@patroklides asked: “  we  both  know  i’m  not  walking  out  of  this  one.  it’s  okay,  alright?  it’s  okay…  just…  do  me  a  favor,  will  you?  will  you  make  them  pay  for  this?  i  don’t  care  how.  but…  don’t  let  them  get  away  with  it.  ”  dick  ->  tim

❛  di一  nightwing,  i’m  not  letting  you  die  here一  ❜  his  hands  are  slick  with  blood  where  he’s  taken  his  gloves  off  to  more  effectively  triage  the  jagged  wound  torn  through  dick’s  abdomen.  he stares at the way the liquid catches the light.

somehow,  he  always  forgets  how  warm  it  feels  before  it  goes  tacky.  98.6  degrees  fahrenheit  on  average  (  and  dick’s  test  results  are  always  so  picture  perfect  ).  nearly  five  liters  in  an  adult  male  of  his  size.  40%  lost  and  dick  dies.  two  liters.  at  least  half  that  already  stains  the  ground  around  them.  too  much.  it’s  too  much  and  tim  can’t  make  it  stop.  

he  can’t  make  it  stop.  

dick  is  going  to  bleed  out  here  because  of  him.  he  curls  his  body  around  his  older  brother,  shaking  his  head.  ❛  please,  ❜  he  begs,  like  it’s  anywhere  near  enough  to  stop  this.  ❛  please,  don’t一❜  

more  blood  oozes  out  from  his  attempts  at  a  bandage  and  tim  shakes.  dick  is  going  to  die  here.  

he  steels  himself.  there’s  no  time  for  a  breakdown.  he  has  to  get  out  of  this.  teeth  sink  into  his  lip  hard  enough  that  he  tastes  metal.  pulling  back,  he  cups  dick’s  face  in  one  hand.  rage  burns  through  him  as  he  looks  down  at  his  dying  brother,  thrumming  through  his  veins  with  an  indescribable  heat.  he’ll  kill  them.  fuck  bruce’s  rules,  he’ll  kill  each  and  every  one  of  these  stupid  villains.  he’ll  make  them  pay  for  this.  

❛  i  promise,  ❜  he  says,  voice  thick  with  pain  and  anger  and  grief.  ❛  i  won’t  let  them  get  away  with  this  or  anything  like  it  ever  again.  ❜

"you think you know me, but the truth is, you don't."

𓃮 - "i know you better than you know yourself, kid. you'd do better by my side, grayson. just admit it to yourself. join me. i can make you PERFECT."

Most evenings,  the silky sound of quill-on-parchment is a near lullaby compared to hollers,  clashes,  and chaos of the battlefield.  But tonight,  sequestered in the drawing room that once belonged to the archbishop,  Ferdinand finds the sound utterly distracting.  Not enough to paint his cursive any less elegant,  mind you,  but he does find pause halfway through a sentence and drops his quill into its well and his chin into his palm. 

Perhaps it is not the sound that is so distracting,  but rather a troubled thought that has tugged on his mind for  moons now.  “Hubert,  stay your quill a moment,  please.  There is something important I have been meaning to ask you.” 

He waits until he receives Hubert’s full,  deliberate attention.  Ferdinand sometimes finds it difficult to discern what thoughts wail about behind Hubert’s eyes  ( despite their sharp definition,  even in twilight candlelight ),  but the more time he and Hubert spend together—parchmentwork such as this—the more Ferdinand has come to recognize Hubert’s many nuances.  Enough,  at least,  to tell precisely when he is actually listening. 

❛ may i have this dance? ❜ / my el to your byleth, post-CF 🥺 / @patroklides

At first, Byleth hears no music.

Fódlan is, maybe for the first time she's ever known, quiet. Which means that it's alive with all the things that matter: the gentle rustle of the dawn breeze, the early morning animals, the distant sound of the few people who deign to rise this early starting their day. Byleth feels the grass under her -- and the debris, the dirt, the rubble, all of the lingering shadows of war.

But more importantly, beneath it all is the growing grass, her own beating heart, and Edelgard.

You can call it selfish; Byleth has always called it practical. When you live your life at opposite ends of a blade, fighting for every breath and every meal, you learn what's important. And as long as there's something alive around you, there is something worth fighting for. Byleth had always counted her own breath as that something.

Edelgard taught her to count so much more.

Her chest aches and Byleth dips her head forward, heavy and spinning, and for the second time in her life feels the burning creep along the edges of her eyelids and pulse behind her brow. What comes out of her is a breathy laugh -- light as birds' wings, unfettered and a little cracking.

--- -- - When humanity stands strong, and people reach out for each other --

May I have this dance ?

There's no music until Byleth hears it, so faint that she wants to cry -- wants to want to cry. Bells. Morning bells. She realizes with a sort of giddiness she's never felt before that they are sitting in the ruins of where the goddess tower once stood. And damn, she remembers. She remembers every moment they have built together -- the moonlight through the tower's windows, the sounds of the party below. The laughter skittering against a backdrop alive with some deep, dark, coiling shadow.

The tower is gone, but so are the ghosts.

After everything, it is just Byleth. It is just Edelgard.

She stands, brushing some of the grass from her legs, and her hand fits perfectly in Edelgard's as she helps her up, swaying back and forth, before wrapping her hands around Edelgard's arms and holding her gaze without moving, without flinching.

For the first time, the name comes easy as a new heartbeat:

it does not intimidate her. edelgard standing so close. instead, blyeth feels calmer. edelgard handles the politics. & she leads the charge. blyeth simply directs them all to the path of success.

you could not have one without the other. so as the empress steps closer, blyeth feels driven to do one thing: she reaches to grab her hand. all she wants el to know is that she is not alone.

her bloody path to unite fodlan will not be alone. she will keep walking alongside her until she can’t anymore. her hand squeezes her own. when edelgard comes closer yet again, she can’t help but let her eyes linger on her lips.

           “ you’re frowning, edie. ” dorothea says in a sing-songy voice as she approached. she thinks back briefly to when she says she can’t wait to hear the opera that will come out about her. they come out about all leaders. especially those like her: beautiful & strong.

chilly  wind  cuts  through  even  jason’s  jacket  and  he  bounces  on  his  toes  to  keep  warm  while  he  waits.  it’s  late  enough  that  most  of  the  lights  in  the  buildings  around  him  are  off,  casting  deep  shadows  that  he  carefully  tucks  himself  in.  no  point  in  broadcasting  his  location,  after  all.  the  person  he's  looking  for  will  be  able  to  pick  him  out  no  matter  how  well  he  hides  his  presence.  jason  tucks  his  hands  into  his  armpits,  grumbling  under  his  breath.

❛  come  on,  ‘wing,  where  the  hell  are  you  ??  ❜  

almost  as  soon  as  he  says  it,  he  catches  the  faint  sound  of  a  cape  in  the  wind.  it’s  the  only  sign  that  batman  has  landed  on  the  ledge  across  the  way  from  him.  he  looks  properly  dramatic,  silhouetted  against  the  starless  sky,  cape  flaring  around  him.  an  almost  perfect  replication  of  their  mentor.  jason  snorts.  

gravel  crunches  underfoot  as  jason  squares  up,  starts  across  the  rooftop  in  long,  loping  strides.  he  launches  off  the  edge,  hands  extended  to  grab  the  fire  escape  opposite.  hand  over  hand,  he  climbs  up  to  the  roof,  swinging  himself  over  a  few  feet  from  batman.  

❛  hey,  nightwing.  or,  i  guess  i  should  call  you  batman  now,  huh  ??  ❜  there’s  a  curious  edge  to  the  words.  a  lot  of  baggage  left  unpacked.  that  would  go  left  unpacked  forever  now.  he  ignores  the  way  that  makes  his  chest  ache.  dick  is  batman  now.  whatever  issues  he  had  with  bruce  don’t  matter  now.  and  dick  doesn’t  seem  nearly  as  determined  to  put  a  stop  to  jason’s…  unscrupulous  tendencies.  too  busy  trying  to  fill  the  shoes  so  abruptly  left  to  him.  

he  shakes  himself,  takes  a  step  closer.  ❛  thanks  for  coming.  i  know  we  don’t一  anyway,  i  thought  you’d  like  to  see  this.  ❜  he  offers  dick  his  phone,  only  slightly  cracked.  on  it  is  several  pictures  of  a  familiar  man  with  a  split  black  and  orange  mask.  ❛  friend  of  yours  is  in  town.  and  he’s  working  with  someone.  i  haven’t  been  able  to  figure  out  who,  but  they’re  working  on  something  big.  i’ve  seen  people  moving  stuff  in  and  out  of  one  of  the  warehouses  on  the  bay.  ❜  he  swipes  through  a  couple  images  of  people  unloading  and  carrying  crates  of  various  sizes,  all  of  them  with  their  faces  covered.