#(I might have been looking at the portraits)

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 05

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

No matter how much your fingers stirred the fork through your food, your wide eyes remained fixed on the center of the table. Ignoring the noise of the staff around you, you struggled to have a normal morning, despite the scene from the night before insisting on taking up space in your mind.

He spoke.

Noah spoke to you.

His voice low, hoarse, laced with threat… but he spoke.

Hearing his voice in such close physical proximity scrambled your senses more than the sight of the lifeless body in the cell. Not that it made the death any less shocking, but for some reason, your mind couldn’t focus on anything except the sound of his voice and the impact of his fury against your chest.

“Doctor?”

A female voice pulled you out of your daze, diverting your attention from the table. When you looked up, you met the unchanging expression of a nurse, her uniform pristine as she approached to speak to you directly.

“Yes?”

“The director would like to speak with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine in that instant, straightening your posture in the chair. Slowly, you set the utensil down on your plate. Since your arrival at the asylum, the director hadn’t even introduced himself on your first night. You had never crossed paths, and your presence had never been requested. So what the hell did he want now?

Were you in trouble? Was the asylum running out of money to pay your salary especially now, when you were still carrying student loan debt? Had Travis said something that displeased him?

Countless possibilities ran through your mind on the way up to the director’s floor and none of them seemed good.

“Excuse me.” You announced, knocking twice on the door with your fist before poking just your head inside the office.

“Come in, please.” The deep voice said.

You stepped into that office with the same fear you had felt when dissecting a body for the first time trembling hands, flushed cheeks, the suffocating dread of making an irreversible mistake.

Unlike the rest of the asylum, the spacious office was clean, well-lit, and properly maintained, making the space both inviting and luxurious. Portraits of former directors adorned the walls, and in the center stood a single desk, with a chair on either side. One of them was already occupied by an older man, his graying hair and small, time-wrinkled eyes studying you.

Dr. Steve was a renowned psychiatrist, with years of experience in the field. Despite choosing to retire in Grimshade—which, to you, didn’t seem appealing at all—he had built a respectable career. During university, you had studied several books authored by him, a reference in psychopathy, a true master of the subject.

He offered you a welcoming smile, dissolving some of the tension in your shoulders, and gestured to the empty seat before him. From his friendly demeanor, you deduced he might be a decent guy. Maybe.

“I heard you wanted to speak with me…”

“I noticed your schedule was open this morning, and I couldn’t put off this conversation any longer.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “As you’ve probably heard in the asylum’s halls, we lost a patient last night. Tom Harrow.”

“Yes… yeah, I heard.” You responded hesitantly. You didn’t want it to be obvious that you knew because you had been at Hidden outside your working hours. That wasn’t right.

“I won’t waste time with unnecessary preambles or probing, doctor, so I’ll be direct: did you notice any unusual activity?”

It was impossible not to notice the tension in his posture and how frequently he smoothed over his own fingers. He was nervous about addressing a subject that clearly displeased him.

“Why would I know anything, Dr. Steve?”

“Because when we checked the security cameras, we saw that you left Hidden shortly after the estimated time of death.” Steve stated cautiously, watching your expression closely as your mouth fell open in shock. “We’re not pointing fingers, but we’d like to understand why you were in Hidden at that exact hour, in the middle of the night.”

“I… I heard a noise and ended up getting out of bed. I followed the sound and ended up there…”

"And when you got there?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for more details.

"He was already dead in the cell. The scene startled me, and I froze. Shortly after, Noah appeared in the hallway and told me to get out of there," you replied with all the sincerity you could gather.

The man in front of you seemed more perplexed by the fact that Noah had spoken than by anything else. First, his face showed surprise, then disbelief. He stared at you with such a mix of confused expressions that, for a moment, you doubted your own honesty.

"What did you just say?" he asked, shocked.

"That Noah spoke to me. He told me to leave Hidden."

Steve shook his head, bringing a hand to his chin and scratching it roughly.

"Have you been taking any medication?"

"WHAT?" Your voice rose, but you quickly pulled yourself together, taking a deep breath to stay calm.

"Apologies, but what you're claiming happened in Hidden is impossible. Noah hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. He remained silent during the university incident, in prison, during the trial… and he’s still silent here, in Grimshade," Steve stated with conviction, resting his arms on the desk. "Believe me when I say we’ve tried everything to get him to talk—I'm not exaggerating..."

He paused, watching your reaction before continuing:

"I think you may have misinterpreted things. I understand that witnessing such a..."

"I'm not misinterpreting anything, Dr. Steve," you cut him off, firm. "I know what I saw! I deal with unstable patients all the time, but I’m not one of them. I'm fully aware of everything!"

Steve reflected for a moment, his eyes fixed on the computer keyboard, on the scattered files across the desk. Everything seemed enough to hold his attention until he looked back at you.

"If you can’t believe an employee of your own asylum, then ask him!"

"We did..." Steve replied, his voice carrying a grave weight. "We brought Noah to my office early this morning. He remained silent, Doctor."

You felt your blood boil. The urge to march down to Hidden and drive a pair of gardening shears into that bastard’s neck consumed your thoughts for making you question whether it had even happened.

What if he didn’t speak?

No, no, he did speak!

Noah’s silence put you in a complicated position. Especially since everyone knew what had happened earlier in Hidden, during the patient visit how Tom Harrow had provoked you. That could easily be used as motivation for a crime as brutal as that.

If Noah wanted to get you out of his way for digging too much into his life, why resort to this?

Stupid girl. You were talking about a murderer who preferred to stay silent rather than confess to his own crime…

And to think you even considered he might be innocent.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"The purpose of this conversation was to hear your version, but I have no intention of accusing you of anything. We will continue to investigate this thoroughly."

The calm in Steve’s voice contrasted with the subtle way he still somehow framed you as a suspect. Your fingers curled under the table until your fist clenched tight.

"Apparently, I have no choice but to wait."

"I think it’s best if you take two days off to get some rest. When you return, we can have another conversation. Your patients will be under Dr. Rune’s care until further notice."

He was analyzing you.

This entire conversation had been nothing more than a careful evaluation, and in the end, he chose to believe you were delusional rather than accept that Noah might have spoken.

Your jaw tightened, but you held your composure. There was nothing you could say that would change his mind. Steve had already drawn his conclusions, and arguing now would only make things worse.

It took you a few seconds to realize your breathing had quickened.

Two days off? That was definitely not a favor—it was a disguised suspension.

"Understood." Your voice came out steady, but you felt the frustration pulsing beneath your skin.

Steve merely nodded, his expression far too neutral to be natural.

As you left the office, the oppressive weight of that conversation settled on your shoulders like an anchor. Accepting it passively was out of the question. With determined steps, you crossed the hallway toward another closed door, ignoring any possibility of interruption. Without hesitation, you opened it and found Dr. Rune focused on some papers. He lifted his head calmly, adjusting the glasses that softened the sharpness of his blue eyes.

"Hmm..." he murmured, pursing his lips. "You definitely don’t look like Mariene German."

If you weren’t so pissed off, you might have laughed at his pathetic attempt at a joke. Instead, you walked to the chair in front of him and sat down, trying to suppress your restlessness.

"I assume you already know what happened."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw this morning was Noah’s face when Steve dumped all your patients on me." He rolled his eyes, sinking further into his leather chair. "When I suggested you get a hobby, I didn’t mean taking two days off at my expense."

"You think I did this?"

"Obviously not, girl." Rune let out a sigh, as if it were obvious. "But I warned you. As fascinating as he seems, Noah is treacherous. And it’s clear what he’s trying to do here."

"Frame me?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." He smirked, his usual sarcasm intact. "He just wants to shift the weight of his own guilt because between the Blackridge heir who does whatever he wants and a newly licensed psychiatrist who took this job to pay off student loans and clearly doesn’t update her wardrobe often, who do you think they’re going to protect?"

"Great. And how the hell do I prove it, if Dr. Steve thinks I’m hallucinating just because I said he spoke to me?"

Desperation crept into your voice before you could stop it. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the weight of this situation grow heavier. You hadn’t even been here a full month, and you were already at the center of a mess this big.

"During the board meeting, I insisted they talk to Noah," Rune explained, his tone as dry as ever. "Obviously, he stayed silent. But I asked Steve to investigate further, considering the circumstances. That’s the time you have to act. You need to make him speak again."

"You say that like it’s easy…" You scoffed, crossing your arms and leaning back in the chair. "That guy clearly hates me."

"And what do I have to do with that?" Rune raised an eyebrow. "I’m showing you the way—and fast—but not because I care about helping you. I just want you to take your case back and get him off my hands."

"So bitter, Dr. Rune…" You teased, feeling a slight smirk tug at the corner of your lips. "I’m sure you’ll love his company."

Rune scoffed dismissively, crossing his arms and giving you a bored look over the rim of his glasses.

"If I could get rid of the two things that have been irritating me the most lately, I’d ship you off with him as a package deal to the neighboring island."

"But you can’t," you countered, leaning forward slightly. "So tell me, Rune, how the hell do I make Noah talk again?"

He raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Good question," he muttered, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Truth is, I have no idea. But something about you managed to do what no one else has so far. So I suggest you figure it out before Steve decides you need a psych evaluation."

You rolled your eyes, but the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched.

"The problem is, he has no reason to talk to me again."

Rune tilted his head to the side, thoughtful.

"Maybe he does," he said after a few seconds. "You were the only person who saw him in the hallway that night. And somehow, you're still here to tell the story."

The implication hung in the air, and your stomach twisted at the memory of Noah’s rough, threatening voice.

"So I should provoke him until he speaks again?"

"Or piss him off. Or push his buttons. Use your head what would trigger that response in him?" Rune shrugged. "Just don’t die in the process. That paperwork would be a nightmare, and in case you forgot… I’m busy with your patients now." He made a point of saying, gesturing to the files.

How long was he going to keep rubbing that in your face?

You let out a deep sigh and rose from the chair.

"Thanks for the motivation, Dr. Rune. It's always a pleasure talking to you."

"It'll help you more than therapy," he smirked, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Enjoy your free time, take a walk."

With one last glance at him, you left the room, the weight of the situation still pressing against your chest. If there was a way to make Noah speak again, you'd have to figure it out fast. And the only way to do that... was by going back to the Hidden.

The narrow hallway of the Hidden felt even more suffocating that afternoon, with the scenes of the bloodshed still so vivid. The flickering lights buzzed, flies dancing to an inaudible tune around the yellow bulb, casting trembling shadows on the walls smeared with handprints and mud. The stench of disinfectant mixed with mold clung to the air, making it almost unbreathable. Your footsteps echoed against the cold tiled floor, each one accompanied by the thudding of your own heart.

As you neared Noah’s cell, a shiver ran down your spine. He was there, sitting at the back of the small space, his back resting against the wall, a book open in his pale hands, long tattooed fingers gently holding the pages. The dim light highlighted the sharp angles of his face and the almost insolent tranquility of his expression. As if nothing had happened. As if a man hadn't died and you weren’t there to pry a truth from him that he refused to tell.

His fingers turned the page slowly, unhurried, as if he were completely oblivious to your presence. But you knew he wasn’t. You knew that every fiber of that man absorbed his surroundings with surgical precision, every detail taken in by eyes that missed nothing.

"Are you going to pretend I’m not here?" Your voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.

No reaction. No shift of his gaze. Just the soft rustling of paper as another page was turned.

Anger flared in your chest like an uncontrollable fire. You stepped closer to the bars, fingers tightening around the cold metal.

"You spoke to me last night." Your voice came out low, but laced with fury. "I know what I heard. I know what I saw. And now you’re hiding behind this convenient silence? What do you want, Noah? To drive me insane? Make them doubt me?"

Nothing.

"Don't you think it's unfair? Ever since I got here, all I’ve tried to do is help you. Do you really think Rune will be more empathetic? Are you eager for him to lose patience and fry your brain the first chance he gets?"

He maintained the same serene expression, eyes scanning the page, as if the printed words were far more interesting than anything you could say.

"I don’t understand why you hate me so much and, at the same time, helped me last night…"

Your heart pounded against your ribs, tension thickening with each second he refused to react. You wanted him to laugh, to mock, to threaten—anything to shatter that damn performance of indifference. But he remained there, unmoved, shadows dancing over his face, gaze fixed on the book as if the entire universe was nothing but background noise.

"Are you afraid, Noah?" You tilted your head slightly, forcing yourself not to blink. "Afraid that if you open your mouth, more than just words will slip out?"

The book stopped. It wasn’t much, just a slight tightening of his fingers, but you saw it. You felt it.

He heard you.

Silence stretched between you like an abyss, and for a moment, you thought he would finally answer. That he would lean forward and let the mask fall.

But then, without hurry, he turned another page and kept reading.

Your blood boiled.

You hated him. Hated the way he refused to play the game, how he twisted reality to his favor, how he made you question everything.

And above all, you hated that, somehow, he was winning.

Enjoy your free time, take a walk, said that idiot, Dr. Rune.

And you obeyed when you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon walking through the city. Well, there wasn’t much to be done at the sanatorium at that moment, and a car heading downtown was passing by—this was your opportunity.

Faced with the grim scenery of the trail, you found solace in the silence while the car played a soundtrack soaked in the driver's quietness. You thought, as you watched through the window, that he had remained silent throughout your entire visit to the cell, and that was, indeed, the Noah you were used to seeing in your sessions.

The night before, he had flames in place of his usual lifeless, apathetic eyes. Noah seemed to snarl with the intonation of every word he spoke, wavering between sickly protection and visceral fury. Completely different, but undeniably even more fascinating.

For a moment, you hesitated when you realized that this memory could easily fit into one of those dreams that people with repressed desires might have at night. And if…

No way! You silenced your own mind, which was about to agree with Dr. Steve. You were certain of what you had seen and heard; it was neither a dream nor a delusion. Noah had spoken to you as he cornered you against the wall, right after killing one of your patients for assaulting you.

It had really happened.

The scarce sunlight and the humid breeze carried by the sea, not far from there—if you closed your eyes and focused, you could smell the ocean clearly. You took a deep breath before continuing your walk.

The cobblestone streets were narrow, surrounded by old buildings with facades faded by time and humidity. In the island’s center, a craft fair stretched along the square, bursting with colors, textures, and scents blending in the air. Wooden stalls displayed hand-carved sculptures, rustic jewelry, and hand-dyed fabrics. The smell of incense and dried herbs mingled with that of fresh fruit and spices.

Women in long, colorful dresses sat behind small round tables covered with embroidered cloths, offering tarot readings to curious onlookers and tourists. You watched everything with interest, letting your fingers slide over the rough surfaces of ceramic pieces, feeling the warmth of aromatic candles burning on small makeshift altars. A bell tinkled as a stronger breeze swept through the fair, making the metal wind chimes hanging from the tents sway.

Leaving the fair behind, you found yourself in a vast field teeming with young people hurrying in various directions. Weaving skillfully through the moving bodies, your eyes locked onto an imposing old building further ahead. With its majestic architecture and the constant flow of people going in and out, there was no doubt—it was the local university.

Like an insistent whisper guiding your steps, you found yourself drawn inside. The endless chatter of students, the vibrant energy of that academic environment—none of it attracted you or stirred any nostalgia. The truth was, you didn’t miss university life at all. However, something there was calling your attention in an undeniable way: answers.

The students seemed completely immersed in their own excitement, laughing loudly and exchanging playful banter as they walked toward a grand mansion. You followed them without drawing attention, just observing. The deep red jackets of the young men and the uniforms of the cheerleaders made them easily identifiable—probably members of some victorious team. The reason for their celebration, however, did not concern you.

When they finally stopped in front of the mansion, you lifted your eyes to the grand facade. The banners hung proudly bore a name you recognized instantly: Naughtiness. Given the size of the house and the way it stood out among the others along the street, it was easy to assume this was the most influential fraternity on campus.

Seizing the opportunity, you followed one of the students inside. The moment you crossed the entrance, you were met with utter chaos. The place was a complete mess—furniture out of place, bottles and cans scattered across the floor, the strong smell of beer clinging to the air. Bodies of drunk students were sprawled across the sofas and carpet, while a microwave beeped incessantly somewhere in the kitchen. Deeper inside, a dark-haired guy held a cigarette between his fingers.

"Hey!" he called out, breaking your analysis of the scene. "What are you..."

As you turned, you noticed he was staring at you intently, frowning and rubbing his eyes as if he needed to make sure he was seeing correctly. Instinctively, you glanced down at your own clothes, checking if there was something wrong with you, but everything was normal.

The guy approached slowly, still with an expression of mild perplexity and suspicion.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Good afternoon, how are you?" You kept your tone polite, forcing a discreet smile. "I’m a psychiatrist—more specifically, a forensic psychiatrist—and I’m investigating a case related to a patient in treatment."

He seemed genuinely intrigued, which made you relax a little.

"He studied at this university and was part of Naughtiness. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about..."

The guy pressed his lips together for a moment before responding.

"Noah Sebastian."

The name came out with a perceptible weight, and you hesitated for a brief second.

"I’d like to understand better how he behaved around here."

The guy took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke leisurely, as if carefully choosing his words. He scratched the back of his neck before finally giving a small nostalgic smile.

"Everybody loved that guy." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "It was impossible not to like him. He had this thing... a natural charisma, you know? He’d walk into a room, and within minutes, everyone would be laughing or paying attention to whatever he was saying."

You frowned slightly. That wasn’t exactly the image you had of him.

"So, he was popular?"

"Popular?" The guy raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. "He was the heart of this fraternity. He was always bringing people together, organizing legendary parties. But it wasn’t just that. He genuinely cared about people. It didn’t matter if you were a senior or a lost freshman wandering the campus—Noah made sure to include you. He had this way of making you feel special, like you mattered."

That description contrasted with everything you knew about him now.

"And what about his behavior? Did he ever show signs of being aggressive or manipulative?"

The guy looked offended by the suggestion.

"Never." He shook his head. "He was the one who broke up fights, not started them. If someone had too much to drink, he took care of them. He was the kind of guy you called when you needed help, not when you wanted trouble."

A chill ran down your spine. Something didn’t add up. The Noah he was describing was completely different from the Noah you knew now.

When he turned and motioned for you to follow, you noticed the name "Patrick M." embroidered on his jacket. Walking beside him into the access room, you were met with shelves filled with sports trophies won by the fraternity. The walls were decorated with photographs of members gathered together, and your eyes quickly found a picture of Noah. You almost didn’t recognize him.

He looked... happy.

"He was our best player—wasn’t captain for nothing," Patrick commented, handing you a framed photo of Noah wearing a red uniform and holding up a trophy.

"Were you guys close?"

"Close enough. He was always surrounded by people, which made access to him a little harder," Patrick replied with a shrug. You set the framed picture back on the table. "And to be honest, I don’t think his father liked him hanging out with just anyone."

"His father?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Noah didn’t usually follow orders, but the old man had this obsession with lineage, only associating with people of the same status—rich people nonsense."

There was a slight trace of disappointment in Patrick’s tone. Even though he tried to hide it, it was clear he held some resentment.

"And did he care about that?" You asked, crossing your arms while analyzing the photo again.

Patrick let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Not exactly." He twirled a cigarette between his fingers, deep in thought. "But I think, deep down, he always knew his father had a way of influencing his decisions."

You frowned, leaning slightly forward.

"What do you mean?"

Patrick sighed, resting against the dark wooden table behind him.

"Noah was... hard to read. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn’t care about any of that—he did whatever he wanted, surrounded by friends, playing, drinking. But other times... it was like something was weighing on him. He’d disappear, become quieter, more distant."

A chill crept up your spine.

"And no one ever questioned that?"

Patrick chuckled again, but this time, the sound was more bitter.

"Around here? Everyone idolized Noah. He was charismatic, popular, talented. Who would care about what was behind all that?"

The silence that settled between you was broken only by the distant sound of loud music coming from another room in the fraternity. You shifted your gaze to the trophy shelf, feeling that something was there, hidden beneath the perfect image.

"And you?" you asked, turning your eyes back to Patrick. "Did you care?"

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He simply looked away toward the picture on the table, where Noah smiled, standing tall among the other players. Then, finally, he murmured:

"Honestly? No."

Right.

"Did Rachel care?"

"Absolutely. They had a relationship that seemed normal, happy. They’d been together since high school, and he really seemed to love her, which is why it was so shocking to find out that…" Patrick paused, carefully choosing his words. "That he had the courage to do what he did."

He watched you for a few moments longer. His gaze wasn’t hostile, but there was doubt in it—a peculiar fascination, as if he were examining you under a magnifying glass.

"Have you ever seen her, doctor?" The question sent a shiver down your spine.

The case file didn’t include any photos of Rachel. With no internet access, looking her up was impossible, and up until now, not even a local newspaper had provided you with an image.

"No… I’ve never seen Rachel before."

Patrick took a few steps back and opened one of the cabinets. Among the trophies, there was a pile of disorganized photographs. He picked out a specific set and started flipping through them. With each image he passed, a strange sensation pulsed in your ears. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck, your body grew warm, and the space around you seemed to shrink.

Then, he placed a photograph in your hands.

Your eyes blinked several times, unable to process what they were seeing. This had to be a mistake. Your fingers slowly traced over the smiling face of the girl clinging to her boyfriend.

The girl who was identical to you.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess

[chthonic-cassandra]

hello friend! i have been trawling through your goodreads shelves as i so frequently do, but i have a specific request for recs that i think you might have some answers for and thought i'd go to the source: do you have any book recs for nonfiction about ancient religion?

I do indeed and am glad you asked! I only feel really qualified to recommend books on Ancient Greek religion specifically, but on that topic I have quite a lot:

More general/foundational

foundational to the field at the turn of the century and very important context for the framing of subsequent conversations about Ancient Greek religion is Jane Ellen Harrison. You may want to read more modern things first/instead, but her Themis: A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion is sort of where it all begins

Karl Kerenyi is also quite an important voice in the field, and though there are places where his scholarship is notably dubious I think there are things to be gained from his work. Probably try The Religion of the Greeks and Romans

Sarah Iles Johnson has done a bunch of accessible, solidly useful scholarship on ancient religion more broadly, and I think might actually be a realistically good place to start, though her work doesn't feel as intellectually exciting to me personally as a number of other things on this list. Her edited essay collection straightforwardly titled Ancient Religions may give you a lot of what you're looking for.

Yulia Ustinova is another contemporary scholar who has done a bunch of really solidly useful but not stunningly intellectually innovative work in this field. Divine Mania does some useful multidisciplinary stuff.

Roberto Calasso, The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony - this is really a book about mythology and not religious practice, but I mostly just want people to read it.

Marcel Detienne & Jean-Pierre Vernant, The Cuisine of Sacrifice Among the Greeks - I had mixed feelings on this, but it's quite important in the field and probably the Detienne & Vernant mostly concretely focused on religious practice

More specific and fun

Joan Breton Connelly, Portrait of a Priestess: Women and Ritual in Ancient Greece - my younger self was so very excited about the release of this book. It's not the most substantive work, but it has a special place in my heart

Barbara Goff, Citizen Bacchae: Women's Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece

Giulia Sissa, Greek Virginity - this is a history of sexuality book rather than a history of religion proper, but of course it's a lot about religion and also I had roughly a dozen revelations about things while reading it

there should be some Nicole Loraux on this list but I'm not sure which. Maybe Born from the Earth: Myth and Politics in Athens, which is useful particularly on the way the political and the religious were entwined, though you in particular I think should read The Experiences of Tiresias

Bonnie MacLachan, The Age of Grace: Charis in Early Greek Poetry - this isn't really so relevant to your question and is only useful after doing some exploration of the lyric poets first, but I love it and really can't help but recommend it

Georgia Petridou, Divine Epiphany in Greek Literature and Culture - same as above; this is more a literary study, but I just personally loved it

Andrej Petrovic & Ivana Petrovic, Inner Purity and Pollution in Greek Religion

Alan Sommerstein & Isabelle Torrance, Oaths and Swearing in Ancient Greece

Kathy Gaca, The Making of Fornication: Eros, Ethics, and Political Reform in Greek Philosophy and Early Christianity - I think you in particular should read this

I have other more specific recommendations on particular deities and religious centers, but those tend to be drier and this list is long enough. I hope you enjoy this exploration!

[myokk]

my favorite bookworm

[deadmomclubattendee]

You know…

Sometimes it is hard to deny that some other gods are quiet attractive, even if being a terrible parent runs in the family

😩

Can a girl ever catch a break?

[slumberinglabyrinth]

from left to right: the textures used by Giffca when transformed in Radiant Dawn and Path of Radiance, and the textures used by Caineghis when transformed in Radiant Dawn

hi. i missed something incredibly obvious while making this post: every beast laguz in path of radiance shares their markings with other members of the same class and even though caineghis isn't playable, he still uses those markings in one of the prerendered cutscenes (and in concept art) so it's not like they switched them around between games or anything. there's still some weird stuff going on with his models, but the markings (and just the markings) are consistent with how other characters in fe9 are treated.

original text of this post (for reference):

Today's episode of I Might Actually Turn Into the Joker for Real This Time is brought to you by Giffca having the same marking on his body in fe9 as Caineghis does in fe10. Also for some reason he's wearing the clasp Caineghis uses to wear his mantle (compare the far right part of the textures on the bottom row) (on both models, this particular piece of geometry appears around their neck).

Our only point of reference for what the markings should be is the artbooks (which are curated after the fact and as such do not necessarily convey the intent on PoR's release), where there's concept art of both Giffca's and Caineghis' markings and they correspond 1:1 to their RD textures. Off the top of my head, this could mean several possible things:

Giffca's PoR textures are an error and he was always meant to have his RD textures

Giffca's (transformed) design was intentionally changed between fe9 and fe10.

Between fe9 and fe10 they realized they wanted to use those markings for Caineghis instead, and changed Giffca to accommodate that, possibly not expecting anyone to notice.

Caineghis was meant to be playable in PoR instead of Giffca. Giffca was changed to be Gallia's Gotoh late in development, and they didn't have time to create/design completely new textures and either deliberately repurposed Caineghis' or forgot to change the markings in the rush to finish the game. (Caineghis has unused bases/growths and a map model in PoR, which could also be a result of this)

Giffca, as an entire character, was added late in PoR's development and they either didn't have time to create/design new textures and either deliberately repurposed Caineghis' or forgot to change the markings in the rush to finish the game.

Giffca, as he appears during Repatriation, was actually Caineghis in disguise.

[britneyshakespeare]

My toxic trait is that I like how my incomplete drawings look better than the finished things

[chiropteracupola]

sometimes you start to wonder what the historical record for the guys you made up looks like in the fictional world where they existed. and then you make some fake documents about it.

[moth and compass is a collaboration with @natdrinkstea!!!]

[dawntheduckrb]

Someone drew pearl on a wall in the art building lol

[exopelagic]

sudden realisation that the thing holding my art back is that I never had an anime phase

[lavender-sunhaven]

So how do we feel about that update

because I'm obsessed

Sheds are changing my life. This is exactly what I wanted. I'm so happy.

(this got really long so I'll put my thoughts under a read more! spoilers for, the update I guess!)

I am speedrunning sheds immediately. I have already found some places to set them up and figured out how I can fit my entire crafting operations into 2 sheds. Now I just need to move over all the stuff in the chests in my one barn so that I can replace it with the shed and put the barn elsewhere.

Then I can use shed 3 for storage as I've wanted so badly so I don't need nearly so many hecking chests everywhere. Shed 4.... I actually don't know what I'll use it for yet. I actually have options! Maybe I will dress it up like a cute little room, or keep some of my pet collection in it, or fill it with stuffed animals, or see if I can make a cute little flower shop like Lavender would want.... I'm excited. I have options again. And assuming I can find somewhere else to put my other barn, that opens up a lot for me.

Also the barn upgrades are great. They don't take up any more space than before, they look cool, sure they give me more junk that I have to remove to fit more animals in but that's always the truth so it's neat. Now I have... ladders I guess. But I can store them in my shed!

But also. Nel'Vari barns. I am. SO excited

the moment I saw. that they had added in a frog barn animal. I knew. I would need Nel'Vari barns immediately. I love him I need 10 of these things right now immediately

All the new animals are so cute! I'm excited to get stuff set up so that I can put them places and gain their resources.

To that end, though, I realized that Nel'Vari barns were going to require me to actually do Progression that I hadn't done yet (because so far I hadn't really found anything I wanted that required Nel'Vari mines stuff. I knew I wanted to get there sooner or later, but just... didn't need to yet). I have a fire under my butt again and I'm actually making progress which feels amazing. Trying to seriously manage multiple farms is going to be a problem but what I really need to find a spot to do a massive amount of wheat production which will help with all the barns. It'll be complicated, but I'll figure it out.

uhhhhh oh yeah more RNPCs happened. They're cool! I like Kai, I've met him and I like his stuff so far as I've seen it. I haven't met Vivi yet but I can't WAIT to forcefully befriend her. Wesley is... Wesley. I'm happy for him. I'll befriend him eventually, probably while I'm in the middle of running around Nel'Vari doing mine stuff.

The house customization I haven't been able to play a lot with yet but I will more when I have my sheds figured out and money to waste. Playing Mix and Match should be fun, and I'm glad they're planning to put out more in the future! Even more stuff to look forward to~

Also now sometimes ghosts come and water my crops and I love them. Me and the ghosts are buds.

But also... this list... ohhhh man this list. I love this list. I'm p excited for most things on it but ESPECIALLY Farm Structures and WG and NV fruit trees. I LOVE fruit trees. I have a whole orchard section on my farm. Passive income is my JAM. Black market? Birthday? MORE RNPCs? I'm looking forward to all of these so much. Race-based dialog I know is something a lot of players have been looking for for a long time so I am interested to see how that gets put in! More dialog is generally good and they seem to have the personalities of the characters pretty well in hand so hopefully they'll just be fun fluff things and Lavender will finally be able to relate to Kitty and Catherine and they'll be best Amari buds forever (And then with Vivi too!)

Anyways I just wanted to spew my thoughts everywhere for a bit because I've been having so much fun again. Tell me your thoughts! Anything you don't like? What do you want to see in the future?

Bonus: Claude continues to have a hard time fighting the vampire allegations.

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[fumifooms]

No need to reply to this one. Just wanted to let you know that you can take all the time you need to answer and thanks so much for answering my asks. I love your posts! And I've read what I could of them without spoiling myself too much (so I might have missed some things). You're awesome!♡

Thank youuu that’s so sweet 😭<3 I do need to get better at getting back to asks in a timely manner so don’t worry my want to be speedy is self-inflicted haha~ Looking forward to hearing about your thoughts once you finish your read! :]

I know that sometimes I get reblog tags that are like ‘what introduced me to dungeon meshi’ and I’m both flattered and panicked because no omg what were you doing here- ALL THOSE SPOILERS…!!! 😱 But also I get it I willingly spoil myself pretty often so I can’t judge haha, anytime I can drag anyone into Dungeon Meshi and appreciating my faves and my ships is a success 💥 Speaking of, in the new Daydream Hour artbook that dropped today we got more of both Izutsumi & Chilchuck and Izutsumi & Marcille having cute interactions!! Very happy about that ☺️

[maikaartwork]

Artists, let’s talk about Instagram commission scammers

There’s been a huge rise in commission scammers recently, mostly on Instagram. A lot of new artists don’t know what to look out for, so I figured this might help people.

How they begin

Usually the scammer will write to you asking about a commission. Something deceptively cute - mostly I encounter asks about pet portraits, with one or two photos sent. They’ll probably try to sell you a sweet little story, like “It’s for my son’s birthday”. They will insist that they love your artwork and style, even though they don’t follow you or never liked a single piece of your art.

What to look out for:

Their profiles will either be private, empty, or filled with very generic stuff, dating at most a few years back.

Their language will be very simple, rushed or downright bad. They might use weird emojis that nobody ever uses. They will probably send impatient “??” when you don’t answer immediately. They’re in a crunch - lots of people to scam, you know. 

They’ll give you absolutely no guidelines. No hints on style, contents aside from (usually) the pet and often a name written on the artwork, no theme. Anything you draw will be perfect. Full artistic freedom. In reality they don’t really care for this part.

They’ll offer you a ridiculous amount of money. Usually 100 or 300 USD (EDIT: I know it might not be a lot for some work. What I mean here - way higher than your asking price, 100 and 300 are standard rates they give). They’ll often put in a phrase like “I am willing to compensate you financially” and “I want the best you can draw”, peppered with vague praise. It will most likely sound way too good to be true. That’s because it is.

Where the scam actually happens

If you agree, they will ask you for a payment method. They’ll try to get to this part as soon as possible. 

Usually, they’ll insist on PayPal. And not just any PayPal. They’ll always insist on sending you a transfer immediately. None of that PayPal Invoice stuff (although some do have methods for that, too). They’ll really, REALLY want to get your PayPal email address and name for the transfer - that’s what they’re after. If you insist on any other method, they’ll just circle back to the transfer “for easiest method”. If you do provide them with the info, most likely you’ll soon get a scam email. It most likely be a message with a link that will ultimately lead to bleeding you dry. Never, and I mean NEVER click on any emails or links you get from them. It’s like with any other scam emails you can ever get.

A few things can happen here:

They overpay you and ask for the difference to be wired back. Usually it will go to a different account and you’ll never see that money again. 

They’ll overpay you “for shipping costs” and ask you to forward the difference to their shipping company. Just like before, you’ll never see that money again.

The actual owner of the account (yes, they most likely use stolen accounts to wire from) will realize there’s been something sketchy going on and request a refund via official channels. Your account will be charged with fees and/or you get in trouble for fraudulent transactions. 

You will transfer the money from your PayPal credit to your bank account and they will make a shitstorm when they want their money back, making your life a living hell. They will call you a scammer, a thief, make wild claims, wearing you down and forcing you into wiring money “back” - aka to their final destination account. 

Never, EVER wire money to anyone. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Use PayPal Invoice for secure exchanges where the client needs to provide you with their email, not the other way around.

You can find more info on that method HERE.

What to do when you encounter a scammer:

Ask the right questions: inquire about the style, which artwork of yours they like, as much details as you can. They won’t supply you with any good answers.

Don’t let the rush of the exchange, their praise and the promise of insanely good money to get to you. That’s how they operate, that’s how they make you lose vigilance. 

Don’t engage them. As soon as you realize it might be a scam, block them. The sense of urgency they create with their rushed exchange, and pressure they put on you will sooner or later get to you and you might do something that you’ll regret later.

Never wire money to anyone. Never give out your personal data. Never provide your email, name, address or credit card info. 

Don’t be deceived by receiving a payment, if you somehow agree to go along with it. Just because it’s there now doesn’t mean it can’t be withdrawn. 

Here is a very standard example of such an exchange. I realized it’s a scam pretty fast and went along with it, because I wanted good screenshots for you guys, so I tried going very “by the book” with it. 

Please share this post, make it reach as many artists as possible. Let young or inexperienced artists know that this is going on. So many people have no idea that this is a thing. Let’s help each other out. If you think I missed any relevant info, do add it as an rb!

Also, if you know other scam methods that you think should be shared, consider rb-ing this post with them below. Having a master post of scam protection would AWESOME to have in the art community.

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 

“why’s that?” you ask. 

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?” 

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. ���let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?” 

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says. 

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun. 

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.” 

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile. 

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp. 

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers. 

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 

i’ll see you later. love you!

[luvly-writer]

Is it a Wonder I Broke?

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: I really did NAWT want to write a two parter but hey, I should have expected it with how much I write. I am so new to writing angst but I've had a thirst for writing and reading angst lately and I just NEEDED to cure it!!! ENJOY

Warnings: The Bats being kinda shitty, Neglect

Part 1 // Part 3

---

Damian was sure something was missing. He woke up that day and as he had breakfast, he had noticed something odd about Alfred. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that Damian couldn't place. None of them had gotten injured in last night's patrol. Jason's deathaversary (as he loved to call it) wasn't near. No one had fought, quite the contrary, he'd say this has got to be one of the weeks where they had best behaved and gotten along. Even Bruce and Jason were relaxed. So what plagued the man? Damian looked around the house and wondered what could be the problem. Maybe he was tired? Or Sick? That could be it. Sensing the young man's gaze on him, Alfred erased all emotion from his face and looked at Damian questioning.

"May I help you with something, Master Damian?" he asked with a raised brow. Damian inspected him thoroughly and hummed.

"You are different, Pennyworth" observed Damian and the butler gave the boy a deadpan. Nop, he's good, never mind. Maybe he was just thinking something unpleasant and it showed in his face.

And yet, the feeling didn't leave Damian. There was something odd in the house. Thankfully, it was Saturday, so he had the rest of the day to walk around and investigate. He had visited the gardens, and overseen the entirety of the first and second floor, yet nothing came to mind. What the fuck was wrong in this damn house?

He had decided to empty his mind in the art room. There, he spent the rest of his afternoon sketching a portrait of some plants he had seen in the garden. His 16th birthday was soon approaching and he really needed to get some new art supplies. The ones he had were old and very worn out. As he finished, he noticed the time and realized he had spent the majority of the day in the art room. He had gone to clean his hands and headed to the cave to suit up, hoping tonight's patrol would clear his head. What was missing?

So into his thoughts, Damian hadn't noticed the rest of his siblings down at the cave suiting up as well.

"Hey, Littlewing! What's got you looking so constipated?" Asked Dick with a hint of humor in his tone.

"Have any of you noticed that the manor feels rather odd?" he questions as he suits his boots up.

"What do you mean, bat brat?" Asked Jason raising his eyebrow.

"The manor, it feels….odd. As if something is missing. It feels emptier and I can't help but ask why. Not only that, have any of you noticed Pennyworth looking….strange lately?" He questioned and the group fell into silence, all thinking of his observation.

"Now that you mention it, Alfred has been looking a little tired lately. Like, you know, as if his age is kinda showing." Tim recounted

"And he has had this sort of sad glaze in his eyes" Steph added.

"It's not my deathaversery, I can assure you that" hummed Jason.

"And no other impacting date is near, so what could have caused him any sort of discomfort?" Asked Dick.

The group looked at each other, clueless about what could have caused their beloved butler and grandfather to feel odd.

"You don't think he might be sick and is hiding that from us?" Asked Duke

"But why would he be sad about that?" Barbara question.

Plagued with the heaviness of confusion, none of them noticed the patriarch of the family arrive all suited up and looking at them.

"Is everyone ready?" sounded Bruce's deep voice snapping everyone out of their thoughts. They all nodded still a little bit distant and lost. Bruce, not wanting to push his kids, nodded and clapped his hands to gain their full attention. "Tonight we have a slow night as it seems. Everyone has their patrol route, let's hope that we can be already finished by 2. Everyone, dispatch.

It was a relatively slow night. So much so, that it had allowed them to goof around a little as they went on. Midnight had arrived and Damian was crouched next to his father as they overlooked the city. He could hear Jason, Stephanie, and Dick joking around in the back and smiled a little as they laughed. That's when he felt it. The lingering gaze in the shadows. Surely, he looked up to his father who had felt it as well.

His mother.

After years of being separated from her and getting only a handful of visits, he had gotten used to her gaze when she was lingering, watching him. He knew it was her. Damian stood up and turned towards his left and there he saw her. Black, gold, and green armor shining in the night. The sudden silence told him that his siblings were on high alert as well. What could Talia want?

She finally noticed their gaze on her and began running. This alerted every one of them.

"Oracle, send Red Robin and Orphan our coordinates. We encountered Talia Al Ghul and are on the move." Ordered Batman

"Copy that, B." Answered Barbara in their comns.

What did the League of Assassins want now? If they meant no harm, she wouldn't have run, so what happened?

They followed Talia as she led them farther from the city and closer to the harbor. As they went, he noticed that more assassins made themselves visible and surrounded them and that alone raised his suspicions even more. Normally, when his mother wanted to talk to him, she came alone. Why were they here?

Finally, she stopped in front of a boat…the same one where I met my father…WITH Y/N. Damian came to a sudden halt. That is what was missing! He tries to think back on the past few weeks and he couldn't conjure up the slightest memory of seeing his sister. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen her in the past few months…Where was Y/n? Was that why Pennyworth looked distressed? Why did he just notice now?! Had he been so busy that he couldn't recall his sister? No….that's imposible. She probably has been in practice. She was busy with her own life as well. Especially now, that it was getting closer to the Ice Skating National Competition. He had been keeping tabs on her competition schedules. Yeah, that was probably it. Any time a competition got closer, she would either be locked in their home rink or her practice rink making sure it was perfect. Yeah, that had to be it. She probably left early, was busy in practice, and came during the time he was in the art room or getting ready. Damian wanted to believe that..he really did, but something was nagging at him in the back of his mind. Why would Alfred be sad at that? Had she gotten hurt in practice? Ice skating meant the world for Y/n so that was probably it. Alfred adored watching her skate. Per Damian's request, he would record her practices and competitions so that once he got back from a mission and patrol, he could watch her. She was truly wonderful. That could have been it. She got hurt before Nationals and had been resting in her room lately. That could be why Damian had not seen much of her in the last few weeks. Before that, he had stayed a few months with the Titans, so that could also explain the lack of memories in the past year o so. That was the logical conclusion, right? But if she was hurt, why did Pennyworth not mention anything? He would have to ask him when he arrived later because now he was concerned for his sister's health.

He looked forward and realized that all of them had stopped further. He ran and reached his father's side. Observing his surroundings, he noted that there were 10 or so assassins on both of their sides. Why would his mother need so many?

"Ah, Damian, finally, you are here," Talia spoke up with her back to them. If she was a threat, she wouldn't be giving them her back. Ras taught them better than that.

"What are you here for, Talia?" questioned Bruce.

"Well. Beloved, I have come to extend an invitation, per my daughter's request" She smiled turning around to look at them fully, "I had to lure all of you out here so that we could settle this private matter without the sounds of the city." she explained.

"My sister is resting back in the manor, Mother, what could you mean?" Damian questioned narrowing his eyes at her.

"Is that what you all believe, my dear?" She smirked and watched each of their reactions one by one.

"Where is our daughter, Talia?" Asked Bruce slowly

"You mean to tell me that MY daughter was left under your care and you have no clue where she is?" asked Talia, venom slipping into her words. "Is that what you are letting me know, Batman?"

"Our daughter is safe in the manor" Bruce answered. Damian looked at him and if he wasn't doubtful himself, he probably would have believed him.

"Well, that's not entirely true, beloved. Y/n has not been living in the manor for almost two years now." Talia corrected and everyone froze. "Can't believe you would lie to my face like that"

Jason, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra looked at Bruce expetantly. Surely what Talia said can't be true. They all take a moment to digest the information. Y/n was in the manor, right?

Tim tried to look back but he couldn't think of a moment he had seen her. He lived in the manor as well for fuck's sake. Had he been too busy with Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin that he hadn't noticed his sister's absence? Then again, Y/n was always training so it was difficult to tell….or was it?

Dick and Jason looked at each other. They didn't live in the manor anymore but surely, they had seen her at dinners. Y/n rarely spoke up so she could have been there but they just didn't notice? But as far as they can remember, Y/n loved to talk about her competitions in the hope that they would be able to go to one. They thought she had finally given up on asking them….and that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Why had she all of a sudden gone silent?….or was she just not there at all?

Cassandra had noticed what Damian had said earlier. The Manor had felt different. It seemed as if one presence was lacking but she was constantly with Stephanie so it was rather difficult to keep up on the whereabouts of her life. Besides, Y/n was always training…

Bruce stiffened. Where..was..his..daughter? Since when had she not been living in the manor? When did that happen? He had noticed that Alfred had gone out less and figured Y/n began transporting herself to her things, but that was odd because the old man loved taking her. It was the one moment where Bruce could tell he had peace. Y/n had always been such an independent child from a young age. She didn't need the same training as Damian because she abandoned that life once she was in Gotham. He was truly so glad that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps, that she had chosen to be normal. When was the last time he had seen her come to dinner? When was the last time he heard her songs blasting from her room? When was the last time she used her rink? He would always watch footage of her through Alfred's recordings and the security cameras installed in the ice rink. He still remembers the day he surprised her with it. "I didn't think you'd even know" she whispered thinking he hadn't heard, but he did and those words had plagued his mind ever since then like a broken record. Why wouldn't he know? Sure they were all busy but they cared for her.

"Oracle, search footage of all of the security cameras in the past two years. Find anything and everything about Y/n."

"Right on that, B."

"What invitation does Y/n have for us, mother?" Asked Damian, unsure whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

"To her coronation as the new Heir to the Demon Head and Future Leader of the League of Assassins, of course" She answered almost instantly.

.

..

…

"WHAT!" yelled Damian. Everyone felt their blood run cold, "My sister, my beloved twin sister, would never NEVER desire that. You must not be serious! Y/n Wayne Al Ghul has never EVER wanted to be like grandfather. She is better than that. She is too good for the Demon Head. I was the one trained to be the heir an-"

"And you weren't the only one trained. Have you forgotten that both of you endured the same training and whilst your grandfather disciplined you, I was disciplining her." interrupted his mother harshly. "Y/n moved back to the League a year and a half ago and has been training endlessly to become the next Leader of the League, Damian. You would have all known that had you chosen to not neglect my daughter. She is safe and well-"

"My sister will NEVER be happy-"

"Because you know her oh so very well, my son?" Talia let her gaze linger on her son. Her disappointment was palpable. He had failed to be there for his twin….

"Nightwing, Red Hood, do one last round on the city, then head to the cave. The rest of you, you are dismissed. Head straight to the came, now. Especially, you, Damian. I have to speak with your mother first." Batman's left no space for argument. They all nodded and left, aside from Damian.

"Father-"

"Go, Robin"

"Father, this is just my problem as it is yours"

"To the cave, now. We will discuss this later."

Damian wasn't happy with the outcome, but one look at his mother and father; and he knew he wouldn't want to be part of this discussion when he had many important matters to attend to.

Once Damian left, Bruce turned to Talia.

"Tal-"

"You neglected my daughter-"

"Our-"

"MY daughter. You spent six years ignoring one child and favoring the other and you THINK you can make demands and look at me as if I have done something wrong? I went to her practices, I went to her competitions, I visited on their birthday every. fucking. Year. Bruce, I may not be the example of motherhood, but at least I was as present as I could be and I didn't even live with her." She hissed at him coldly.

"This is different, she wanted to be a professional ice skater. I know my daughter well enough to remember that. Damian is right. Becoming the Leader of the League of Assassins will never make her happy-"

"Because you know her so well? Bruce, I believe in what Y/n can bring to the League. She has astounding potential as a leader. She is levelheaded and diplomatic, she understands my father's ideal and vision without a vengeful eye. Unless you intend to be supportive…Do not cross her path. I came here to extend the invitation per her request as cordiality, not because I planned to. It will be a week after her birthday. I will not repeat myself. Farewell, Batman"

"Talia" Bruce tried, but she was already gone.

---

Author's note: Well fuck it's gonna be three chapters. I swear, part three will BE THE LAST ONE!!! I SWEAR!!! I HAVE ANOTHER ONE SHOT THAT I WANNA WRITE DAMN

[my-castles-crumbling]

warn - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 349

"Lupin!"

Startled, Remus looked up from his work to see Amelia Moore, a seventh-year in his advanced study group, making her way toward him. "Yes?" he asked politely. They weren't close, but they got on well enough.

"Listen," she said softly with the sombre air of delivering terrible news. "You like Black, right? Like...like, like?"

Blushing deeply, Remus blinked and stuttered, trying to decide whether or not to deny it. Was he that obvious?

"Well, I know you do," Amelia cut him off, waving her hand as if to wave off the question. "The point is, I'm here to warn you."

"Warn me?" he asked, deeply confused now.

"Yes, I just...I heard a rumor. It might not be true, but...you're such a nice, sweet, clever guy, and I just think you deserve better," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Stomach sinking, Remus tilted his head to the side, waiting. Who was Sirius dating now?

"I heard from my friend in Slytherin that Potter and Black have been running around snogging in broom cupboards," Amelia continued quickly, eyeing him for a reaction.

Remus thought about that for a moment, completely stunned. "Thanks, Amelia," he muttered. He had to get somewhere to think.

"Sorry I had to be the one to tell you. I know all of you are close," she chirped. "But if you're ever free-"

"Right, yeah," He cut her off and stood to leave. Before he knew it, he found himself walking toward the Common Room.

Sirius and James? That was impossible. They were close, yes. Closer than close. Obnoxious in the way they were literal soul mates. But they were also deeply platonic. Remus had never questioned that. Even when he questioned everything else.

So why was James rumored to be kissing Sirius in broom cupboards? Unless...

"Holy fuck!" he gasped in the middle of the corridor, ignoring the looks of indignation from nearby portraits.

Sirius wasn't the only person with the surname 'Black' at Hogwarts.

Turning on the spot, Remus started heading to the dungeons. He had to have a talk with Regulus Black.