#following in the footsteps of their predecessors

[kuroshika]

seeing hannibal and saltburn trending at the same time is a moment in history actually.

[starculler]

Reverse Robins AU except the first kid Bruce collects is originally from the correct timeline/universe (physically and/or mentally, but either way having no way back home).

It's a tossup for me between having that first kid be Duke or Damian (both at once might be an interesting challenge!), but the results are the same:

A kid stuck in a world where they're the first sidekick with all the weight and responsibility and the learning curve that entails. Thinking they're alone until the one who came before them crash lands into their life, and then trying desperately not to let the version of this person they know best overshadow how they interact. Clinging desperately to a hard-won legacy while also having to re-invent themself from the ground up.

[sydneysageivashkov]

I am so obsessed with how bad all the og lyctors' plans to kill jod are. augustine and mercymorn go "I can't believe we have to fuck him." "you don't have to." "no we're gonna." cytherea is so angry about killing her cavalier ten thousand years ago she proceeds to kill everyone after doing precisely zero research. I don't know what cassiopeia's endgame is yet but I'm sure it's equally well thought out.

[thefinalwitness]

genuinely have a funny quirk where when i make a villain who is designed to have been injustly wronged and in turn chooses to forsake their fellow man and commit atrocities of their own, which is a type of character i am often deeply intrigued by (and i like to understand why some people come out of tragedy choosing to do good while others condemn their peers and repeat tragedy onto others), i will inevitably create a character harmed either by that character or the character who harmed them and explore the alternative where the first character experienced tragedy and tried to do good.

it's happened with both esmerales (whose great grand-niece of the garlean woman esmerales puppeteered as empress of garlemald) wrt to valensia, and an older oc wrt to her half-sister.

i think it's a neat way to create a character who has suffered immeasurably, like their predecessor, but has not fallen so far down a dark path as a result. like. i COULD simply continue esmerales' story where it ends and valensia's begins, but when the former has 10 thousand years worth of atrocities and war crimes and genocide and actively participating in others' oppression, she's not really viable for a redemption arc. it's not her purpose.

so i like taking an associated character, who in some way possesses or comes to possess similar circumstances (often history and magic), and exploring what i yearn to explore in a character who a redemption arc would be a disservice to their function as a narrative tool. the latter starts similar, obviously, but the way they rapidly become their own person, divorced from the former character in all but experiences and appearances (since both times i've down this the latter is related to the former), is really interesting to me.

like, it illustrates just how much choosing compassion or choosing cruelty CHANGES you. both these latter characters previously idolized the former characters, yet when the latters' stories begin in earnest they immediately, markedly diverge into their own characters distinct from their formers, and continue to do so the further down their paths they go. it's really interesting to me, how much you're changed by your choice to put good or bad karma back into the world. i love it. i will continue to do this exact character thing forever.

[beeapocalypse]

AH i havent talked abt the frontierists here have i. very secretive sect of alamanni humans looking into Dreamed Realities (pocket realities born by dreams- the purposeful creation of them by eldritch deities Is possible but is also considered way blasphemous. near every dreamed reality by alamanni folk is born of essentially the most advanced form of maladaptive daydreaming possible and is unintentional. way hard to discern between them and real vivid Normal dreams). humanitys predecessors (taught the secret of intentionally dreaming up new lands by a select few eldritch beasties seeking refuge from the rest) sought refuge in a dreamed reality to get away from both the incessant typically deadly curiosity of the vast majority of eldritch deities and their incredibly shit living situation (forced into subterranean living bc of the whole corpse of the existence dragon and all of its curious parasites hanging up in the sky staring down at them, resources running low over the years with them unable to leave for more bc of the venettes- already sentient animals transformed into more human shapes by the eldritch in an attempt to get closer to that hidden race) and their shed mortal bodies upon successful exodus became the first humans so theyve got this tiny innate knack for intentional exploration that other alamanni folk dont. through the gathering of just abt every bit of still surviving texts on dreamed realities (WAY sparse, both thru the passage of time + the fact that those first eldritch deities desperate enough to part with such secrets were long killed by their more pious fellows), the frontierists understand the mechanics of it all Just enough to be able to deliberately enter and explore this 'final frontier' which they seek to put to page and Conquer

[tyrantisterror]

There's a tweet that's gone viral where a person laments realizing that Star Wars "ripped off" Dune, and how learning all the elements Star Wars took from its inspiration tainted it. And I think it shows how poisonous the emphasis on originality in art can be. Because yes, it's wonderful when art makes something new, but it's also wonderful seeing how art plays on what came before, and the conversations it has with its predecessors.

There's going to be a lot of people talking about how much of an impact Goku from Dragon Ball Z has made on fiction in the wake of Akira Toriyama's recent passing, and all the characters who were inspired by him and his story. But Goku himself is derivative - he's inspired by the Monkey King from Journey to the West, one of the first novels ever written. He's far from the first character inspired by the Monkey King, either, and also far from the last.

None of this makes Goku's impact any less than it is. None of this decreases how Goku's story has inspired countless imitators. Just as Toriyama created a new icon from imitating what he loved about Journey to the West, so did Toriyama inspire countless artists to make their own iconic works with his take on the Monkey King's archetype. Goku is, in many ways, the heir to a legacy that spans back to the 16th century, and likely beyond - because I doubt the original Monkey King was formed in a vacuum.

We're taught to think that originality and imitation are opposites that cannot coexist, but they're not mutually exclusive. One can follow in another's footsteps and still take a new journey with its own unique twists and turns. The great works of art are not spawned in the absence of inspiration - they are in conversation with what came before and what will come after.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Lactation kink aegon? You can add this into any other plot but I just need more of this 😚

aegon x lactation kink has me crying, (s)creaming, throwing up!!!!

Wet Dreams

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x WetNurse!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,661.

WARNINGS: wet nurse references, breastfeeding, mentions of an affair, lactation kink, Daddy kink, degradation kink, female receiving (fingering), breast play, swearing.

A/N - I kind of went feral, this was meant to be a very small blurb... whoops!

Since the royal twin heirs, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, had been born lively to King Aegon, the Second of his Name and his sister-wife, Queen Helaena, the realm had rejoiced in joy and excitement. Gratefully appointed by the Dowager Queen herself, to be a fellow wet nurse for the twins, following the ancestral footsteps of your mother, who nursed Laena and Laenor Velaryon, and your grandmother before who nursed the many royal offspring of the Old King and his Good Queen wife, before being relieved of their duties.

You were quite younger than your predecessors when being anointed as a fellow wet nurse, however, Queen Alicent saw it fit that the younger the woman in the peak of her youthful maidenhood, would in return have the better production of the milk. Trusting that it was naturally in your genes to produce. Not to mention, you would be relative for quite some time to the royal couple, starting off in your young adulthood.

Nonetheless, as the twins grew familiar around your tits, latching on more comfortably, their repetitive suckling motions began to show results. Your tits had swollen abundantly with milk in vast supply, often at times leaking, if they were not in use. You were relieved from the burden, as was the Dowager Queen and her beloved daughter, satisfied with your loyal services... And yet it seemed that you had caught the lurking eyes of the King himself.

From time to time, when Helaena had delivered or called upon for your presence to nurse her newborns, Aegon remained solemnly distant in the background, yet ever so present. Never uttering a word, nor showing an ounce of acknowledgement for the intimate yet crucial service you provided to his children, and yet, his violet eyes would loosely ponder over you. Whenever you meekly entered their chambers, your eyes would inevitably meet in mutual focus, before forcing to resume your undivided attention unto the newborn babes. At one point, he was so drawn to your readiness to provide for his children, mindlessly caught in his own, unfathomable thoughts, that it took his sister-wife to hastily tug on his arm, harshly pulling him away to be drawn back to reality.

Having grown accustomed to his children's feeding times, he knew that you would reliably arrive on time in the early morrow, to feed the babes, whilst their mother and the rest of the royal family would attend their own breakfast feasts.

And he remarkably knew this would be the perfect time to strike...

Just as you faintly swayed and nestled little Jaehaera back into her crib residing with her asleep elder, the sudden knock on the door startled you vividly. As you hastily turned towards the direction of the abrupt sound, so anxious that the children did not stir awake, as your focus reluctantly panned from them still deep in slumber, did you meet the familiar, unnerving gaze of Aegon.

"M-My King, th-the babes have just been fed and put to bed. Queen Helaena is not here, I-I can fetch her for you, i-if you wish-"

Aegon remained dead silent, only taking a few slow paces towards your rigid state in front of the cribs, only inches apart before having the decency to respond.

"I have no need for my sister. Nor do I intend to wake the babes... I am here for one other matter, that is," He lowly uttered, his voice deep yet clear and stern, those formidable violet eyes tainted over you, lingering from head to toe and back.

"Mayhaps, I-I can help you, your Grace," You anxiously stutter: yet a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach began to churn, the feeling gradually extending between your inner thighs, that began to intensely throb, each passing minute the King blessed you with his attention.

"In fact you can... Get on the bed."

His serious tone was cold, you obeyed the command as you obeyed all your previous doings, and yet, this was one that should not have been taken lightly. Glancing at the sleeping babes one last time before the frame of the crib hid their tiny bodies, some comfort was provided knowing they remained peacefully unstirred in a deep slumber. The voice of their father not stirring them awake, even though Aegon spoke an octave above a whisper.

Following you closely behind, you could almost sense him inhaling your natural scent, sensing the fear oozing from your every fibre.

"Lay down," He further instructed, as you continued without hesitation in abiding by your Grace's honour. How could you defy the King? The consequences would have been detrimental, even so, fatal, to your very unimpressive existence...

Making yourself somewhat comfortable, despite the tension in your body from the uneasiness of the situation, Aegon knelt above you, each thigh in level just below your waistline as his knees sturdily supported him, his large hands began to snake their way up towards your body. Heavily breathing, the tight fabric felt suffocating, as you felt the foreign touch of his hands gliding over your body frame, gently tracing over the curves of your waistline, up until it reached your ample bosom.

"Hmm-" As the grazing touch of his soft lips glazed over the skin of your cleavage, you swore you could feel the ripples of his deep growl vibrating over you.

"So these are the fruitful gifts the Gods have blessed you with, that feed my very babes. Fuck, how I have been envious of my own seed-" Aegon lustfully whispered, with each breath taken and word spoken, his eager mouth latched to your skin, suckling leaving a moist trail of his trace over you.

"How they cry for your tits day and night. How they suck on these, taking in your taste with every mouthful. Favouring each swallow... Now it's my turn."

The foreign feeling of Aegon's thick, probing cock pressing down against you, just directly above the clothed entrance of your cunt, sent an exhilarating thrill through the entirety of your body, stemming from between your thighs. You had never truly been with a man before, let alone, your first being with the King himself. Nonetheless, you naturally dismissed all self-control, moaning and whimpering for Aegon's touch and more, your eager sounds brewing, louder in volume.

"Shush, shush, my pretty whore. My babes are fast asleep, perhaps milk drunk from you. We must keep quiet, nonetheless."

Instinctively, despite your mind pathetically trying to fight against the urge, you felt yourself keen for more. Hips lifting forwards, burying his stiff, pulsating cock further down into you. Immediately noticing your advances, you felt Aegon's hand reaching beneath, hastily pulling your gown length up, as his rough fingers sneaked tugging beneath your undergarments, teasing your silky folds.

"It seems someone is needy for their King... Have you been desperate for me, my pretty whore? Want Daddy to spoil you too, huh?"

"Y-Yes-" Breathless and yet inclined, your mind a haze, you shut your eyes closer, as Aegon's fingers delve deeper between your velvet folds, his fingers moving in slow, sensual motions stretching you out.

"My pretty whore, gonna be such a good girl for Daddy, yes? Gonna take good care of me, just like you care for my babes, hmm."

"Y-Yes Daddy."

His low, growling chuckle reverberating from his throat, was soon interrupted, as those violet eyes once more fixated firmly on your bosom, tutting at the sheer sight before him.

"Look at you, so fucking full of that sweet, sweet milk, you are practically leaking through your clothes, angel. Have my babes not drunk their full? Not taking advantage as their father would. Mayhaps, your needy body is producing ample supply for my take now."

His hand that had been eagerly venturing between your innocent walls, sprung free, as he began to unloosen the strings of your gown at front, ripping apart the fabric to expose your sensitive, swollen tits.

The appetising sight, nipples red and raw from feeding his babes, oozing with a white, milky substance that drizzles across your stretched skin. His thumb grazing and flicking over it was enough to make you moan in an agonising excitement, back arching hopelessly sulking for more.

"Look at the fucking mess you have made, and in front of your King. Have you no shame, whore? Need Daddy to make you feel better, want me to ease the pain, hmm? All you need to do is ask with that pretty mouth of yours."

"Uhh- Y-Yes, Daddy. P-Please, I'm s-so fucking full."

A growling groan echoed through his throat, before his mouth keenly opened, latching over one tit, as his hand massaged the flesh of your breast. Alongside his suckling movements with the kneading motions, the milk poured lusciously into his mouth, harsher and hastier than the babes, his mouthful took more, as his breathing hastened, his broad chest heaving deeper.

"Mhmm, hmm-" Once more that same hand found its way impressively down to your wet cunt, shoving his thick digits deeply inside, as he began to pump his hand backwards and forwards, almost in rhythm with each sucking motion. His tongue swirled over your nipple, causing you to convulse and jerk beneath him from the tenderness.

"Fuck, you taste divine... My babes are truly spoiled and will grow healthily with your milk. Now I know why they cry for these ardently-"

"It-It is my duty, your Grace. B-But it is my honour, to f-feed my King w-whenever your Grace n-needs me."

"That's right, whore... At my beckon call now. Perhaps I may fuck some bastards into my pretty whore's cunt, keep her filled so these tits keep swelling with milk, leaking for Daddy to relieve."

The milk dribbling off his soft lips was enough to send you into an oblivion, as his tongue hungrily lapped the substance lingering over, before it could trickle down.

"Y-Yes, Daddy. W-Whatever you see fit."

"Good girl, my good whore... So obedient for Daddy, we are going to have fun, indeed..."

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag] - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for divider - @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[juuuulez]

Business Transaction.

info: Carl x Saviour! Reader, use of the word ‘daughter’ but otherwise no pronouns, assumed fatherly figure Negan because I love him.

summary: You and Carl conduct a business transaction. He patches up your wound, and you return his supplies.

requests r open! plsss i’m so bored <3

There’s a deep exhaustion settled within your bones, a familiar ache that comes with days of working, commanding, leading. Grovelling, fighting, scavenging. But that’s what the apocalypse was, that’s the life you were destined to live.

Fortunately enough, you ranked highly amongst the Saviours. Negan had made the promise to protect you, to care for you. And you carry that promise with you every day. Yet, that’s no excuse for slacking. Being young didn’t mean that you didn’t have to pull your weight.

Once again, you’ve landed yourself in Alexandria. A few Saviours accompanied you, along with Dwight, who was providing directions to various citizens. The presence of Negan was missed, always feeling that extra bit safer when he was around. But for the citizens of Alexandria? They were far more relaxed.

There was a shuffling of footsteps behind you, enough for your jaw to tense and hand to hover over the pistol stationed at your hip. Before you could react, he was speaking.

“Hey.” It was quiet, simple. You barely knew Carl Grimes, but in the handful of interactions you’d had, he’d been civil. He stood a few meters away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. In a way, he looked awkward, holding the unfamiliar essence of a teenage boy.

There was a mutual respect between you two. A line that shouldn’t be crossed. While you hadn’t been there that night, where those two men where killed, you knew how Negan’s tirades usually went. The horrors this boy has likely experience, blossoming into a hatred towards the Saviours. You understood.

Regardless of this hatred, Carl found himself indifferent towards you. On one hand, you were a Saviour, and clearly in somewhat of a position of power. But you were also a teenager. Somebody’s daughter. In some ways, he felt as if he were looking into a mirror, a concept that frightened him. An individual burdened with the responsibility of their family. A reputation to uphold.

“What happened to your face?” Carl was speaking again, eyes squinted to spite the sun. His comment confused you for a moment, swiping feebly at your cheek before remembering the large gash that sat there, messily stitched up. It looked a little gruesome.

“Got fucked up on a run,” You replied, language harsh and crude alike to your predecessor. “Brass knuckles. Totally tore the shit out of my skin. Knocked a tooth out.”

The weight of your injury doesn’t seem to phase him. Carl inspects you for a moment, seemingly coming to a conclusion. It dawns on you: he wants something.

“That stitching isn’t gonna hold up,” He points out, “I could fix it. If you can get my stuff back from one of your goons.”

The implications of his statement were harsh, making you clench my jaw, brows furrowed. Still, it was reasonable enough. The stitching did look gross, shaky and uneven, messily done by Dwight in a moving car.

With this conclusion in mind, you shrug, attempting to seem nonchalant about the discussion. About your little deal. “Yeah, whatever. Sounds fair to me.”

You try not to notice how Carl perks up. How his spine straightens, and eye looks a little brighter. For the first time this conversation, he manages a small smile, nodding his head in the opposite direction before beginning to walk. You follow him.

The two of you don’t speak, making your way to the infirmary in Alexandria. Wordlessly, you settle down on a nearby bench, allowing Carl to collect the minimal equipment he’ll need and set it out.

You didn’t even flinch as he started removing the existing stitching, pulling it out in grossly bloody strands to be disposed of. Red seeped out of the disturbed wound, dripping down your jawline in maroon pearls. Carl pressed a cloth against it, careful in each of his movements.

“You didn’t see a doctor?” He asks, sparking a conversation you were fine to let die. This was a business transaction. A service for a service. But you couldn’t complain.

“Nah. Been out too much. Got back from a run, had watch duty, came up here,” You explain, words quiet and slightly muffled due to attempting to keep still. It was awkward, being confined to limited expression. “Up to Hilltop next. Circuit loop. Like a, uh, grand tour… kinda.”

You trail off, catching yourself rambling. He doesn’t care. Not about you, not about your work, nor about where you’re going. Stick to business.

Instead, Carl speaks once more. “Sounds like you’ve got a full-time job.”

It’s a small quip, a little playful, and a little critical. It feels like he’s judging you. Although, Carl’s gaze is always analytical, like he’s trying to pick a part your existence.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how it works. Doing my part for the community.” You reply, unsure of how to explain yourself.

It doesn’t matter, as Carl falls silent anyway. He continues to stitch up your wound, movements holding a surprising amount of care. After it’s done, he even gets a cloth and gently wipes the blood off your cheek, some having dripped down your neck.

Still in silence, Carl stands there awkwardly, clearly waiting to deliver his request. You beat him to it.

“Your comics?” You ask him, watching the way that his face drops, seemingly caught off-guard by your awareness. “I know where they are. But, I can’t give you all of them. Maybe… three volumes?”

Carl debates the proposition, looking down at his boots with furrowed brows. It makes you smile, reminded about how young he was. How young you both were.

“Three volumes,” He eventually repeats with a nod, “But from different series.”

Standing up from the bench, you hold a hand out to him, an inviting smile on your face, “Three volumes,” You repeat once more, and Carl takes your hand, shaking it firmly. The deal is set.

You have the feeling that your business together won’t end here.

[heartmachinez]

CELEBRATING 10 YEARS OF HEART MACHINE

A Decade of Creativity and Community

A decade ago, we began a journey that would lead to the birth of Heart Machine - a game studio committed to crafting immersive, vibrant experiences that resonate with players on a profound level. As we celebrate our 10-year anniversary, we reflect on our history, achievements, community, and the exciting future that lies ahead.

THINKING BACK

Glitch City, Kickstarter, and Hyper Light Drifter

In 2013, we took a leap of faith and launched a Kickstarter campaign for our debut project, Hyper Light Drifter. Little did we know that this campaign would not only secure the funds needed to bring our project to life, but also ignite a beautiful connection with supporters, players, and community members who believed in us from the outset.

Fueled by a need for camaraderie and knowledge, we spent those early days of Drifter’s development as a part of Glitch City, a then-small collective of independent game developers, artists, and creators all working together out of Alx’s basement. Those early days and (often) sleepless nights vision were critical in defining our design philosophies, studio culture, and grassroots community connections - setting the stage for what was to come.

Our Heartfelt Gratitude to Our Early Contributors

To date, thanks to the incredible support of our community, the Kickstarter for Hyper Light Drifter remains one of the most successful game projects on the platform. It smashed through the initial funding goal of $27,000 and ultimately raised over $600,000.

To our early backers who believed in us and our vision, and those fellow devs who helped us through endless rounds of playtesting and feedback, we extend our deepest gratitude. Your unwavering support enabled us to bring our dreams to life and emboldened us to continually push the boundaries of game design.

Special shout out to core Drifter team members: Alx Preston, Beau Blyth, Teddy Dief, Casey Hunt, Rich Vreeland, Akash Thakkar, Sean Ward, Lisa Brown, and Cosimo Galluzzi.

The critical reception following the release of Hyper Light Drifter was incredible - beyond our wildest expectations. We never could have anticipated the accolades and recognition it received, or the impact it made on players far and wide. It was humbling, and affirmed our dedication to continue to make great games to share with the world.

Moving Into a New Dimension

We started development on Solar Ash about a year before the multi-platform release of Hyper Light Drifter. Early on, we joined forces with Annapurna Interactive, whose expertise and resources facilitated our exploration of 3D game development. Over the next five years, Annapurna's support played a pivotal role in bringing this ambitious project to fruition. The vastness of the game's ethereal landscapes and fluid movement mechanics opened new avenues for worldbuilding and storytelling.

To date, Solar Ash continues to engage new players and inspire returning ones to create beautiful works inspired by the game. It is following in the footsteps of its predecessor and is now available on a a wide array of game platforms for a worldwide audience.

All of the positive reception that followed Solar Ash’s release proved that our community was ready to continue along this new aesthetic path with us. Just as Drifter smashed through its initial Kickstarter goals,  we are poised to once again smash the boundaries of possibility with our upcoming projects.

HEART MACHINE TODAY

Reimagining a Familiar World

As we celebrate our 10-year milestone, we're thrilled to now be well underway with our newest title set in the familiar Hyper Light Universe. This new project, Hyper Light Breaker, builds upon the foundations we've laid, evolving our creative vision in unexpected ways.

A Shared Journey

Our journey would not be complete without acknowledging the invaluable contributions of our community. From community leaders who pave the way forward with creativity and kindness, to creators who challenge us with incredible skill and passion,  to modders who continuously breathe new life into our games, to wiki writers who meticulously document every detail, to speedrunners who push the boundaries of possibility – you are the heartbeats that keep our worlds alive.

Over the years, we've had the privilege of connecting with our wonderful community at conventions and events across the digital and physical world. These gatherings allowed us to share our passion, hear your stories, and learn from your insights. Your presence and enthusiasm continue to inspire us.

We’re so grateful to: Polare, Lukas, Durtle, Clark, Yrrzy, CornMayor, Aza, Andreas, Conscy, Perfectly Mediocre, Thunderbrave, Bryonato, Utsu, NicowithaC, Covert Muffin, Sylvi, among many many others who make our work worth doing.

Our Company Vision

At Heart Machine, we've built more than games. We've cultivated a company culture that values kindness, inclusivity, and pushing the envelope. Our mission has always been not only to entertain but also leave a lasting impact. This dedication has enabled us to support and grow a thriving studio of some of the most talented, thoughtful, and fun people in the entire industry.

Our ethos revolves around fostering a work environment that prioritizes professional advancement, mental and physical health, and employee happiness. This commitment takes shape in various dimensions of our culture. We proudly offer Heart Machine University (HMU), a collaborative peer-teaching initiative where we cover everything from how to LARP or make sculptures out of driftwood to environment, concept, and tech art techniques. We also organize activities like group gaming and anime sessions, provide access to networking and learning resources, and support social and charitable initiatives to reinforce our team’s sense of purpose. As a studio, we strive to hang our culture on a framework where each individual can flourish and achieve their own growth and learning goals.

It’s no accident that the trajectory of these past 10 years has led us to forming the team we have now. We have always and will continue to adhere to our culture of high quality standards, emphasis on creative innovation, and heart-first leadership practices.

LOOKING AHEAD

As we stand at the threshold of the next chapter, we're excited to announce that Hyper Light Breaker will be arriving in Early Access in 2024. This project represents our ongoing commitment to pushing boundaries, taking risks, and creating experiences that captivate and challenge players in our specifically unique ways.

Beyond Hyper Light Breaker, we have other projects currently under wraps that will continue to define us as a studio. We can't wait to share these journeys with you as we forge into this next decade.

Thank you thank you thank you for joining us on this incredible ride. Heart Machine wouldn't be the same without each and every one of you. Here's to the many more adventures that lie ahead!

With love and gratitude,

The Heart Machine Team

[pradnyesh1008]

Embark on a journey to the heart of Veridonia, an empire shrouded in tradition and mystique. The Golden Throne stands as the symbol of power, yet beneath its gilded exterior lies a realm of political intricacies and hidden secrets, waiting to be unveiled. In a world where politics, intrigue, and war are the norm, you must navigate your way through the complex web of alliances and enemies that surround you. This game is for those who love adventure, drama, and intrigue. It is a game where every decision matters and every outcome are different. It is a game where you can shape the fate of an empire and make history.

“Dive into the epic world of ‘The Golden Throne’ with its first book, ‘Crown of Conquest’. A journey you won’t forget!”

In the vast continent of Veridonia, a great empire stands on the brink of uncertainty. Emperor Varian III, the revered ruler who has led his empire with wisdom and strength for decades, finds himself facing a devastating reality.

As his health deteriorates, the absence of a suitable heir threatens to plunge the entire continent into chaos and ignite a destructive war between the kingdoms. Now, facing his own mortality, the emperor grapples with the realization that his thriving nation could crumble without a clear successor.

News of the Emperor’s failing health spreads like wildfire, reigniting ancient rivalries. The various kingdoms, each vying for power and control, sense an opportunity to assert their authority. Fear murmurs within the hearts of the people, and trepidation blankets the land.

Whispers of an impending civil war pervade the corridors of power, and tension begins to mount as rival factions strategize and secretly forge alliances in anticipation of the emperor’s demise. Drawing upon an elite advisory council, composed of trusted ministers, scholars, and military strategists, the emperor endeavours to explore all possible avenues to secure a peaceful transition of power.

Noble houses assert their claims to the throne, while whispers of treachery and deceit echo through the corridors of the imperial palace. A sense of urgency fills the air, as the emperor’s condition deteriorates, and time becomes the most precious commodity.

As the final days of the asserting claims and authority draw near, a solution begins to emerge from the chaos. King Aric, the king in the north, your/MC’s father, emerged victorious, chosen as the heir to the Golden Throne. In this epic tale of power, loyalty, and betrayal, will you succeed in helping your father preserving the legacy of his predecessor, or will Veridonia descend into a dark age of war and destruction? Are you ready to claim your destiny? Will you follow your father’s footsteps and become a worthy successor to the throne? Or will you carve your own path and challenge the established order? The fate of a continent hangs in the balance, and only time will tell. This is the thrilling saga of “Crown of Conquest”.

 A rich and immersive setting inspired by real medieval history, culture, and geography.

 A branching storyline with multiple endings and consequences based on your choices and actions.

 A customizable character with four different personality options and various traits that define your skills and abilities.

 A dynamic stat system that reflects your character’s growth and development throughout the game.

 A diverse cast of characters with their own backgrounds, motivations, and agendas.

 You can befriend, romance, or antagonize them depending on your choices.

 Violence and Gore: The game frequently depicts gory, brutal battles and graphic acts of violence.

 Frightening/Intense Scenes: There are many intense scenes that can be frightening for some readers.

 Graphic Deaths: Characters often meet violent, graphic ends.

 Torture Scenes: There are scenes depicting torture.

 Sexual Content: There will be many scenes with sexual acts.

 Dark Humor: The game contains dark humor, which may be unsettling or offensive to some viewers.

 Sadistic Behavior: Some characters exhibit sadistic behavior which can be disturbing.

 Substance Abuse: Characters are shown consuming alcohol excessively.

Demo:

Forum:

https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-the-golden-throne-60k-words/142838/59

RO's

Male RO's

Female RO's

[luckykittens198]

When Your Dad is a Pillar of the Universe

The world is cyclical. No matter how one tries to prevent the apocalypse, it will come eventually. And new life forms will be born from the ashes. Those lifeforms eventually will form civilizations, and those civilization will be destroyed again.

Over and over and over again.

And so, Klein Moretti, the Lord of the Mysteries, King of Space and Time, decided to sleep.

If the world is cyclical, why does he have to watch everything? His miniscule amount of humanity couldn't stand the destruction of everything he knew. Over and over again. His divinity, just felt tired and indifferent at how every civilizations just repeat their predecessor's mistakes.

So he sleeps. Following the footsteps of his fellows Great Old Ones that went to slumber long before him.

Many eons have passed. Many cycles have passed. The world keeps on expanding.

One day, 'His' conciousness was stirred. A stray soul entered 'His' divine kingdom. Half awake, the Lord of the Mysteries stretched a tentacle to grab it.

"How curious," 'He' sleepily commented.

"Your fate showed that you shouldn't be a stray. Why are you here? How do you reach this place?" This intriguing matter aroused 'His' curiousity. Slowly, 'He' started to fully awaken.

As 'He' woke up, he noticed the smidgen of taint in the stray soul. It seems to be a remnant of a curse.

"A curse it seems? A leftover curse? From the death pathway?" The Being poked at the curse remnant with 'His' tentacle.

Suddenly, the mirror at his side started to glow.

"GREAT MASTER! Welcome back!" A great amount of fireworks appeat on the mirror's surface.

"Only for a little while Arrodes. Now, could you tell me where this curse remnant on this stray come from?"

"Yes, great master!" Slowly, the words on the mirror disappear and another scene came to be.

The scene in the mirror showed 2 beings. One, a human male and the other, a white female dragon. They made a vow, and with that vow they invoke a curse.

"Ho, the curse of reincarnation and denial of peace. What an interesting curse," 'He' leaned back on his throne. Behind 'Him', 'His' tentacle played with the stray soul.

With a twitch, one of the tentacle brought the soul to 'Him'. "It seems that your original body has been stolen by that cursed person. Now, what to do with you?" The Being hmmed.

The mirror, Arrodes, flashed again. "Great master, may this humble servant give you a suggestion?"

"You may."

"Great master, why don't you let this soul be reborn in another world or planet? That way it will have another chance at life and you don't have to be bothered by it."

The Lord of the Mysteries hummed. As 'He' was thinking, he took notes of the condition of 'His' humanity. As 'He' expected, the lack of true anchor is truly detrimental for 'His' humanity.

"Yes, that is a good idea. But you are mistaken about something Arrodes. I think, I will raise this soul."

"Pardon me?"

"You are pardoned. I will raise this soul. Arrodes, which country will be the best place to raise this one?"

"Great master, the best country to raise that soul currently is South Korea. I don't think raising that soul befits your station."

"Haha, this is just my whim, Arrodes. The whim of a bored deity, you could say."

The deity slowly stood up. The soul rested in 'His' hand. With a snap, 'He' stole the curse remnant from the soul and graft it on a paper man.

'His' cane slammed down and a brilliant illusory door showed up.

"Unfortunately, a deity at my level can't directly intefere with mortal realm. But I suppose a fragment of me can do something." With that, 'He' threw the soul and some of 'His' worms of spirit into the door.

"Let's see. For that soul's name, Rok Soo would be good. Hm?"

"Is something wrong, great master?" The mirror asked.

"It seems I accidentally gave it some blessings. Ah well. I suppose I will have to stay awake to watch over them. What do you think would happen, Arrodes?"

"This humble servant thinks that they will live an interesting life, Great Master."

"Now, that is a terrible curse, Arrodes. But we'll see."

Next

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Madame Butterfly

twirls my hair at Man in Red (as a fan of the masquerade of the red death esp the flim w Vincent Price! i care about him sooooo much)

Rated T | Warnings: None

When the Red Butterfly, Madame Butterfly they called her, passed away the Man in Red saw it as an opportunity to collect more souls. More worshippers begging for his enlightenment.

What he had not expected was to see you, the successor to the Madame Butterfly. A gentle blue butterfly dancing upon the stage, the wave of calm and dream-like power freeing your people from his influence. Two fans, one recognized to be Red Butterfly's fan.

Seems you were her student as you dance the same way she did though yours has slight differences.

The first invasion was unsuccessful, he was caught by surprise. Then he received a letter written by you, a meeting to arrange peace. A naive notion! Never will there be peace so long as he does not own everything.

Including you.

A rare blue butterfly, one who dances in red to attract but soothes in blue. Your soul is bright and untouched, it beckons those who yearn for peace. He wants to rip your wings and cripple you, make you reliant on his embrace.

“Surely there is another way to resolve this?” You say while remaining seated in front of him.

“No. Surrender or die.” Firm as he stood at the opposite end of the table, “Your predecessor believed these humans are worth everything including her immorality, do not be as foolish as her.”

“There is nothing foolish about loving humans. We are to care for and nurture them. To help them when the time comes to pass on.”

“They are to nourish us!”

You look sad, and hurt, “Have you forgotten your humanity?”

His hand slams on the table, “There was no such thing. I am eternal as you unless you plan to relinquish your immorality for the livestock.”

You stand, “True immorality is forged by the legacy left by our hands, not by stealing other lives to prolong ours.”

The Man in Red swears he can see her in you, see the one who he wished to remain by his side. Yet, the Madame Butterfly gave her heart to a mortal who did not understand what he did not deserve! His eye is cold and piercing as he looks at you.

“Her fan.”

You look at it as you grip it, “Michiko… She is always by my side with this.”

The Man in Red scoffs, “Human ideology. We both know she is gone.” Cold, “You don't have to follow in her footsteps.” Moving around the table to be close to you, “Join me.”

“You hurt humans.” Shaking your head a bit, “We should be caring for, not hurting them.”

He invades your space as he leads in, “Join me, (Name), for their sake. Kneel or your pets can become part of my offering tree.”

You gasp, the offering tree that drains humans slowly of everything, body, soul, memories— It is cruel and used to empower your kind. “How can you be so cruel!?”“Cruelty? My little butterfly, cruelty is prolonging our war. You can continue to dance for your pets so long as you worship me.”

[rippersz]

𝒯𝑜 𝒫𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃:

(A Larissa Weems x fem!reader fanfic) (Part 5)

(Part 4) (Part3) (Part 2) (Part 1)

⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊⊹﹢₊ ⟡

Your luck ran out, it seemed.

3 weeks and no stranger.

3 weeks and no jaw-dropping beauty.

3 weeks and the station seemed quieter than it did before.

You loathed to admit it to yourself in the beginning, but eventually you faced the truth. You missed her. That was that. Plain and simple. You missed her and your days felt emptier without her there, but it was fine. You were fine. Life was not all about train station crushes and dawning rose-colored glasses at any chance you got. No, it was more than that. It was watching people and observing them and wondering about the intricacies of their lives. It was sitting on park benches and admiring the birds and listening to their songs and ignoring the way your heart lurched in your chest when someone with white hair walked past the corner of your eye. It was listening to music in your living room and putting your pencil to paper and watching the tall feminine figure of a distant beauty come to fruition before you even realized what you were doing. And it was also about falling asleep, sinking into dreams, and waking up with the image of blue eyes swiftly fading from your mind.

All in all, yeah - life was more than just longing. You knew that. You knew that very well. Probably better than anyone else.

…So how come you missed her so bad?

How come she was on your mind every time you entered the station? How come she popped into your thoughts while you were looking for drawing references, stumbling across fashion blogs and figure studies? How come she crossed your psyche every time you heard the click-clacking of heels? Were you obsessed? Was that it? No… no you were infatuated. Yes. You recognized that behavior - you were infatuated and you had imagined so many things about her that the pedestal she stood on in your mind was far too high.

Although… was it? Was it truly? Hadn’t you made no assumptions aside from believing she simply must have a partner at home? You hadn’t compared her to the gods, you hadn’t claimed she was a model or anything like that.

…But you could. You definitely could. In fact, you could say many things - you could say she was something utterly spectacular. Something not made by human hands or love. You could say she was something that was too refined and too pleasing to the eye to be just mortal. Hell, you could go the extra mile.

You could say that Aphrodite wanted to create a predecessor that was unbelievably beautiful. That she yearned for a pretty face to look at and refresh her subconscious whenever she wished. You could say that Aphrodite went about that by creating the stranger from clay; following in Prometheus’s footsteps and breathing her own life into the figure. And then you could say- you could claim- you could insist- that when Aphrodite opened her hands to see the result, she fell to her knees and began screaming in horror, realizing her mistake too late. See, in her eagerness to create the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, in her own image, she made the most egregious error of a lifetime. Oh yes… she had created her own downfall.

For the most beautiful thing she shaped turned out to be far more beautiful than her.

And even as the goddess of love and carnality… well even she had to admit it to herself. Her own creation… with eyes bluer than hers and hair shinier than hers and lips pinker than hers and hands far more slender and feminine than hers…

You could say that, in horror, Aphrodite allowed the creation to slip from her fingers and fall to Earth. And there the mortal flourished, until finally she walked into your life and changed you forever.

…Okay so perhaps ‘forever’ was an exaggeration, but in that span of time, when you missed her so terribly, you were convinced your heart would ache until you died. That’s what missing people did - it brought a weight to one’s soul that was so strong it could only be forgotten about in a drugged stupor or a sleepy haze. Drugs and alcohol were never your thing, so sleeping away the image of such beauty was your best bet. And even that didn’t work.

So at the end of the day, you could claim that the stranger wasn’t human at all; that Aphrodite birthed her from her bare hands; but what was the point in that? No one would listen. No one would believe you. Really the longer you were left without her presence, the more you thought you could have been hallucinating. Perhaps there was no one there in the first place. Perhaps such a stranger didn’t exist at all and it was just a mirrored image of your ‘dream woman’. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you - trying to make you feel less lonely.

Though like most mind tricks, it worked until it didn’t.

Days and days went by as slow as snails and there was still no sign of her. February finally turned over into March, crowds came and went, and several people occupied the bench that, at one point, had been hers. The first time a different person sat there, a strange violent anger twisted within the depths of your soul. You wanted nothing more than to get up and push them onto the concrete, but the part of you that didn’t want to get charged with assault kept you still. And it also told you the truth. It murmured reality into your ears.

‘She’s not coming back. And you are foolish to wait for her.’

But you weren’t waiting for her. Were you? No. Why would you? What exactly would you be waiting for? The moment in which she’d show up at the station again? And throw her arms around your neck and claim that she’s liked you since the first day she saw you? No. No, you were a daydreamer of sorts but not to that extent.

Right?

‘She’s returned to her own life and you have to return to yours. So stop longing for someone who doesn’t remember you.’

But- but nothing had changed. Your life was still the same. It still went on… just without her.

And could it really be that big? The gap left behind once her spotless heels went walking off into the distance? Could it really span that far - from the beginning of the first week to the middle of the third? Yes. Apparently so. And for a stretch of that time you wondered if she had that effect on everyone, but swiftly realized that of course she did. Looking like that, sounding like that… how the world wasn’t bowing at her feet, you’d never know.

How you weren’t trying to get the memory of her out of your head, you’d never know.

Instead of doing whatever you could to distract yourself, to get over your silly little crush, to put an end to your idiotic yearning… you gave in. You did what you did best and you gave in. Subconsciously, unconsciously, and consciously dedicating yourself to keeping her in your head for as long as possible. And by the end of the second week, you felt a bit sick upon realizing the extent of your misplaced infatuation. Each sketchbook page you turned, each journal entry you wrote, each doodle you scribbled with whatever was near… she was there. She lived there. Hidden on each line, in each grain, along each edge. White hair, blue eyes, pale skin, red lips. Like some strange albino vampire. Or a ghost you couldn’t live without.

—

It was yet another Friday night when you decided to change up your schedule a bit. Falling asleep had become easier and easier as time passed, so you thought that perhaps going to the station at 1 AM instead of in the evening would add a bit of excitement to your hobby. The station nearest to you ran 24/7 and as anyone knew, a city never truly slept. An early Saturday morning, for example, saw people of all kinds going out to nightclubs. Those in business attire returning home late from work, young teens switching between each other’s apartments and grabbing pizza to take back, and a variation of others lingering near the walls and benches. The constant noise of the city filled the air without reprieve, successfully keeping everyone awake. Though despite that, you could easily spot the exhaustion hiding within certain people; like the girl in the sparkling purple dress standing while on her phone had bags under her eyes and was probably asking her friends if she could stay home. And the man with the crinkled suit who kept running his hand through his hair and checking his watch, pacing every two seconds, just trying to keep his eyes open. And the young girl who had already fallen asleep against her mother’s side, dozing off into dreamland while her mom quietly spoke on the phone.

And then there was yourself; sitting alone with a busy mind and empty hands. The bench across from you was occupied by other people- a highschool girl, two college friends, and a man who sat tuning his guitar. Any memory that could have existed of the fair-haired stranger was gone. Only left to linger in the minds of those who had, at one point, saw her just as you did. And if you told anyone about her- about the kind of woman you observed but never met, they’d stare at you as though you were ranting about witnessing a UFO floating above the city. As though she were a phenomenon that would never happen again. As if she, for all you know, could have disappeared off of the grid entirely and would not show face until many years had passed.

Well. That was unlikely. But still.

More often than not, you had to remind yourself that she was just another woman anyway. No- not just another woman- she was so much more than that. No, she was just… just some woman. She was just some woman and she would not be coming back and that meant you had to forget about her. That meant throwing away the sketchbook pages, tearing out the diary entries and burning them, and never looking at that damned bench again. That meant going to work and coming home without a strange pulse in your heart pulling you toward the station. That meant leaving any ounce of daydreaming behind, because you were only hurting yourself more when you thought about the way those eyes would have looked when placed on you. Or how, in some other life, there was a chance that you could be doing something as boring as laundry and taxes together and you’d still find beauty within her even then.

Though thoughts like that… oh those were the ones that left you sitting in bed at night with your eyes glued to the ceiling. The world dark, your skin cold, your head pounding. And with no one beside you. No one to wake up to. No one to return to. There was a quote that perfectly described your feelings, actually. What was it again? Oh, right, yes…

‘When nobody wakes you up in the morning and when nobody waits for you at night and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?’

Charles Bukowski was very correct, wasn’t he? There would always be a fine line between solitude and loneliness. Usually it didn’t get to you, but for some reason ever since seeing that stranger… it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. It followed you like a cloud. Your phone never rang, your hands were never filled with a brown lunch paper bag, your cheeks were never red from an overload of kisses. You never got flowers, you never got hugs, you never got a smile in return when you told someone you loved them. In fact, the only people you hung around were the ones at your job - and even they were too busy with their own things to befriend you properly. So you ate lunch alone and you rode the train alone and you listened to music alone and you worked alone and you lived alone and everything was done alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone-

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here again…"

A smooth accent filled your ears.

“… you weren't waiting on me, were you?”

⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊⊹﹢₊ ⟡

I do hope you're all aware of the fact that you can request one shots and the like to me. I'll happily do them. That being said, any thoughts on other series'? I have a few ideas. Let me know <3 - Ripley

⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊ ⟡ ⊹﹢₊⊹﹢₊ ⟡

@machi-avelli @tanith-rhea @weemssapphic @rosieathena @jinxscatbomb @bapplenana @lvinhs @delusional-sapphic @slightlyfruity @snakeskin-world @poorwritingandstalecoffee @aphrcdtes @kimiinou @hiraethinheaven @readingtheentrails @lord6-6fandom @reariy @hidden-words-of-art

[hiraya-rawr]

Same Xiao anon here: this is revenge.

Someone mentioned Scaramouche sibling ideas and you know what? I’m here for it.

Another prototype created after Scaramouche’s inception, once again another failure but for different reasons. This prototype was much to hopeful, much too ambitious, much too mortal to withstand the station of eternity. Before it was abandoned, in its hazed yet dreamy state it learned of their long lost predecessor - they would come to call him brother rather than “puppet” in the eyes of their mother.

With just that misty dream, they pressed on into the world in search of their brother. Unlike Scaramouche’s experience, with each obstacle and heartbreak they continued on forever hopeful and naive - the very flaw that casted them out.

Only… when they do find him, he has no room in his heart (or lack thereof) for his so called kin. At least he still has a use for them: a worthy sacrifice for the birth of a god. Yes, nothing more.

🙂

scaramouche sibling brainrot

// XIAO ANON PLEASE THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING THANK YOU FOR PUTTING IT SO WELL INTO WORDS

Another puppet was made after Scaramouche, it's maybe even more of a failure than its "big brother". Too hopeful, too loving, it could never handle the duties of an Archon.

To Yae Miko, she believed that destroying it would be merciful— but to Ei -who couldn't raise a hand against her own creation- thought that abandonment would be a less cruel fate.

Your "mother" tells you of another puppet, she isn't sure why. Maybe she hopes you'll find each other, maybe deep down she's aware of her flaws as the "creator".

You didn't understand why you couldn't meet her after that. Thrown out into a world you had little knowledge of. Perhaps mother was too busy? Perhaps she wanted you to stand on your own two feet? You roamed Inazuma, learning new things each day.

One day, you learned that the village kids you frequently played with had siblings. Born of the same womb— of the same mother. Is that what a sibling is? Was the puppet your mother created before you your sibling?

Did mother tell you so that you may find your brother?

Scaramouche hears of you. From both rumors and his own intel, he thinks you're a little pathetic. You've been thrown out like him, no better than trash and another sour stain in the world— but your activities pique his curiosity.

What is with you making friends? You strike conversations with the Fatui, you help lost travelers, you share food— have you not learned the first time? As if there's a severe flaw in your system.

He doesn't try to avoid you. He doesn't try to meet you either. To him, you're simply strangers... until the day you find him, happily calling him your older brother as if the long search was over.

He stares at you with dumbfounded disgust. What?

"Ha? Brother? Listen here, you are no different from a toy thrown away. She is not your mother, and I am not your brother."

Scaramouche doesn't understand why you continued to follow him. Loudly, at first, then quietly the next. Pacing yourself just a little behind him, not in a way that would bother him but he knows you're there by the sound of your footsteps.

He tries to shake you off. Lose you in crowds and his random missions, but you'd always somehow find him (sometimes, it takes only days. Other times, it takes years).

Eventually, he settles for a life where you're always nearby— constantly within reach. He doesn't bother to knock some sense in you about the complicated nature of your existence (to him, you're too dumb to understand anyway. a head full of flowers, he says, even when you're actually quite smart).

He doesn't correct you when you call him brother anymore either, and you settle for a life that's almost peaceful (he never truly tells you what he does with the Fatui. you don't follow him either, knowing he'll get angry, and you wouldn't want your brother to get angry at you!)

// makes me wonder how his story quest would progress once hes playable

[sonosvegliato]

To an Athlete Dying Young: Deleted Scenes Pt 2

Since Ao3 is down :(

Occurs after McCrispy incident of Part 1

Still unedited; feast on my under the couch cushion popcorn 

“All you did was make us look like fools,” Superboy mutters. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, like he can’t decide to be angry or resigned. It’s late; Tim’s still in the suit. He practices slipping in front of the heavy bag—he’s avoiding Bruce’s room tonight. Avoiding him will convince Bruce that there’s something Tim’s ashamed of. 

“When I left, what did Superman say to you?” he asks Superboy.

“That I’ll never measure up to him and I’ll be trapped in this prison block forever.”

Tim stops the bag and looks past it at Superboy.

“It was implied,” Superboy protests.

“I’m sure,” Tim says disbelievingly. “And how did he look at you?”

“The same way he always does. Like I’m a dead mouse his cat left on his doorstep.”

“You’ve got to be more specific,” Tim says. “At what angle were his eyebrows? Were his pupils dilated? How often did he blink?”

Superboy scowls.

“Did he look like he was trying to X-ray vision you?” Tim restates. “Because that’s not pity. That’s concern.” He points an expert finger at Superboy. “That’s your start.”

###

###

Bruce speaks little the next day. 

But there’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows that only shows up when he’s been studying a particularly elusive case file. It deepens when Tim speaks little, too.

###

###

“What are you doing?” Superboy asks.

“Finding solace in you.”

Superboy’s nose wrinkles in disgust, and he moves away from Tim. 

“No,” Tim hisses, pulling on his arm. “When Batman’s at the Hall, he and Martian Manhunter play chess in the rec room—” he points to the room down the corridor— “every day before dinner. They’re set to come by any minute now. Look concerned, think about me.”

Superboy scowls.

“You just look constipated,” Tim complains. “Just—” he hears footsteps rounding the corner, and quickly morphs his expression into one of panic. Superboy’s face twists in confusion, but it’s close enough. Tim’s still holding onto Superboy’s wrist.

“Robin,” Bruce says curtly, and Tim whirls like he’s surprised. He drops Superboy’s wrist and crosses his arms.

“Batman,” he greets, making sure to look higher than Bruce’s chin, and then replays You’ve disappointed me you’ve disappointed me you’ve disappointed me until when he breathes his chest shudders with the weight of it. 

Bruce walks past him into the recreation room. Martian Manhunter looks back at Tim before following him inside. 

###

###

Tim is retelling Wonder Woman when he got his suit when he catches Bruce in the corner of his eye and trails off. 

“Well,” he says, getting up and keeping his eyes trained on the table. “We’ll see how long I can keep it. I, uh. I just remembered I’m supposed to meet Superboy. We’re going to spar.”

He shoulders past Bruce. He walks all the way around the corner before doubling back. Bruce has disappeared, and the breakroom’s conversation is muffled and low. He edges closer until it’s just within his earshot.

“Why does your protege suddenly slink away from you like Odysseus hiding among the sheep?” Wonder Woman asks.

Bruce must sigh, because Wonder Woman’s next words are, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says, but the rest stumbles out like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “He—and I—I don’t know.” Metal creaks as he must pull out a chair. “He…he avoids me. When there’s something wrong. Dick only avoided me towards the end, and Jason—” a long pause—“Jason never avoided me.”

“You cannot compare him to his predecessors,” Wonder Woman says severely. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Bruce replies sharply. 

Tim flattens himself against the wall, but Bruce’s voice turns muffled, like he’s talking to his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“I am not hurt,” Wonder Woman replies immediately. “Only concerned. And curious.”

“I’m terrified of him,” Bruce says. “And what I’m going to do to him.” 

“So this explains why you avoid him, too.”

“I don’t avoid him.”

“Letting him walk by you while he looks at you like you’re the pit into Tartarus is avoiding him,” Wonder Woman argues. “When did this start?”

“Four days ago. After he left without my permission. We had a discussion.”

Wonder Woman says nothing.

“It was a discussion,” Bruce presses. “He—he thinks he’s ready for the streets. I told him he’s not.”

“And that was it,” Wonder Woman says after a beat.

“And that was it,” Bruce affirms. 

“What were your exact words?”

“Diana.”

“I want the truth from you, Bruce.”

The chair creaks again, Tim hears the soft scrape of the weights in Bruce’s cape on the floor. “I said, ‘You’re not ready for the streets,’” he recalls tightly. “He said, ‘At least let me start shadowing you’. I said, ‘No, we’re not discussing this.’”

“Bruce.”

“I meant about shadowing me,” Bruce protests. “He revealed himself. The whole world knows he exists, now.”

“To the world, there’s always been a Robin,” Wonder Woman explains. “You’re the only one that knows the truth.”

“He disappointed me,” Bruce says.

“You have very high expectations; it’s not very hard to disappoint you. In fact, I’m sure he will disappoint you a hundred more times by the time he’s sixteen. And you’ll disappoint him two hundred times.”

“I know,” Bruce says softly.

“And he’ll still look up to you,” Wonder Woman continues. “He’ll still do his best for you. That’s love.”

  “He—”

“He loves you,” Wonder Woman says firmly. “Give him time to grow into his mistakes.”

“I can’t,” Bruce says. “He thinks I’m overbearing, but—I can’t bear the thought of something happening to him. I’d rather him hate me than be hurt because of me.”

Tim’s stomach flips.

“You’re so self-sacrificial,” Wonder Woman sighs. “Pandora’s box has already been opened, Bruce. There are countless evils in this world; you cannot hope to protect a boy from them all.” A pause, the clink of metal cuffs sliding across the table. “No matter how much you love him.”

It’s okay, Tim thinks frantically. It’s okay. There’s still time to fix this.

When he first clambered into the Batmobile’s passenger seat, in the stolen suit with his face stinging from a brick Two-Face threw at him, and Tim said, I’ll be your Robin and Bruce had grunted one of his we’ll see grunts, Tim never considered—he wants Bruce to like him, sure, of course.

He can’t let Bruce love him. 

That’s Jason’s place, not his. And if Tim is going to—if he’s ever going to get out of this imitation game, he’s got to prove he’s not Jason Todd. He’s got to figure out why Jason Todd is Hood. 

And he’s got to keep the Dark Knight in the dark.  

“He wants to be by your side,” Wonder Woman continues. “I think he only avoids you because he thinks you want to avoid him.”

“But—”

“You gave him the suit. Don’t stop him from the thing you’ve trained him for.”

“But I—”

“No butts,” Wonder Woman says, with a note of amusement. “They’re inappropriate for a table.”

Bruce grunts. A moment later he mumbles, “I don’t like his choice of friends.”

Wonder Woman laughs. “They’re around the same age, in theory. You didn’t expect your protégé to be entertained by us for this fortnight, did you?”

“This could have been avoided if I let him bring his Xbox,” Bruce says morosely. His voice raises. “What if I bought a gaming station for here? Xboxs. Playstations. Wii Sports Resort. We should put it in the recreation room.”

“You can’t prevent Robin from being friends with Superboy.”

“You don’t know what MarioKart is.” 

“Bruce.”

“Why him?” Bruce asks. “Tim is a good kid. He follows rules. Mostly. The clone is—is—a punk.”

“I think they make a surprising pair,” Wonder Woman admits. “But without surprises, you would never have penicillin or super glue or chocolate chip cookies.”

“I don’t want them to invent something together,” Bruce says darkly.

“That’s not up to you. But it does give me a good idea.” Wonder Woman’s voice lifts. “What if we partake in a friendly wager?”

“I don’t gamble,” Bruce says with distaste.

“Then it can be a statistical observation exercise, with risks,” Wonder Woman replies back. Without waiting for Bruce’s response, she explains, “I have instructed your protégé in proper battle technique. Why not put it to the test against me?”

“No,” Bruce says.

“Robin and Superboy both. If they make a good enough team, as I think they will, they’ll find a way to incapacitate me.”

“No,” Bruce repeats. “Diana—”

“Why not?” Wonder Woman continues firmly. “Because you do not trust Robin, or you do not trust his mind, or you do not trust his choice in allies?”

“That’s not—”

“He’ll surprise you,” Wonder Woman says.

Bruce releases a weary sigh.

“Yes,” he says finally. “I know he will.”

###

###

The plane is crashing again. Jeremy sits in the copilot seat, slumped and bleeding over the controls.

Tim yanks the yoke.

###

###

“Tim,” Bruce says, then coughs to cover his surprise. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Tim says flatly. The door hisses closed behind him. He slumps at the bottom of Bruce’s bed, picks up a piece of chalk. 

“Goodnight,” Bruce says, softly. His arm shifts so it’s hanging off the bed. His knuckles brush the space besides Tim’s ear. 

“Goodnight,” Tim says, leaning away from him. He starts sketching a very wonky shielded S. He waits a very long time for Bruce’s breathing to even, then erases it and draws out a plan.

###

###

(Tim can do this).

###

###

“Tim,” Bruce says, just as Tim’s about to leave. Bruce’s floor is smeared softly white. Tim’s shirt is covered in dust. It’s all over his hands, his knees. He’d worn the stick of chalk to a fingernail’s width of a wedge.

Bruce gets out of his bed. He walks over to Tim. He reaches out to touch.

Tim jerks his chin. 

Bruce’s hand falls before it can find Tim’s skin. 

“You didn’t sleep well,” he says flatly.

“No,” Tim says, equally expressionless. “I did not.”

He presses his chalky fingers to the back of the door, steps out into the corridor. He leaves his hand on the side of the metal door before it can separate him and Bruce. 

“I am sorry,” he whispers. 

“Talk with me,” Bruce says. “I—your actions disappointed me, but I’m not disappointed in you. Sometimes I forget—that you’re only—and—”

“We’re partners,” Tim says.

Bruce sighs. “Yes. We’re partners. And I don’t like it when you hide from me.”

“Old habits die hard,” Tim replies. 

Bruce’s mouth turns up. Tim mimics it, then drops his hand from the door so it can slide back into place. When he hears the metal lock, the last swathe of air ghost the back of his neck. He walks stiff and purposefully back to his room. He can’t clip the cape at his shoulders. His fingers tremble. He curls them into his palms, the cape a pool of black around his feet, until the shaking stops. 

By then, he has convinced himself that the ache in his bones is sleeplessness, the smallness in his stomach is pre-breakfast hunger, that the knot in his throat is righteous fury. When he latches the cape at his neck, he is Robin and nothing else.

(But Tim is terrified for Bruce, and of what Tim will do to him.)