he could lay on top of you without worrying about hurting you. That he didn't have to think every single time he woke up and found himself instinctively holding you too tightly.

That's an insecurity you have to talk him out of very slowly, bit by bit showing him the roughness of his skin doesn't matter, the texture of his scars neither, and the weight, well his weight was just as comforting as the smell of vanilla and leather he seemed covered in 24/7.

He would never have believed you truly liked being smothering and it terrified him to no end, but you did. You liked all of him. Insecurities and all.

[not-a-real-fan]

Hello! I write for TLK, mainly Finan 💗 This blog is 18+ ONLY. Requests are open ❤️

Note: This blog is a safe space for everyone. Please be kind.

Check out the RP Group!! @thelastkingdomrp

The Last Kingdom Fics:

The Scottish Princess, Finan x Reader (Brief Alfred x Reader): Smut/Fluff, Angst: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 (Final Part). -Moodboard

King of the North (The next chapter of The Scottish Princess) Finan x Reader, Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Ongoing.

- Moodboard -Moodboard 2

Beltane series:

Beltane, TLK crew smut. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Solstice Part 1 Finan x Gisela , Part 2 Uhtred x Sihtric x Gisela , Part 3 Osferth x Sihtric

Mabon Part 1 Finan x Gisela

Praise Them - Finan x Aelswith x Sihtric Part 1 Part 2

Additional fics:

The Offering, Finan x Luna: OC, Fluff/Smut, Angst, Storyline aligned with episodes: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Series currently on hold.

All graphics done by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💕

[not-a-real-fan]

Robin! Jason: Robin gives me magic! :D

Constantine: *suspicious side eye glaring* Hm....

Bruce: oh come on, just because I have a high chance of being consumed by evil if I do magic -which is why I'm not allowed to do magic- doesn't mean he will! That's just a kid's saying! Constantine: uh huh -------------------------------

Red hood! Jason: *all-blades in hand* Sup motherfuckers guess who's back Constantine: I FUCKING KNEW IT

[not-a-real-fan]

You know, some of my favorite fics are abandoned.  And yeah, I wish they weren't  abandoned, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love them.  I certainly don’t wish they’d never been written.  Just saying, for those of us with dangling fics we guilt ourselves over.  It’s still better that you wrote what you wrote.

[not-a-real-fan]

If Sherlock Holmes was Isekai'd to a fantasy world he would just deduce the rules of this world and get back to solving crimes. He'll find an elf girl sidekick,name her Watson, and pretend like nothing happened.

[not-a-real-fan]

Jason literature PhD Todd (in my opinion) would be absolutely be feral for running D&D campaigns for anyone who is foolish enough to accept the offer.

Not only would He have THE most detailed setting and the most meticulous worldbuilding He would put Matt Mercer and Brandon Lee Mulligan to shame, when it comes to DMing. (Yes Damian is responsible for painting the Minis, what big brother would denie his artgoblin brother the joy of that)

And the best part, no one would be safe. The batfam, the Outlaws, Teen Titans and Justice League are a given as His friends and family. He Had at least one party with his goons.

I'd love for him to open a game store or community center for the kids of crime alley with every Thing they need, where He also runs a few games from time to time, simply to provide a (safe) social space to keep whom ever he can out of trouble (+ D&D has been linked to positive effects on psychological development).

The funniest part: He has tried to run a game at the LoA, swiftly disbanded every time by Ra's himself.

Side Note: Jason and Damian also do Warhammer 40k because little D got hooked on painting Minis, and His hunger is not satiated by Jason's occasional monster or npc.

[not-a-real-fan]

AU - Gotham's Favorite P1

(Ok, so I'm new here and am still figuring out how posting works, but I want to make this a multi-part thing because of how long I've been working on this concept.) -Kat

The entire pre-Lazarus pit, but still somehow manages to get resurrected, Jason makes me really question just what made him get resurrected. No average person just fucking crawls out of their grave, so why did Jason? Well, "for the plot" just isn't a good explanation, in my opinion, so I decided I will absolutely be going ham with the "WHY IS HE RESURRECTED ORIGINALLY????" question and take it outside and beat it with a stick till only the husks of the cannon remain. Honestly, cannon is just begging to be altered because of how much DC writers do it anyway.

Elements I'm adding for the fun of it

sentient/god gotham city

inventing my own religion for a fanfic idea

gotham and jason getting along like a house on fire

eldritch horror / harpy jason

league of assassins Jason and damien brothers

jason deciding to cause chaos instead of dealing with his issues

chaos entities Jason, Damien, and Gotham

general Tim suffering (I love him but he's a wet cat)

good big brother jason Todd

~ Introduction ~

Gotham used to simply wander the earth not quite sentient. Their chaos caused many inexplicable situations over the years. They didn't quite know when they actually came to truly exist. Gotham had no quite idea what truly decided to turn a manifestation of Chaos into a sentient being, a god, but she will give in to the fact she can now truly express her own brand of chaos.

Gods are created through worship Gotham knows. She meets many of them often whether they are simply a good harvest or the feeling of sun after a winter. There are so many that no mortal even knows exists. The divine concepts are all a mystery to her even if she is a god. She is the chaos in the universe and was born from the dredges of mortal society. Her original free and wild chaos was trapped into a form when humans started to worship her. She originally went from person to person trying to see what was most entertaining.

That was until Gotham came to rest in a city. Her powers flooded through it and infected it. The city of Gotham was hers and hers only. Gotham became tethered to the city by the sheer amount of chaos inhabiting every aspect of the town. Time flies and she watches as her choice becomes an aspect of Gotham so heavily ingrained into the city that it wouldn't function without it.

she watches the good chaos the bad chos. she never wanted to be a force of bad but some simply dont know how to live amongst her chaos without letting it out on others. she watches as some fall to the darker sides of chos while others embrace it. in the middle of all this the batman came along.

origionally gotham didnt mind the man, he was one of hers and wanted to act as a force of good. altyhough the more gotham came to understand him the more she was slightly disappointed. the man relied on logic and plans. he was rigid and always wanted answers. gotham hated this, the whole point of her was to bring events that cant be evplained by logic. gotham herself was wild and free everflowing in her own city. bruce wayne was rigid and stiff folcused on logic and reasoning needeing to get answers. it was annoying but gotham tolorated it for the sake of her inhabitance.

Then something happened that stood out to Gotham. during a rainy and stormy night, a baby was born. In no normal circumstances, however, he was born in the middle of a police chase. his father was with his mother when suddenly the police tried to apprehend him for heroin possesion. instead of turning himself in willis todd and his mistress fled the scene with the police hot on their tails. In that moment there was screaming shouting, arguing, laws being broken, copious amounts of drugs, infidelity, and a water breaking. gotham was cackiling her pepole truley never failed to find ways to bring about such pure chaos.

Then the baby was born in the middle of the chance. Gotham was in awe of the thing. Small pudgy and screaming like the child's life depended on it. One born of such pure chaos was something she adored. Looking at this child she already knew she was going to treasure the little one. On August 16th, 1990, Gotham was introduced to a mortal that was more like her than she ever expected.

She watched the boy grow and flourish despite the circumstances. Jason was sharp and wittty clever as anything. Gotham adored her child.

[not-a-real-fan]

Ezio wakes up to find a second set of voice in his head. At first he thinks he is going mad, he surely must be. He has heard of cases like this, people hearing voices that were not there, seeing things that didnt exist...

But this one conversed with him so naturally and seemed just as suprised to be there as him.

If it was all a joke his mind played how come he was getting answers to questions he never knew about before...

---------

Desmonds mind gets isu bullshitted into Ezios head so now they are flatmates in the same body

[not-a-real-fan]

wip, 4k , tomarry (accidental baby acquisition)

(or) Harry just wants to be taken care of, for someone to take the weight of the world off his shoulders and raise his child in peace.

There was a child running through the store.

Actually, there was a toddler running on their pink onesie through the Herbology store, touching plants and big petals with a care and gentleness people in double digits could not even begin to fathom.

Most peculiar of all, their hair was mostly green, matching perfectly with some of the plants they so softly touched with a chubby hand, except for two strands up front that stood jet black against their honey colored skin.

Finally, they seemed to run out of fuel as they bumped into Tom.

Two big green eyes looked up at him with slow blinks, mouth opening and closing like they were about to speak. Then, two chubby arms reached up, demanding to be lifted.

Tom stared incredulous at the small child. Where were their parents? Why were they free roaming the store full of plants that could be potentially harmful to such a small kid? And why in the world did they have green hair of all things?

Said kid patted his legs where he could reach, before extending their arms up again.

Tom looked one way, then the other, hoping the parent would appear out of the woods, but no luck.

Finally, he reached down to take the toddler into his arms.

Two big green eyes stared at him intently now that they were face to face. A small button nose stood between two soft full cheeks, small lips pursed as they scrutinized Tom with intent.

Then the imposible happened.

Magic rippled across the toddler's skin like waves on a calm lake. It left Tom's arms feeling electrified.

Their eyes changed, from deep forest green to dark ocean blue, an exact match to his. His skin paled, and his hair grew a tiny bit and turned to a dark chocolate full of tight curls. His button nose stayed, as did the small round face full of chubby cheeks.

A metamorphmagus.

A baby Metamorphmagus.

The baby seemed satisfied with the turn of events, and proceeded to lay their head on his shoulder with a content sigh, small thumb on their mouth.

Tom stood deadly still for fear any wrong movement would startle the child.

The baby sighed again, and nuzzled into his chest and promptly seemed to fall asleep.

Tom blinked.

Then, from around the far corner of the store a harried looking man with the biggest, most familiar green eyes appeared. His eyes were searching the room, somewhere low to the floor like he expected a baby to run from between the legs of the exhibition tables. It wouldn't be far from the truth.

Finally, and without Tom needing to put any input, the man locked eyes on him.

He startled half a step, eyes horrified and cautious all in one. His posture changed from concerned parent to an aggressive stance, defensive almost.

His wand didn't appear on his hand, but Tom feared he wouldn't need it.

He looked half a step away from punching Tom in the face, and the only thing stopping him was the baby asleep in his hold.

"Give me my baby back," he said, voice strangled somewhere between anger and concern "please" he added, almost as an afterthought.

Tom didn't have any reason to hold onto the child.

And yet.

The man before him was beautiful. Tan skin scattered with freakles and moles like galaxies. His hair was long, pushed away from his face on a bun held together with a long wand. His eyes were two green emeralds.

He had the biggest eye bags Tom had ever seen on his life. Deep, purple and dark, pulling down at the skin around his eyes like living weights, sucking his deep green eyes like a vortex. Despite the tan of his skin there was a green parlor to it that spoke of sickness.

His stance remained guarded, but his shoulders were tense and slumped forward, like they couldn't hold the weight of his body properly.

"My baby" he repeated, and his voice trembled somewhere between anger and tiredness.

Tom rolled his shoulders back and squared his spine.

"Why did you let your child run around the store? Are you aware of how many dangerous plants are within reach of their small hands?"

The man bristled at the jab, even as his bottom lip trembled.

"I didn't—" he sputtered, "I set him down for one second to pay and—it's non of your business!" He approached them cautiously and reached his hands out to the child. Tom turned, contrite.

"And how do I know this child is yours?"

"What do you care? Give him back." He reached again, this time slapping away one of Tom's hands with his own.

The moment their skin touched a tingle went down his back, powerful and insistent. The world came to focus for one second, colors brightening in a way they hadn't since he—.

The child was out of his arms before he could regain his wits.

"Teddy, you shouldn't go running like this. What if a bad man grabbed you?" He glared at Tom from above the child's head, green eyes narrowed. Teddy sighed deeply as he snuggled into the man's coat.

He turned, leaving Tom standing alone in the middle of the Herbology store between plants that watched on like gossiping ladies amongs themselves with the shake of their leaves.

Working Borgin and Burke's was both a blessing and a curse.

The owners left Tom mostly alone at the store, a fact for which he was greatful, as he could stand neither man for more than a glance.

The heavy feeling of the dark artifacts nestled into every nook and cranny of the store soothed something in him like a balm, something that had broken and become jaded when he tore his soul open.

He arrived early and went home late, looking to hold onto the heavy darkness of the magic settling in the store for as long as he could.

The man and his little child walked in a random Friday, two weeks after he had first encountered them at the Herbology store.

The child was strapped to the man's chest with a long navy cloth filled with small stars embroidered in silver. There was a green onesie on him this time.

Tom watched the man walk between the shelves in the section where they kept most of their books, a skinny hand running across the spines of several of them without the fear of a curse sticking to his skin. Most of his regulars knew better than to touch.

The child's green eyes were fixated on Tom, a curious look about him.

Tom smiled a bit, and let the magic around his own eyes fall like a veil, dark blue eyes durning a burgundy red like wine.

The child squeaked in delight, arms and legs moving up and down excitedly. His own eyes switched from green to red in a single blink, small mouth stretching into a toothless smile.

The man glanced down at his child with a frown. He found two red eyes gazing up at him.

His mouth opened in surprise, before accusing eyes rose to throw daggers in Tom's direction.

"Don't encourage him! Do you know how hard it is to keep them one singular color?"

"And why would you force him to stay a certain way?"

"People ask questions."

"Oh?" He walked around the counter, steps slow and measured. The man's shoulders slouched, arms coming around the baby. Tom took in the sight of them together, huddled in his store. The man looked as tired as he had the last time they had crossed paths.

Surely a metamorphmagus would not be a cause for concern from the general public.

Then it clicked.

There was only one family, at least in Britain, to be associated with this type of magic.

The House of Black.

If the man was trying to keep his child away from them it meant he had possibly already pulled their interest.

To say Tom abhorred the House would be an understatement.

He had been classmates with both Orion and Lucretia Black for seven years, sorted into the same House, frequented the same circles. And yet.

Yet, after they graduated they had left him behind in the dust.

They strode around Knockturn Alley sometimes, and they looked down at Tom from beneath their noses like he owed them something.

And this man had unwillingly attracted their attention.

He could work around this, if only to get close enough to him to feel alive again.

"You shouldn't have to hide beneath a smoke screen to feel safe," he said, smile gentle and eyes concerned.

The man narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. What good instincts, Tom though, to not be deceived by a kind face in between the darkness, and rather looked at him like the snake that had been provoked and ready to bite.

Tom was willing to lend a hand, however.

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can be of assistance."

The man hesitated, looking down at his child. He pulled at his bottom lip, before sighing and meeting Tom's eyes.

"A book on baby werewolves" he muttered, arms protectively wrapped around his child and eyes averted. Like he waited for a storm to blow over.

Tom's eyes widened, looking down at the toddler with new eyes. There was nothing about him that could call to attention, other than the obvious magic that settled on his skin like a well worn coat.

A baby werewolf.

"You won't find any here" the man's eyes snapped up to him, face pinched. "Britain is notorious for their dislike of dark creatures, and the Ministry has been on a war path to burn any and all books they get their hands on since Grindelwald fell." Tom watched as despair settled around the man, mouth pulling down and eyes closing in resignation.

Then he looked down at their clothes, pristine and well pressed, of a good quality and well fitted. The man was clearly well-off, if alone, going by the tiredness around his whole being.

"There are countries," he started, tentatively "that don't hold the same teachings. Romania. Bulgaria. Hungary, to name a few."

"I don't even—how do you go about—and I only speak English—" the man stammered, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Tom watched the thought sink in.

Going to a new contry where he wouldn't be questioned about his child. The possibility of finding a community of dark creatures where he could blend in and help his kid.

Anonymity. Security. Community.

"I can be of help," Tom insisted. The man's head snapped up to him, suspicion settled into every fine line of his skin. "I speak several languages. It wouldn't be a problem."

"Of course you do" the man muttered. He took a deep breath and let it go, eyes settling once more on his child, where he snuggled into his chest with a stubborn hand on his mouth. The good seemed to outweigh the bad, the suspicion on his shoulders giving away to hope. Finally, his green eyes settled on red. "And what do you get out of it?" Good man.

"I get out of here."

The man's mouth opened in surprise, eyes disbelieving. Then his expression gentled somewhat, an understanding settling deep within his bones.

Like calls to like, after all.

"Okay."

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

"Harry" he said. And left it at that.

There was a tiredness to Harry that spoke of something greater than a simple case of lack of sleep.

His eyes turned vacant sometimes, far away and lifeless as he stared into a void somewhere off to the side. The green tint to his skin didn't leave, and the hollowness to his face stayed no matter how much food Tom tried to pile onto his plate.

His appetite was little and scattered, pulling food in small bits and often taken from Teddy's own plate when he couldn't seem to stomach more solids, still preferring a bottle of sweet milk.

Little by little, as days turned to weeks of filing papers and paying people to forge documents, Harry seemed more and more willing to leave Teddy in his vicinity.

Teddy was fascinated with Tom.

Finally, after three weeks of sharing space and looking for all the possible ways and contries they could land in and would be welcomed with open arms with a werewolf cub between them, Harry fell asleep in his presence.

They were sat together on the same loveseat, and Teddy sat by their feet on the floor, playing with a unicorn plushie Harry had unearthed from the mokeskin pouch he held around his neck.

Tom was bent forward, reading through paper clippings and letters from people he had contacted on several countries, looking for properties away from the main cities and where the largest communities of dark creatures lived.

Before, he'd had no motivation to leave Britain. Nothing to bring back the feeling of being alive and not regretting each step he took, nothing to hold dear to him and make him look at the world with anything less than contempt, grey and dark and dull.

Now, Harry sat by his side, head dropping from time to time as he fought to stay awake, sleep and exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

Finally, his head landed softly on Tom's shoulder, cushioned by layers of soft clothing that had once long ago been gifted by Tom's knights.

Tom stayed as still as he could, flipping pages and letters and letting the cold magic that clung to Harry seep deep beneath his own skin.

Teddy, at some point, grew bored of playing and stood on unsteady legs to reach for Tom.

It was the work of a simple wave of his hand to wrap a warm spell around the toddler and bring him up into his lap, letting the little cub snuggle into his chest and fall asleep as he kept sorting through the mountains of papers.

Harry woke some time later, groggy and heavy but with the quickness of his breath that said he had walked away from a nightmare. His eyes looked through the floor, searching for Teddy, before settling on Tom's form beside him, where his child stood snuggled into his sweater.

He let out a shaky breath, the urgency banishing slowly from his eyes as he took in the sight. Finally, green eyes settled on red.

"Sleep some more, darling" he couldn't help the slip of tongue even if he tried. When he went to protest, he added, "those maternity books of yours say you should sleep when your baby does."

An offended look crossed Harry's features, a pout pulling at his lips, before his eyes settled on the baby so soundly asleep on Tom. A resignated huff left his mouth, as he brought his legs up on the loveseat, and snuggled into the cushions.

His green eyes were heavy as they locked gazes, pupils blown and eyelashes long as they brushed his tan cheeks. Finally they closed, and his body relaxed beside him.

If anyone where to ask, they were a family traveling home.

Harry spoke little to any Official that would ask, seeking the refuge of Tom's shadow and charms to nestle himself and Teddy in. After all, their forged papers could only do so much if the story they had made up fell apart on their faces.

The story went something like this:

Tom was a romanian man who had married Harry, a man of british origins. They had been dislodged by war and famine, but were finally coming home and looking to settle down with their son, Teddy.

They had lived in England for a time, believing they would be safe from Grindewald's war in the home country of the only wizard who had been able to match him. But now.

Now, they wanted a home.

The Officials ate the story up with kind, concerned eyes. After all, they had heard similar stories countless of times.

There was no reason to look any deeper. Not when the two of them looked like a lovesick couple, huddling close in the line of people seeking to enter the country. Not when they stood protectively around a son that could only be theirs, a perfect mix of his parents with a pale face and green, green eyes.

They were let in the Contry and out of the Romanian Ministry faster than they could blink, with a pamphlet that held information on where to exchange local money and get necessities for the first days in the Country. Another piece of paper, smaller, had been slipped into their hands too.

A man with yellow eyes standing guard at the entrence of the Department that held all newcomers had taken one long sniff at their son and had given Tom a piece of paper with the name of a street and a number. He told them to come once they were settled, the yellow around his eyes glowing like a halo.

Their stay at the house they were directed to by the werewolf was brief, but informative.

They were given toys charmed to last through the teething process, clothes that would not rip once the claws came in, charms to hide any unwanted signs that the child was anything but human to the public eye. They were given books upon books that held knowledge both trivial and necessary. From a balanced baby diet to how the phases of the moon would affect his moods.

The witch upfront had been firm but kind as she told them everything they needed to know, things to expect now that they were moving and how the change would affect the baby.

When they told her they where not planning to stay in the city, and were interested in finding a home somewhere close to a forest and away from the main magical communities, she had been delighted.

She had taken the time to explain all the little communities of dark creatures (and not all exclusively werewolves) that lingered in various villages. Where magic was strongest and what forest lest dangerous for a small cub.

Harry had looked on with a gleam on his eye that said nothing short of his death would stop him from acquiring a cottege at the edge of a forest for his small child to live a happy, healthy life away from anything that would want him dead.

Tom smiled and stood closer to them, his front against Harry's back, a familiar touch between them that had began as a necessity to keep unwanted attention on them. Tom could feel the magic between them like a creature alive, so full and warm and protective, making the world around him sharper, more colourful.

He didn't need the darkness of dark artifacts to sate the hunger that had been left behind by the Horcrux. He didn't need to soak himself in the depths of black magic to feel alive again.

He needed only to stand by Harry and let the world come into focus.

He slept.

He slept, and as such, he remembered.

The nightmare pulled him under with sinking claws, unforgiving and hurtful as they clung to his skin.

The War had come to an end.

By the time all was set and done, Harry was about dead on his feet.

People kept trying to talk to him, to reach him, touch him, faces exhilarated and happy with a joy he couldn't feel.

He grabbed the wand that wasn't his and apparated away.

Andromeda's little house on the hill waited for him, mostly nestled between tall trees and round bushes. Wild flowers had been steadily growing out in the front garden, left unattended and now that it was something closer to summer they were full of little insects flying about.

Andromeda herself sat on a rocking chair out front.

She took one look at him, silver eyes sad and piercing. She stood from the chair with a small bundle in her arms.

There was a tiredness to her face that spoke of the hours without sleep, pulling down bags around her eyes and on her mouth.

She knew.

Her husband was dead. Her daughter was dead.

Now all she had was a child she couldn't care for, and the remains of another child at her doorstep.

She ushered him inside, steps slow and magic sluggish.

Harry could feel her fading even from where he stood on the porch.

He took big steps inside, strides long and determined.

"Give him to me, 'Dromeda." He said, gently, hands reaching for the child in her arms. "It'll be okay."

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." The specter of a smile reached her face. She had said those words countless of times in the last month.

"Andromeda. Give me the child." His hands reached insistently for the bundle of blankets.

"I don't have him." Her smile was painful now, sad and revolting all in one. She was turning more and more transparent by the minute.

Harry, alamarmed, pushed past her.

He couldn't be dead.

It hadn't been more thank a fair few hours since anyone not his grandmother saw to him and—there she lay.

She was forever asleep on her day bed, on her side and hand reaching towards the bassinet by her. Inside he could hear babbling sounds and sighs of who could only be Teddy.

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." She repeated, like she couldn't help herself.

A new ghost to haunt another house. Perhaps she would pass on properly once Harry got the wits about him to take Teddy.

Perhaps.

He nodded once, assured she would get him with whatever little she could say if Teddy was in trouble.

He took the fastest shower he could manage while trying to scrub all the dirt and blood from his body.

He had died.

He had died on the forest floor before the most powerful wizard alive.

Then he had killed him.

And now Andromeda too was dead.

And he had a child not a month old to care for.

He feed and changed Teddy, burped him and rocket him to sleep in between the spaces of the living room, and when the baby finally succumbed to the world of darkness, Harry set him down gently on his bassinet.

Then he sat by his side and sobbed.

Burying Andromeda, with the amount of cooling bodies in the afterneath would be near impossible. Instead, Harry dug a shallow grave by hand by the altar she had placed for her husband in her garden.

She did not have his body, and therefore could not bury him in the proper way, but she had built a small thing out of wood and magic.

It was where the wildflowers grew the most.

Digging her grave by magic felt improper, too impersonal. So, he transfigured a chair into a shovel and started to dig.

Teddy had been placed in the shadow of a tree nearby, close enough to hear if he cried and far out of the house and the body that was starting to smell, no matter the amount of cooling and preservation charms he wrapped around.

He laid Andromeda Tonks on a bed of flowers, right by her husband's altar, and took it upon himself to build her one too.

He was sweating and crying by the time he finished, the afternoon sun unforgiving on his back.

Teddy had not cried once, content to watch the leaves flutter in the wind. Butterflies had come and gone around him, and each time one touched his skin his hair changed color to match the wings.

He took Teddy with him when he finally rose from his kneeling position by the grave, ready for another shower and sleep.

Flowers bloomed at his back, wild and in all the possible colors of the rainbow to match the grave by it's side.

Showering with a baby was challenging.

He had to leave Teddy close enough to hear if he cried but far enough so he wouldn't get swallowed up by the steam of the water, so he compromised.

It wouldn't be the first time he showered with cold water, anyways.

Teddy was a peaceful child, all in all.

He only cried if his nappy had been dirty for too long, or if his tummy hurt.

If he had any say about it, Teddy would never go hungry, or cold. He would never grow unloved or shoved in the spaces between the walls where he didn't belong.

Letters upon letters started banging on the windows, owls upon owls lining up to drop them at his feet.

Harry took an entire day to raise wards upon wards around the house to keep them out. To keep anyone out.

Most of the time he spent walking through the woods with Teddy in arms, pointing out plants and animals and watching the small baby take in the world like it was magical and full of life.

His eyes changed from yellow to green to silver often enough for Harry to expect it now.

Often enough when Harry rocked him to sleep, slow and steady while they locked eyes they would remain as green as the forests outside. Just his exact shade too.

Two months of solitude with only Kretcher's help around the kitchen to get the necessary supplies and Teddy's constant cuteness was enough for Harry to reach a decision.

He had sat one day with all the letters to read them one by one.

His friends, for one, were worried about him. After all he had disappeared right after the battle and so far no one had been able to reach him.

The Ministry, of course, demanded his presence in any and all of his capabilities. The first letters had been congratulating him, the tone praising like he was a god amongst men. Informing him he had been accepted in the Auror Academy should he wanted, there was an Order of Merlin Medal with his name on it and a date for a ceremony that would take place just for him alone. The Hero.

And when no news or confirmation or thanks had left his lips, then. Then they turned angry. They demanded his presence, and to know where exactly had Harry sequestered himself, what he was thinking disappearing from the eye of the public when they most needed him—then they accused him of trying to amass power, the next coming of a Dark Lord and. And Harry was so done.

(No one seemed to remember Teddy).

Harry sat and cried most nights.

The night he read the letters he sat in cold stone silence, Teddy's breathing his only company.

He wanted to get away.

Away from any people he knew, away from anyone who viewed him as a weapon first and a teen second, away from the public and their demands, away from the Ministry and their hypocrisy.

He stayed long enough to save Draco Malfoy's head from rolling on the ground, the witches and wizards proceeding his case dead silent when he strode up the Chamber, green eyes blazing.

They stood silent as Harry laid down the facts. Draco Malfoy had helped him and his friends escape the clutches of the Death Eaters, of Voldemort.

And when the sentencing turned on his favour, he walked right back out.

He dissapeared beneath the cloth of his father's cloak, of Death's cloak, never to be seen again.

He got on the train with Teddy in his arms, the cloak at his back, wand on his pocket and stone around his neck.

He felt hollow.

Like a piece of himself had been ripped apart with bloody hands and all that was left was the shadow of who Harry could have been, once.

His magic begged to be reunited with that which had been his for sixteen years.

So he boarded the train.

[not-a-real-fan]

what if Damian wasn’t sent to Bruce by Talia and instead decided to do a bit of early child-rebellion by running away to him himself. Talia, pissed off but too busy dealing with uprisings in the league to go track him down herself, calls up the person Damian is most likely to listen to other than her; his brother, who she trusts to keep him safe.

the thing is, Jason is 1: busy with his own missions atm 2: was also once a rebellious little asshole who liked to run away from home. he was Damian’s tutor once, he knows the kid can handle himself and he also knows if he CAN’T handle something he’ll contact Jason for help. he knows this because about a week before Talia called him, Damian called him.

Jason, phone balanced between his ear and shoulder: what do you want, i’m undercover

Damian: i require money for a fake passport.

Jason:

Jason, letting go of the guy he was beating up: alright you have my attention.

Damian: i am running away from home. i wish to do something ‘for the lore’ like the stories you used to tell me as a child.

Jason:

Jason ‘i’m going to ethiopia’ Todd: there’s some stuff in the fake panel under my bed. don’t tell me where you’re going, i don’t want to be complicit when Talia calls. also don’t die, because if you do i’m gonna make you eat dirt once you get out of the pit.

Damian: understood. if i am about to die, i shall call again.

Jason: have fun kiddo.

so Jason tells Talia he’ll ‘keep an eye out for any leads’ and then goes back to his normal business. league missions, his own missions, some outlaw shit, and eventually he ends up crime lording it up in Gotham. he’s a little confused when Tim Drake is seen swinging around as Red Robin rather than just Robin, but he got over his obsession with the Robin shit a while ago, so he ignores it.

until he runs into Batman and Robin. and there isn’t a mask in the fucking world that could hide his kid brother’s face from him.

Red Hood:

Robin:

Red Hood:

Robin:

Batman: why are you two staring at each other like that. what’s happening.

Robin:

Red Hood: *deep sigh*

Robin: are you going to tell mother-

Red Hood: -when you said ‘like the stories i used to tell you’.

Robin: *looks at the floor*

Red Hood: i did NOT think you meant running to a different country to find your birth parent. you fucking COPIER.

Robin:

Robin: …but you made being Robin sound so cool…

Batman: what the fuck are you two talking about?

Red Hood, pointing: you stay out of this, this is family business.

Batman: ????

[not-a-real-fan]

Hey super sorry to bother you with this, but since you're one of the most prolific Dooku-fans I know, I thought I'd ask: there's a really wonderful fanart of Dooku looking at his bloodstained reflection in disgust at himself that someone posted to Tumblr; unfortunately though, I can't seem to find it. Have you seen it before? Does it sound familiar at all? Pls don't feel obligated to look if not <3 Love your art btw

No bother at all! :D But sadly I think I've never seen such an art piece here, that composition sounds like something I would remember.

Maybe some of the other Dooku girlies here can help? 👀 Good luck with the search!