#It's so nice and my youngest sister is the one to indulge me the most with this. I think she enjoys the hug more than I do sometimes

[tyrtles-writing-prompts]

Sibling Things #2

---

The Hold and Sway Hug

Sibling A and Sibling B have not seen each other for awhile. Maybe it was only for a short time, like one of the siblings went to a summer camp or went on a week long camping trip. Or maybe it's been longer with one of the siblings having been away at college or on tour in the military. Whatever the reason, the sibling's haven't seen each other for some time.

When Sibling A and Sibling B see each other, they're running at each other with large grins and delighted shouts of each others names. Sibling A opens their arms invitingly, waiting for Sibling B to throw themselves forwards so they can wrap themselves around each other. They're both grinning and giggling, eyes misting with unshed tears. Sibling B closes their eyes, resting their head against Sibling A's shoulder with a feeling of content, their heart singing with a sense of home and security as they fist their hands in the back of Sibling A's shirt.

Sibling A wraps their arms tightly around Sibling B, just delighted to have their sibling back in their arms. The joy spills over and they lift Sibling B off of the ground. The siblings sway from side to side, just basking in each others presence, happy to see other again.

[oddduckthatgirl]

Title: Seconds Are Welcome

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Lannister!female

Warnings: period typical misogyny, arranged marriage, period typical gender roles

Summary: Everyone talks of girls coming of age. No one speaks of when the girl doesn’t desire to be less than who she is.

A/N: this is slightly AU-ish. For this story, Daemon was named heir, not Rhynera (not hate, just a plot). Changed some Lannister names. It’s just a story, let’s not dissect too much. This story will have multiple parts.

Casterly Rock was the ideal hold for any man to feel like a king in his own keep. Jason Lannister attended to his family home with all the devotion any lord would. He has four children. His two sons, James and Jonathon, are both married, each of them having apartments within the walls with their lady wives. Also within the walls are his two unmarried daughters, Jasline and Jaylon.

Jaylon Lannister wasn’t as she appeared. She looked every part a Lannister. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue that they appeared gray in a certain light. A long flowing mane of pale blonde hair. She had a very lean figure, but muscular. She had been tutored all the ways a proper lady should be. She also could read and write seven languages. She and her sister Jasline received the absolute finest instruction befitting their stations. While her sister had to work for every lesson, Jaylon found academics to be simple. As such she had time to learn other lessons.

She spent some afternoons learning about all things equestrian. After all, horses are what helped her family amass their fortune. She wanted to know everything. From an early age, her father Jason indulged her curiosity. He had even found it quite endearing. However, since she was now eight and ten years old and not married he seemed to be irritated by it.

What raised his ire more was her interest in sparring with her brothers. She often would sneak out with them in the evenings so they could instruct her. Until one evening they had been discovered by their father. He hauled her into his study and told her that was not her place as a future lady of a fine house.

“I’m your youngest child Father and your second daughter. I could only hope for a match so great.”

“You will still have a husband to protect you.”

“What happens if he is killed? Who protects me then? Or if he did save my life, now he’s owed a debt. A Lannister always pays their debts.”

Begrudgingly, he relented but insisted on having her train with her brothers. To give her the same teachings. In truth, she was a far more elegant fighter and understood how to use her femininity to her advantage.

Jasline was far more calm. The eldest daughter who had understood her role. She was the picture of a proper lady. Everything a lord could want in a wife. She didn’t argue, she kept her opinions to herself and she could smile all day while appearing to not have a thought in her head. With her temperament, one would wonder her connection to the Lannister name if not for the blonde hair. Most described her as quite pleasant company.

Dull. Jaylon thought of her sister.

She could never live that life.

Jasline had been married to a nice lord from House Blackwood. They had a longer courtship than usual due to some haggling over the dowry. During that time there had been a small uprising that was beginning to become serious. Eventually, it was decided that Jasline and her lord should be married quickly so he could set out with his lord Father to right their lands.

They were wed in a small ceremony. Jaylon was her attendant while he had his cousin. They didn’t even consummate the union before he had to set out.

Young Lord Blackwood never returned. Jasline was a widow before she even had lost her maidenhead.

It made it difficult to find a match for her. So many questions. During the months after, Jasline had occasion to make acquaintance with Thomas Baratheon. They appeared to have a genuine affection for each other, so Jaylon thought, however it would seem their Father didn’t think the young lord, a second son, worthy of his eldest daughter.

Jaylon almost wished her father had those thoughts for her. Once she came of age, her father had her see every eligible second or third son in all of Westeros. She would do her best to be a proper lady but then they would ask her opinion and she would always answer honestly.

“Jaylon, they are not interested in what a lady thinks.”

“Well Father, perhaps they should be.”

She would tell her father about these young lord’s opinions on battle or horses or wine.

“How am I, a Lannister, to sit there and listen to them be so mistaken? They would make a fool of me and by extension, you.”

Jason Lannister was a proud man. He knew his youngest was correct but he would never give her the satisfaction.

“Why must you insist on such obstinate behavior?”

“I believe it is inherent.”

This would most assuredly have her father avoiding her for days on end. Which was fine by Jaylon, more time to devote to sparring and to horses. More time to think of the many ways to make the next suitor for her recoil in disgust. If it wasn’t their misguided crowing about how honored she should be to be their wife and welp their children it was their leering. She even had the moment to strike a young lord who commented on how strong her thighs were from riding.

It was a quick reaction. Truth be told, it was probably the first broken bone the young lord had ever suffered. Judging by his lewdness, it wouldn’t be the last.

Every day is the same. Until it wasn’t.

There was a new tutor. Some Septa sent to them from King's Landing. He told Jasline and Jaylon they were to have lessons in High Valyrian. The girls exchanged a look and knew what that implied.

A Prince was interested in a Lannister wife.

Lucky for Jasline, even more lucky for Father, Jaylon mused. She was just enthusiastic about another language to learn. More than likely she needed to do her best to master it so she could help Jasline. It wouldn’t do her well to not understand it. Jasline focused all her attention on it, while Jaylon made sure to note her struggles.

Jaylon had heard the rumors as had her sister. She could even see the fear in Jasline’s face when people spoke of Prince Daemon. The girls spent hours at night discussing him, his temperament.

“I hear he’s roguishly handsome,” Jasline sighed.

“He’s a Targaryen. Of course he is. And a prince,” Jaylon collects herself, “I suppose if you’re attracted to that sort of person.”

Jasline smirks, “and he’s a wonderful fighter. Quite a quick wit as well.”

Jaylon nods, “much to the annoyance of the small council I hear.”

Jasline shifts to face her sister, “do you think the other whispers have merit?”

“Did you mean the piece about the street of silk or the piece about him murdering his lady wife?”

“Jaylon Lannister! That is treasonous,” Jasline’s face flush.

“Sweet sister. He is a prince. He does as he chooses. He was commanded into marriage, so the story goes. A young prince who didn’t want such a wife. So he did as he pleased. Perhaps he was simply bored.”

“Jaylon. I would bore him so,” she gasped, “you should put yourself in his way.”

Jaylon laughed loudly, “Father wouldn’t dream of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not you, Jasline. I’m not the first born. I’m just the spare.”

Jasline sighed, “perhaps marriage to the Prince isn’t what I want.”

“Thomas.”

“I love him, sister.”

“I know you do. But we are just women in this world. We are at the whim of every man,” Jaylon reclines and gazes out the window, “and Father knows best for us.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Jasline settles herself in her bed, “I would suppose it’s easy to be so placid; the eyes of a dragon aren't fixed upon you. But they should be.”

“Oh Jasline, marriage is an arrangement. You smile, you nod, you bear his children. Everything else you will sort out.”

“I have sorted it. He needs to wed you. You are one of the greatest beauties in all of Westeros. You are intelligent, strong, cunning and most importantly you are not easily swayed by the opinions of others.”

Jaylon rolls her eyes, “sleep sister, you’ll need your strength.”

Jasline settles into bed, “yes I will. I need to convince His Highness of all your virtues.”

Jaylon leaves her sister to rest and makes her way to her room for the night. She laughs thinking over her sister’s suggestion that she be put in Prince Daemon’s way. Her father would never allow it. She imagines the look of rage that would take him over. How he would have to obey the command of his Prince, if he did want her instead. That would raise his ire even more.

She couldn’t help the smile at the thought. Fun but a fool’s wish.

She sat and brushed her hair, staring at her reflection. She wonders what it is about her that these lord’s find appealing. She’s just a young girl, who knows about horses and wine. That reads whatever she can so she wouldn’t be left behind in the conversation of men. Her understanding that information is the greatest and most valuable commodity.

This is how she gathered what she could on the Targaryen prince. She wanted her sister to have every advantage. She also didn’t want to displease the man herself and squander all the work that has gone into this endeavor.

Before she drifted to sleep, she imagined what a conversation with him would be like. Would he be intimidating? Would he be kind? She also hoped for the chance to see his dragon. That isn’t a sight she would soon forget.

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Lessons 10-12

Masterlist

Time for a Freaky Friday situation, an Isekai situation, and a fun family trip! And what’s a fun family trip without helping your uncle who is trapped in an attic and trying to raise a cat with your half-brother/uncle/whatever whose in your father’s body? Dear Grandfather God… get MC some help-

Let’s pick up where we left off last time with MC and Belphie >:)

“No need to be nervous, I won’t bite.” Belphie tapped his knuckles against the door he was leaning on to emphasize his point. “And I can’t on account of the magic door.”

“Why…” MC began before straightening their posture and clearing their throat. “What are you doing up here? I was told you were in the human world.”

“As you can see,” Belphie sighed. “I’m not. I’ve been stuck in the attic since before you got here.”

“But why?”

“Lucifer.”

MC narrowed their eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He locked me up here, rude, right?” Belphie’s carefree tone heavily contrasted how tense his shoulders were as he leaned oh-too casually on the doorframe. “To cut right to the chase, I need your help.”

“My… help..?”

“Yep. I need you to get me out of here.” Upon seeing MC’s scandalized expression, he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down, I’ll explain.”

Belphie began his explanation. “So, Lucifer and I got into a little brotherly spat that got blown out of proportion, it was really all a misunderstanding. I want to be able to have a civil conversation with Lucifer that isn’t marred by my… prison.”

“Mammon told me that you opposed the exchange program, and that’s why you got sent to the human world.” MC said quietly. Ugh, they almost cursed themselves out then and there for all the muttering they were doing. They weren’t some guilty child!

Belphie had a look on his face that MC had seen on the five other brothers. The look that always preceded one of the brothers calling Mammon a scumbag, a moron, an idiot, or something equally nasty. The look quickly disappeared as Belphie gave MC a halfhearted shrug.

“I was, yes. But I couldn’t care less about that now.” Belphie waved his hand in the air like he was waving off the whole issue. “It was my bad, really. I was being unreasonable, and I got pissed.”

“What exactly do you need me to do to get you out of there?” MC asked, clenching and unclenching their fist to get the tension out.

“I need you to undo the spell holding the door shut. If you were anyone else, I’d be asking you to make pacts with my brothers in order to override Lucifer’s spell and open the door,” Belphie’s eyes flashed again. “But you… you can just use some of your magic, can’t you? I assume Lucifer passed some of his power down to you?”

MC stiffened and took a step back from the door. “How did you-”

“MC, I’ve lived with Lucifer for over five thousand years, I know his magical signature as well as I know my own, and yours is too damn close to his to be a wild coincidence. And,” Belphie gestured at MC. “You look and act like a mini him. It’s cute, honestly.”

MC frowned, cute?! MC wasn’t cute! But that was a… decent explanation..?

“So,” Belphie took a step back from the door. “Put your hand on the door, and try to open it. You might feel some magical resistance but if your magic is similar enough to Lucifer’s you might be able to open it without any difficulty at all.”

MC reached out, then hesitated. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

“MC, you’re my brother’s kid. I don’t want this dumb fight between me and Lucifer to break my family apart. Besides, it’ll be nice to have you as a part of the family too. I don’t want to sully that by being stuck up here.”

Part of the family? MC’s eyes practically sparkled. A real part of their new family… they looked up at Belphegor and nodded.

“Okay, here I go…” MC tentatively placed their hand on the door.

It began to burn at an intensity that nearly made MC scream and collapse on the spot. Their hand was glued to the door as the door’s spell seemed to crawl its way up their arm. MC countered with the biggest burst of their own magic they could possibly muster.

The blast of bright blue that slammed into the door made it creak back and forth slightly, but the spell held its ground.

MC snatched their hand back and stared expectantly at the door. They swayed on their feet slightly as they looked up at Belphegor, who tapped the door. When blue sparks met his hand, he frowned.

“It didn’t… it didn’t work… I’m…” MC paused before they apologized, they didn’t have to. They tried their best, didn’t they? They just needed to get a better hold of their magic. “I’ll get stronger, I’ll get better at magic and then I’ll come back and open the door.”

Belphie sighed in relief and smiled at MC. “Thank you, MC. You’re really helping me out here, you’re sweet.” Belphie then crouched ever so slightly to get to MC’s level, and smirked conspiratorially. “You know, all powerful demons need snacks to recharge their magic, right? Mammon has a massive stash of candy that he thinks is secret hidden in one of the potted plants in the planetarium. You didn’t hear this from me though.”

They gave Belphegor a small smile. “I’ll get you out soon, okay?”

“I trust that you will.”

———

Disgusting.

That was the one thought that permeated through Belphegor’s mind when he first saw MC.

The thought remained throughout the entire first encounter, and the feeling of roiling nausea only grew when MC’s attempt to break Lucifer’s spell failed spectacularly. Belphie tried as best as he could to follow MC’s retreating form down the attic hallway, but his vision was limited.

A half demon. Truly Lucifer had fallen from whatever grace he still had left from a time where his youngest brother actually respected him.

A half human child. Did Lucifer truly have no self respect? A proud high ranking demon, the second strongest in the entire Devildom, in fact, had a half human child.

How monumentally stupid.

Belphegor was no stranger to half-demons, he had been alive far too long to have never come across one. A few hundred years ago they were much more common, running around the human world wreaking havoc and scurrying around the Devildom like scared mice. The duality always made Belphie smile. They may have been beings of pure terror in the human world, but their demon half could never compare to real demons in the Devildom.

Asmodeus held the unofficial record for most half demon children, obviously. As much as Belphegor absolutely detested humans, he couldn’t exactly fault his older brother. Asmo was the Avatar of Lust after all, and the Avatar of Sloth of all people couldn’t judge him for indulging in his sin every once and a while.

Hell, even Satan and Mammon occasionally had children pop up in the human world. The difference, the thing that made all the difference was that they never brought their… spawn home. They never brought their half-human little monsters into his home.

What gave Lucifer the right to do so? The right to bring that into Belphegor’s home? One of the beings responsible for the death of their sister. His sister. Did he not care about that at all?!

Belphegor collapsed onto the bed in the attic, ruffling his hair and shutting his eyes.

The brat couldn’t even break the door.

The thought almost caused Belphegor to laugh. The little brat couldn’t even break the door.

He cracked up, muffling his laughter with his hand. The child was Lucifer’s and they couldn’t even fully break the door. My my, how the mighty have fallen. It had taken over three months for Belphegor to even get close to being able to get into that little brat’s head to call them up to him, and they couldn’t even break the door?

Belphie’s borderline hysterical laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation stopped abruptly as he looked around the room. Something-

Someone was glaring at him.

His eyes instinctively darted to the door, the most logical conclusion was that the brat had snitched and Lucifer was at the door. But the hallway was empty. The feeling of being watched made him shudder, then stiffen. He tilted his head and sat in silence. No sound, just the familiar smell of…

The Celestial Realm.

Belphie dragged a hand down his face and growled, lying back down and clamping his eyes shut. He needed to sleep.

So, that was the first problem MC had to face that month, the second was the fact that Satan snuck a cat into the house and he and MC were co-parenting it in secret. The third problem was Satan was still acting like a massive dickwad. All this fighting wasn’t good for baby Detective Toe Beans!

After receiving the “Lucifer got so mad he gave birth” talk from the other brothers, MC could have had their own rage-baby then and there.

I have never regretted typing a sentence more, but anyway, MC was on a warpath to find Satan.

‘Calm down,’ MC thought to themselves as they walked down the hallway of the HOL. ‘Don’t overreact, maybe this is all some big misunderstanding.’

The demon they were hoping to find was walking down the hallway in the opposite direction. Satan gave MC a half nod and barely acknowledged them.

“Hi Satan!” MC chirped, trying to sound as friendly as possible. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

After being so coldly snubbed, MC stood in the hallway completely motionless, until of course the little voice crawled its way up their spine and nestled in the base of their skull.

‘Who does he think he is?’

MC squared their shoulders and started after Satan, resolute in their totally non-suicidal goal of chastising him for his behaviour.

“Satan!” MC threw his door open and crossed their arms, the room was a complete mess of books and loose papers as usual, the Avatar of Wrath himself was sitting on his bed with his nose in a book. “We need to talk.”

“Do we now?” Satan drawled, not looking up from his book. That stupid encyclopedia must’ve been the most interesting thing in the god damn universe for Satan not to look up and see MC seething with a kind of pure rage only preteens we’re capable of. “Walking into people’s rooms without knocking is rude, you know. Let’s talk about that.”

“Honestly can you not be a smartass for a few seconds and just fucking look at me?!”

The sudden cursing got Satan to raise an eyebrow and look up. “What do you want, MC?”

“I want to know what the hell your problem with me is.” MC said, attempting to keep their voice as level and calm as possible. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you since I got here, and you’ve been nothing but a massive jerk!”

“Did you ever stop to think that I just don’t like you?”

“For what reason? What did I do?!”

“You look exactly like him!” Satan finally snapped. “Another Lucifer prancing around the house like they run the place!”

“So to you I’m just another Lucifer..?” MC asked, then let out a humourless laugh. “Are you… are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re pegging me as another Lucifer? You?”

Satan bristled, his eyes began to flash green, MC’s own eyes had begun to show a slight blue tint. “What are you implying?”

“I’m ‘implying’ that you, Satan, the one who was born of Lucifer’s wrath, calling me a copy of Lucifer is literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.” MC snarled, almost every fibre of their mind was screaming to transform and teach Satan a lesson, but they held back. “You hate Lucifer, anyone with two brain cells can see that, but you don’t see how stupid you’re being?!”

In an instant Satan yanked MC up by the front of their shirt and let out a low growl. “Do you want to repeat that, half-breed?”

“You’re being an idiot.” MC’s bratty, teasing tone couldn’t fully hide the boiling anger that was just beneath the surface. “You think you have the right to demand that people see you as different from Lucifer, yet you don’t grant me the same courtesy.”

With that, Satan’s demon form was out and less than a second later so was MC’s. The half-demon’s foot shot out and hit Satan right in the knee, the Avatar of Wrath staggered backwards slightly which allowed MC to back away until they felt their back hit a pile of books.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, daring the other to make a move, when the door to Satan’s room slammed open. There stood enemy number one, Lucifer.

“What the hell are both of you doing?” Lucifer hissed, his eyes flicking between Satan and MC.

“STAY OUT OF THIS!”

With Satan and MC’s combined shout, books began to shoot off the shelves and off the tops of piles. The books whizzed around the room, crashing into things and making the room even more of a mess.

“Both of you calm down!” Lucifer growled, both Satan and MC turned to shout at him again.

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Quick as lightning, a book shot towards MC, time seemed to slow as the spine of the book brushed past their nose as they stumbled out of its way. MC was out of the book’s path, but now it was speeding directly towards Lucifer.

Satan, most likely desiring to protect his book from Lucifer-germs, dove forward to grab the book while Lucifer prepared to catch it with an outstretched hand. The moment the two touched the book a blinding flash of light engulfed the entire room, leaving everything completely still.

Huh, well that happened. Argument paused, gather everyone.

Satan and Lucifer switched bodies… coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool-

Wait why are they staying in MC’s room?!

Lucifer (in Satan’s body) pulled the “you live under my roof you follow my rules” card, and MC got to work ordering a tent on Akuzon. Their tent, their rules.

“Satan! We have a bit of a problem with you agreeing to stay in my room with Lucifer!” “And what’s that problem, MC?” “Uh, I don’t know, THE DETECTIVE.”

Satan completely forgot that they were hiding a cat from Lucifer. Whoops!

When Lucifer stomped out of MC’s room later that day holding the cat the two knew they were screwed.

MC and Satan had to compromise their dignity and beg Lucifer to not take away their poor kitty. Lucifer just grumbled that he’d deal with this when he got back into his own body.

Body switching shenanigans were abound, Mammon and Satan were working together to make Lucifer look as ridiculous as possible without breaking any of the ground rules everyone laid out.

This all culminated in getting Mammon hung from the ceiling.

That night, MC tried to ignore Satan and Lucifer’s sleep talking, but it was a fruitless endeavour.

The only good part of that arrangement was the fact that Bean refused to snuggle up to Satan while he was in Lucifer’s body, and Lucifer didn’t want the cat near him while in Satan’s body, so MC got all the snuggle time with their favourite kitty.

While Bean’s intense purring was adorable, it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Lucifer and Satan’s rampant sleep talking.

“Fuck you Lucifer…” Satan in Lucifer’s body mumbled. “Gonna fuckin rip your head off…”

“Diavolo you can’t just get me another dog…” Lucifer in Satan’s body grumbled before letting out a snore.

MC rolled their eyes and looked at their cat. “Can you believe this shit, Bean?” They whispered.

Bean responded by pawing at MC’s face. What a big baby with such cute widdle eyes omigoodness what a baby baby-

Having enough of that tomfoolery, MC gently placed Bean down on their bed, and tiptoed out. They ended up doubling back to their room and grabbing one of their books.

Sneaking up to the attic a second time was much easier than the first attempt. It had been a week since their first encounter with Belphie and MC thought that he might want an update.

“So yeah… that’s what’s happening right now.”

Belphie appeared to be suppressing a laugh as he nodded and cleared his throat. “Mm… that’s… very unfortunate.”

“It’s not that funny.”

MC and Belphie stared at each other for a few seconds, before both of them broke out into a fit of giggles.

“Okay,” MC relented. “It’s kind of funny…”

“So, any updates on the plan?” Belphie asked, MC responded with a noncommittal shrug.

“Well, almost everyone has welcomed me in with pretty open arms, so I don’t think they’d question it if I asked them to come up here and get you out.”

“Almost everyone?” Belphie tilted his head as he leaned on the wall next to the door.

“Yeah… um…” MC quickly looked away and pursed their lips. “Satan… you know?”

“Ah,” Belphie’s usual lazy smile reappeared. “Satan’s going to be a tough one to win over. You know why, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Lucifer told you?”

“No actually,” MC mumbled. “Mammon, Beel, Levi, and Asmo did.”

Belphie’s eyes flashed for a brief moment, like MC had just offered him a present, but it was so quick MC barely took notice.

“I’m guessing he must be keeping a lot of stuff from you, huh?”

MC crossed their arms and shrugged. “Kinda… I guess. He kept you being in the attic a secret, he’s keeping the reason the Grimoire is in the Underground Tomb a secret…” MC frowned as all the strange little secrets began to come to light. Their father’s practically fanatical loyalty to Diavolo, the reason for the Celestial War, the reason no one talked about Lilith…

“Hm,” Belphie sighed. “It sucks that Lucifer doesn’t really tell you anything.”

“Mhm…” MC looked down at their feet, until they remembered the other reason they went up to visit the attic. “Oh! I brought you something!”

They held out the book to Belphie, carefully sliding it between the gaps in the door. “It’s a manga Levi recommended to me, I read it and it’s awesome! I thought you might be bored up here, so I brought it up for you to read.”

When Belphie took the book he stared at it like it was a completely foreign object, then his features melted into a smile. “Thank you, MC.”

“Right!” MC smiled proudly. “I’ll work on my magic, and on my relationship with Satan, then I’ll bust you out of here!”

Belphie chuckled and gave a thumbs up. “Good luck, kiddo. I believe in you.”

The seeds of discord were planted and the local attic cowboy was being one hell of a gardener. I need to stop typing take my phone away from me.

When MC left the attic, the first thing they heard was Mammon crying in the stairwell. It seemed that even the HOL’s ghosts were annoyed with all his whining.

“MC… help meeeeee…” “You’re hanging there for a reason, Mammon. I’m not going to disturb your punishment.” “MCCCCCCCCC!”

Don’t worry, MC did some sick maneuvers and cut Mammon down! Hooray!

“You now owe me a life debt.” “Wait what-” “We’re fixing my and Lucifer’s relationship with Satan.” “…kid if you smoked the weed in my room just tell me, I won’t be mad.”

No dear uncle Mammon, MC was not high on the devil’s lettuce, they were high on the power of family!

Time to fire up Doji Magi!

Obviously MC wasn’t the protagonist, everyone was trying to woo this random generic anime character (tm)

It wasn’t going good for anyone other than Levi. MC wasn’t even allowed to properly participate because Lucifer didn’t approve of his child getting involved in this degenerate anime stuff.

Too late Luci-goosey, your kid was a weeb long before they came to the Devildom

Of course, come graduation day, things got much more fun.

“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!” MC screamed with delight as they swung a folding chair at an oncoming monster.

Mammon was having decidedly less fun as he dealt with his share of the monsters that had suddenly spawned into the game. “MC what the hell are ya talkin’ about?! This is crazy!”

“Can both of you shut up?” Lucifer said as he calmly snapped a monster’s neck. “Get to the roof, all of you.”

“This was very well foreshadowed I’m very impressed.” Satan said, Levi nodded enthusiastically.

“I know! All those hidden lore bits were so fun to find.”

“Wait, lore?” Mammon asked, he turned to MC. “What’d we miss while we were in fake detention?”

As the group continued to make their way up the steps to the roof, downing monsters left and right, MC turned to Satan and laughed. “You’re absolutely drenched right now.”

Satan smirked and flicked some of the monster goop onto MC. “You don’t look any better.”

“Ew!” MC stuck out their tongue and leaned to the left, looking behind Satan. “There’s a monster behind you by the way.”

“Ah,” Satan turned and punched the monster so hard in the forehead that its skull caved in. “Thank you, MC.”

The rooftop was filled with significantly less monsters than the rest of the school, and it uh… oh… hm… gamer instincts were tingling.

“Hey, this is a lot of negative space…” Levi picked a medpack up off the floor. “And an odd collection of healing items…”

“Where’d all the enemies go..?” Mammon asked tentatively.

“Better question,” MC piped up. “Where’s the music?”

Right after those words left MC’s lips, the door to the rooftop burst open, revealing a very familiar three headed doggo that MC and Lucifer so adored. It was Cerberus! Who looked positively murderous!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Mammon shrieked and hid behind Levi.

“Oh… that’s what all the dog imagery meant.” Satan said. “I thought it was odd that all the books in this school’s library had something to do with dogs.”

“Yeah! Aw, it all makes sense now!” Levi exclaimed.

“Cerberus,” Lucifer stepped forward and crossed his arms. “Sit.”

Cerberus, did not in fact, sit. He instead growled like a monster truck, and the acidic looking drool that was falling from his gaping jaws was an indicator that the giant pupper was quite hungry.

“Uh… bad dog?” MC offered. With that, Cerberus charged forward.

Mammon, Levi, and MC dodged to the left while Lucifer and Satan dove to the right.

“Shit! How are we supposed to fight Cerberus!?” Levi squeaked.

“Maybe we can- SATAN WATCH OUT!”

Cerberus had decided to ignore Lucifer and rush straight towards the fourth born, whose weapon of choice had just decided to break, and MC had a sneaking suspicion that Satan wouldn’t be able to punch all three of Cerberus’ heads at once.

“CERBERUS!” Lucifer shouted, causing everyone to freeze in place. “YOU LAY A HAND ON MY BROTHER AND I WILL [Hello, this is the narrator, Lucifer has asked that I censor what he said because he doesn’t want this to end up reflecting badly on Diavolo].”

It was thirty seconds into the very vulgar threat before Levi thought it would be a good idea to cover MC’s ears. Game-Cerberus whimpered and sat down, much to the utter amazement of everyone.

“Wow, I can curse in Latin now!” MC chirped.

“MC, you will forget what you heard.” Lucifer sighed.

“Of course, father!” MC said sweetly, they then leaned over to Levi. “Noooooot.”

Yay, the fam’s out of the game! L!MC and Satan both agreed that Cerberus would never in a thousand years listen to either of them and they should just depend on Lucifer to deal with their homicidal pupper.

Good news, in the days after the game, glasses related thefts went down 100%! Also, pranks relating to Lucifer’s coffee being turned into vinegar went down 83%!

Satan was chilling out :D… but Lucifer still had a speech to give and he was not about to trust the guy who filled the house with cats once.

It was time for a visit to the human world to go find a witch!

“Come on! I wanna see the horsies!” Mammon whined, hanging off of Lucifer in Satan’s body like a petulant little kid. The actual kid rolled their eyes and snorted.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, Mammon.” Lucifer said. “You want to see the horses so you can find the one you’re going to bet all our money on.”

“Of course I wanna see the horse I’m gonna bet on!So can we gooooooo?!”

Satan in Lucifer’s body finished off the last of his gelato and scoffed. “No, we’re not going to bet the house on the ponies, Mammon. We’re going to spend it on-”

The high pitched shriek that left MC caused everyone to whirl in their direction as the half demon jumped up and down and frantically pointed at a sign. They were clearly trying to sputter out some kind of explanation of what had them so excited, but no one could understand a word.

“MC, calm down-”

“It’s the musical!”

“What-”

“I’ve watched so many analysis videos on this! Father! Father! The music in this is supposed to be insane! I wanna see! I wanna see! You gotta let me see!” Every single word was punctuated by MC jumping up and down to the point that Lucifer was actually concerned their wings might pop out and they’d take flight.

Right in the middle of one of their jumps, Satan caught them and held them up in front of Lucifer. “Oh dearest brother of mine, your poor spawn wants to see the show- hang on it’s this one?” Satan did a double take at the sign for the show. “Now I actually want to see this.”

Lucifer finally shoved Mammon off of him and got a good look at the sign, at least two out of the three people he was travelling with had taste. “Yes, we can watch the show.”

“Yay!” MC clapped their hands, then noticed their feet weren’t touching the floor and turned to look at Satan. “Uh, Satan, you know you can put me down, right?”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that,” Satan said as the group began their walk towards the theatre. “It’s fun having you up as a half-human meat shield.”

“Hey!”

A distinct interest of MC’s had been discovered by the rest of the group that day when they started rambling and explaining the intricacies of musical theatre and opera to a very confused Mammon. Lucifer and Satan exchanged amused glances as MC continued to rapidly explain increasingly more confusing parts of music.

“So that’s the main difference between recitative and an aria,”

“Uh huh…”

“So technically Hugh Jackman is wrong in his explanation that Val Jean’s soliloquy in the movie adaptation of Les Miserables is recitative because it’s more of an aria because Val Jean is basically screaming about his emotions.”

“Hugh Jackman? Wolverine?”

“Yeah, Wolverine. Anyway back to leitmotifs-”

MC’s animated explanation continued all the way until the four were sat down in their seats and the show began. Mammon, of course, started fully weeping whenever anything sad happened. It was intermission when Lucifer and Satan finally had enough of it.

“Mammon…” Satan rubbed his temples and glared at the sobbing second born. “I swear, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to strangle you…”

“Do it like the Phantom of the Opera.” MC offered.

“What?” Satan asked.

“Lasso noose.”

Mammon loudly blew his nose and shoved popcorn a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Musical theatre is so fuckin’ weird…”

MC 🤝(being a musical theatre nerd) 🤝 Lucifer

So after the play, they hopped on the train and MC and Mammon stuck their heads out the window to baa at some nearby sheep. The sheep responded, Mammon and MC can speak sheep confirmed.

Of course, Mammon went off and got involved in the murder of the very witch they were trying to find.

“Only one version of events is ever true!” Satan proclaimed to the three unfortunate bastards that were also involved with the crime.

Lucifer looked from the dead body that was covered in a tablecloth, to MC. He made an awkward attempt to cover their eyes, but even he seemed confused by the action.

“Father, it’s fine.” MC lightly moved their father’s hand away and pulled something out of their brand new bag. “Satan, here!”

MC held up a Sherlock Holmes cap. “It’ll make you look more like a detective.”

“Thank you, MC.” Satan put the cap on and turned back to the crime scene in front of him. “I’m going to solve the shit out of this.”

Hearing those words come out of Lucifer’s mouth even knowing that it was Satan saying them made Mammon forget he was being accused of murder and laugh like a maniac. This did not help MC and Satan’s “Mammon’s not crazy” case.

MC and Levi had spent a week playing Danganronpa nonstop, MC was ready for this!

After clearing Mammon’s name, the ghost of the witch showed up and told the gang to solve her murder and she’d undo the body switch curse.

“The killer is, YOU!” MC and Satan pointed at the culprit with flourish.

“You have no proof!”

“I’m afraid we do in fact have proof.” Satan smirked triumphantly. “The other two suspects were too far away or standing up,”

“And the knife entered the body at a downward angle,” MC continued. “The only person close enough to stab the victim like that is you.”

“So suspect number 3,” The two said together. “You’re the dumbass who did it!”

“Did they rehearse this?” Mammon leaned over to ask Lucifer.

“No idea.”

Yay! Murder solved! Time for the life lesson!

“If only I had trusted him to be my apprentice…” “oh wow what a convenient life lesson, right father? Right Satan? Trust?”

“…” “…”

Satan and Lucifer got poofed back to normal and everyone got to go home. Lucifer, like in canon, lets Satan give the speech because he learned that he needs to trust his brother more and have a little bit of faith.

The speech is a success, and life returns to normal, but better. Satan and MC build up their relationship and after a few weeks, it was like the stuff from the beginning of the year never happened.

The attic was Belphegor’s favourite nap spot, though at the moment, Belphie didn’t want to sleep in the attic. He had been stuck up there for the past four months, and the only form of social interaction he had was sporadic chats with Lucifer or the half-human.

He must have been going completely mental up there because he was actually wishing he was talking to the kid, at least the brat was nice to him…

“Belphie!”

The cheery voice of the little “angel” echoed down the hall, Belphie found himself smiling at the sound, at least before he realized what he was doing. MC appeared at the door, practically bouncing on their toes.

“Belphie Belphie Belphie!” MC waved their DDD in the air.

“MC MC MC.” Belphie repeated. He leaned against the wall next to the door and yawned. “Nice to see you again, any updates?”

MC flicked through their DDD and gave Belphie a thumbs up. “I’ve been practicing my magic and stuff, but that’s not what I’m up here for.” They held up their DDD to show Belphie a picture.

“Beel’s team won their game-thing!”

The picture showed Beel in his team uniform eating an entire pie with a medal around his neck, the rest of the brothers and MC were posed for the picture around him. “I have no clue how this sport is supposed to work or what the rules are, but apparently he won, so that’s good!”

Any traces of Belphie’s half decent mood vanished as he looked at the picture. Everyone seemed… really happy. Levi, Asmo, Satan, Mammon, Beel, all of them, looked happy. Happy without him…

“That’s… great, MC.”

—————

Belphegor truly didn’t think he’d pity the human he vowed to kill. MC was literally a mixture of everything he hated, humans, Lucifer, Diavolo’s stupid exchange program… but yet, Belphegor felt pity.

The way MC lit up when they talked about the fun things they had done with the brothers and the other exchange students, how they went up to the attic to keep him company when they had a spare bit of time… they did all of that without knowing that Belphegor despised them. It was honestly pitiful.

Though, the Avatar of Sloth’s feeling of detest had somehow lessened. The little half demon had managed to get their hooks in him. Unfortunately for them, it only made Belphegor’s blood boil more. His brothers adored that little brat, it was plain to see. The half human had won them all over, like half of MC’s ancestry wasn’t responsible for the death of their little sister.

Belphegor narrowed his eyes as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been stuck up there long enough to have counted every knot in the wood, every nail and plank, and every spider that managed to crawl through the cracks. The familiar feeling of guilt began to twist in his stomach. His sister died because Beel chose to save him. He should have been more careful… he shouldn’t have taken her to the human world…

‘It’s their fault.’ Belphie tried to push any and all thoughts other than that out of his head. ‘That human killed her. If they had never met she wouldn’t have died.’

Repeating that over and over did not expel the roiling feeling of guilt that crawled its way up Belphie’s spine and constricted his ribs.

“I hate you…” Belphie growled. MC was the reason for all this, weren’t they? They were the reason he wasn’t with his family, they were the reason they could be happy without him, yet even repeating his declaration of hatred like a mantra didn’t make the guilt go away. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!”

A sudden sharp yank on Belphie’s ear made him lurch upwards and look around the room. Nothing.

It was a childish gesture, wasn’t it? A sharp pull to his ear, a habit he knew all too well belonged to…

It belonged to…

…

Belphegor needed to sleep.

———————

Sup my witches, bitches, and bastards, we’re reaching the exciting part :D the part you angst hungry sickos (affectionate) are waiting for! ✨ lesson 16 ✨ next time, we’re doing the buildup, then after that, ANGST COUNTRY BABY!

Reblogs are very appreciated!

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[bluegarners]

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse. 

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family. 

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.” 

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair. 

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan. 

Money. Old money at that. 

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick. 

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance. 

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor. 

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food. 

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes. 

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand. 

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up. 

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind. 

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely. 

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim. 

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation. 

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more. 

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop. 

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at. 

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him. 

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone. 

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it. 

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry. 

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it. 

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation. 

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known. 

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company. 

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties. 

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects. 

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow. 

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest. 

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods. 

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches. 

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers. 

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking. 

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready. 

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports. 

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice. 

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology. 

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance. 

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again. 

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful. 

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened. 

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has. 

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles. 

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line. 

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be. 

[my-socialdiary]

Deep Water

Word Count: 2113

Here we go! Childe x Lumine fanfiction! This is my first time writing a story using english XD pardon my bad BAD grammar because english is not my first language. i tried to fix that :(

***

They’re different, inside and outside.

They have different purposes when approaching each other.

But strangely enough, they feel comfortable. They feel like they can rely on each other.

There is Lumine, and Childe.

There is a butterfly and its destroyer.

It is dark, still, yet beautiful at the same time. The full moon that reflected on the darkened blue sea in Yaoguang Shoal. The sound of waves is so calming and somehow has the ability to heal every ache, mentally. Lumine sits on one of the rocks, dipping her feet in the salt water, enjoying the coldness that it gives. She loves being near water even though she’s an anemo user.

Water; the stillness is giving it a mysterious sense. You will never know what’s deep inside the water if you don’t purposely dive into it. It may contain something dangerous, or it may contain something valuable, like that luxurious chest she finds at Dunyu Ruins after delivering some annoying seelies. For her, water by some means is magical and inexplicable.

Water is exactly just like Childe.

Mysterious.

Menacing.

Some people said that he’s ruthless. Merciless murderer, because of his affiliation with the Fatui, and also because he’s the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. The youngest one but one of the most dangerous amongst their number.

But…

He’s the most bold, enchanting, and clever man she ever met in her life. Not to mention he also has the sweetest smile…

… and lots of Mora.

She smiled when remembering that moment when Childe approached her and Zhongli when they were about to buy some kites for The Rite of Parting from Granny Shan’s shop. Zhongli is… thinking about him makes her sigh. That man is surely a special case.

“… Lumine?” A small, sleepy voice brings her back in reality. “Paimon thinks that now we should camp somewhere else. It’s so cold in here and Paimon can catch a cold anytime!” Her emergency f—travelling companion now is awake and leans her body to Lumine’s head. “C’mon, Lumine! We can camp at Mingyun Village or get a room at Wangshu Inn, but not here, in the open field, near the water!”

Lumine chuckles. “Alright, alright,” she stands and reaches up her shoes. “Let’s go.”

Before they leave, Lumine glances over the sea once again and smiles.

***

He knows himself more than anyone in Liyue—or even in Teyvat. Or even his sister, Tonia. All the blessing and curse he has related to water. All those scars that he tried to bury, deep down in his mind. All those achievements mean nothing more than a boastful show off. He knows himself. Truly, inside and outside.

But, meeting her makes him doubt his knowledge about himself.  

Their first meeting is quite unique. That time, when there’s announcement about Rex Lapis’ death at The Rite of Descension, he was just arrived at Liyue to do some works delegated by Fatui to the Northland Bank when he heard a bunch of Millelith shouting to each other, ordering their comrades to arrest someone.

“You have nowhere to run!”

That commotion is enough to get his interest. He looked up and saw the back of a blonde-haired girl that just drew her sword out to fight those trained Millelith. Before he could think twice, the water shifted from his hand, forming a water blade each in his hands and leap over, “Hey girlie, hold still!” The sound of water coming through his ears while his hands are now focusing to fight those Millelith. His position as one of the Harbingers was not given to him without reasons. Easily enough, he defeated all of the Millelith guard—he didn’t kill them, but enough to make them unconscious—then turn back to that girl just to see her golden-yellow eyes now staring at him.

He knew her. Friend of the Knights of Favonius.

“Come with me.” That time, he knew he shouldn’t do that. But he did it anyway. And from then until now, they’ve been together, side by side to fight monsters and sometimes treasure hoarders. It’s funny to realize that because he’s more like an independent fighter rather than a group fighter. But with Lumine, everything that he knows about himself seems to become different. Firstly, He already promises himself that he won’t do anything using his feelings anymore. And secondly, He promises himself that he won’t do anything stupid by helping other people because that’s not what Fatui do.

But yet, he failed.

Lumine is like a breath of fresh air for his breathless life. With Lumine, he feels like he can relax a little bit, smile a little bit, and importantly, see the beauty of life a little bit. A little bit is more than enough for life like his. But that little bit is not good for their relationship. Tsaritsa will find out about Lumine sooner or later. And that’s not good. That means Lumine will always be in danger near him. Thinking about that makes him shiver. I can’t let anything bad happen to her. Not until she reunites with her twin brother. Not until I can be assured that she’s safe. This time, he tries to keep his promise. He could no longer indulge himself in all this beauty which he didn’t deserve from the first time he knew her. 

Because of that, now he found himself waiting at Liyue Harbor because he made a promise to Lumine that they would watch the sunrise before he went back to Snezhnaya. Lumine doesn’t know yet about his plan to go back to his hometown. She only knew that today they would be enjoying sunrise on the boat he rented from Linling. He tries so hard to distance himself from that bright-cheerful-and-lighthearted girl but he fails dozens of times. This is the only way he can do that. Even though it means that he probably will see that girl crying in front of him. 

“Childe!” The euphonic voice that has become his favorite—since when? He doesn’t know—takes him back to the scenery of Liyue Harbor. “been waiting long?” Lumine asks while stabilizing her blue glider and then fixing her flower hair clip. Childe looked away to distract himself and pretend to be looking the other way.

“Not really,” he smiles. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” she smiled back. The smile that has always been his favorite. 

“Let’s go, then.” Childe walked first, followed by Lumine behind him. She can’t help but smile like an idiot while looking at Childe’s broad shoulder. She knows that she likes him more than friends, but how about him? He never made a real move towards her. Childe has been doing sweet things to her, but how can she be sure that it because he likes her in that way? Should she ask him first?

“Ouch!” Her thoughts make her unaware that Childe is now stopped walking and tries to untie the rope that ties the boat. “Oh my Archons, that hurts!” She cringed and rubbed her aching forehead. Childe turns back and chuckles. She’s so cute. He thinks. And the next second he tries to ignore that thought. 

“What were you doing?” 

Both of Lumine’s cheeks become warm. I was thinking about you! “N-no. Nothing. Nothing at all, s-seriously!”

“Whoa, okay-okay,” Childe lets out a small laugh. “Let’s go.” He reaches Lumine’s arms and helps her get on the boat. After everything has set, Childe rowed the boat, heading to the best place to see the sunrise in Liyue Harbor according to his experience. It was 4 in the morning when they set out their boat. Here in Liyue, the sun rises a little late. 

“I always love midnight and dawn,” she looked at Childe while keeping her hair from covering her face. “It’s nice and calm.”

“Thought you were the rousing-type of girl,” 

“Yeah, I’ll admit that, but sometimes,” she turns her head over the sea horizon. “Once in a lifetime, you need to escape from those ruckus and enjoy the beauty of stillness.”

“The beauty of stillness, huh?” he raised his eyebrow. “Never heard of that.”

Lumine smiles. 

A few moments later, Childe stopped rowing. He is now looking at Lumine who is currently closing her eyes, enjoying the cool air. She won’t be bothered by the wind. She’s an anemo user, after all. Wind is her friend. Just like water is his friend. And enemy, at the same time. 

He then looked down to his reflection on the water. That smile of his and all of the funny jokes he made so that people will like him is a lie. It was a deceitful move. But when he’s with Lumine, it all feels real. Or… maybe it’s just his delusion. Like the electro vision he has, given by Tsaritsa. He doesn’t know anymore what’s real in his life. 

“Childe, look!” Lumine is now covering her mouth, feeling in awe because the sun starts to go up to its place in Liyue. “It’s so beautiful.”

Instead of looking at the sunrise, he looked at Lumine—never can get enough of her—and said, “it is.” 

“Thank you for bringing me here, Childe.” She gives him a dazzling smile. “I really, really love it.”

“Well, now you know this place. You can come here every time you want to enjoy that ‘beauty of stillness’.” He quoted Lumine’s words and gave a playful smile. 

“With you?”

“You can go here alone. That’s the point, right?” 

“I mean, we can go here together again, right? I can teach you about the beauty of stillness that I mentioned earlier,” She said. 

“No…” He looked down. Now is the time for you to tell her, Childe. “I-I will no longer come to Liyue.” 

“W-what do you mean you will no longer come to Liyue? Are you leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m going back to Snezhnaya,” he didn’t dare to look at her. “My hometown.”

“...when?”

“Today.”

She swallowed her tears, “so this is why you suggest that we should go watch the sunrise,” her voice is now trembling. “You wanted to say goodbye?”

“Yes. Besides, there's nothing else I can do here anyway,” please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please. “And the Fatui is asking me to go back.” liar. 

What about me? A tear tickled her cheek, and she started chewing on her lower lip while her eyes welled up with tears. “I—” she mumbled something through her mouth and choked on her sobs. “S-sorry. I didn’t know what happened to me.” She let out fake chuckles and looked away. 

Meanwhile, Childe, his vision was blurry; it was difficult for him to see clearly, but he knew that it was a hurtful moment for them. He hears Lumine sniffing and sobbing even though she is trying to hold it. For some moment, both of them drown into their own thoughts and feelings. 

“Will I be able to see you again, sometime in the future?” Lumine asks. She didn’t turn her head to see Childe. “Is there a possibility that we can sit in this boat, enjoying the sunrise together again? Is there any?” 

Childe opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. No. we can’t meet. You can’t meet me. It’s dangerous. 

“No?” Lumine urged him. 

“If…” Childe dared himself to stare at that girl. “If you want to be around to see it again with me, best you stay alive until we next meet… okay?” And again, he breaks his own promise to not see Lumine ever again. 

They smiled at each other. 

***

That blonde-haired girl is now sitting at one of the Mingyun Village’s rooftop. She looked at a blue shell with a somewhat star-shaped in the center. A starconch. She misses him already but she knows that sometime in the future, they will meet again. Because he needs to take back this precious starconch from her.

***

“Here, keep this,” Childe takes her right hand and places something in her palm. 

“A starconch?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s not just any starconch you can find, it is my precious starconch because it has memories in it.”

“What memories?” She asked him with a curious look. 

“I’ll save that story for later, when we meet again,” he said, which made her frown. “Until then, you need to keep this. Because I’ll come and take this back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, good.”

***

“I guess I just need to wait a little longer, don’t I?” Lumine glanced at her little fairy friend, stood then jumped off the roof. “In the meantime, let’s blow away some hilichurls, shall we?” 

“Lumine, wait, Paimon thinks we should eat first!” Paimon tries to keep her distance near Lumine. But she keeps running with a big grin in her face. “Lumineeeeee!” 

[dansantat]

NOW WE ARE TWO: A Eulogy for My Father

Adam U Santat (October 21,1943 - April 27, 2021)

Today is April 27, 2021.

When I was very young and we lived in New Jersey my father took us to the beach and he lifted my tiny frame over his neck and we walked out into the ocean together. My mother watched us from the coast as we wandered 50 yards into the shallow sea. I was terrified of whatever lurked in the water convinced that sharks would come and eat us. My father gripped my legs and whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I don’t exactly know why this particular memory rests so clearly in my mind, but it’s a good one. That was my father in a nutshell.

I interviewed my parents for a memoir I’m currently working on. This is what I know of my father. 

He was born in the small village of Khlong Dan, Thailand on October 21, 1943, though the official birth certificate indicates October 27 because of a typo (21 sounds like 27 in Thai)  He was the youngest of nine kids. His parents immigrated from China and started a merchant business. For fear of being racially ostracized by the local Thai people the oldest brother changed their name from “Lim” to “Santativongchai” (he found the word in an old book)

They collected rain water off the storm gutters in order to drink. He didn’t get hie first pair of shoes until he was 10 years old. They were sandals, really. Knowing facts abut Western culture was cool and he had an insatiable desire to learn everything he could about America. Coming to the United States was a dream of his obsessed with Elvis Presley, Paul Anka, and movies like “Shane” He admits to being spoiled by his mother and says he was lazy during most of his childhood, but was gifted in math and science. And he truly was. He attended medical school, paid for by his older sister, Yawanit, and he came to Newark, New Jersey in 1969 to do his internship.

My mother followed a year later

His first car was a Red ‘69 Camaro. No air conditioning. He ran the car into the ground because he was unaware of the fact that you had to change the oil. He never owned a car before then.   

This was the American dream.

I was born in 1975 and they soon made a mass exodus to Southern California along with many of their Thai doctor friends with brief career stops in Wykoff, New Jersey and Hopedale, Illinois until we settled in our newly built four bedroom home in Camarillo, CA. 

He worked for the state of California as a pediatrician, and eventually as a cardiologist, and then a psychiatrist continuing his education over the years to fill the needs of the state. He was an accomplished man in his field.

He loved golf, tennis, and buying things he would see on TV. He loved Ralph Lauren clothing, he owned one of the first Apple computers, and he loved making weekly trips to Los Angeles to buy classical CDs and audio equipment.   

Three weeks ago I stepped inside my parent’s home for the first time in over a year. The COVID-19 Pandemic had kept us apart . “Stay at home. We’ll see each other after this is all over.” my parents told me. 

Under normal circumstances I would happily avoid their company for fear of constant nagging about a plethora of reasons which mostly dealt with my weight, or my political views.   

But this was different. 

My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer and he returned home to hospice care. My mother was helping him get situated on his favorite couch because he refused to use the hospital bed that hospice had offered him and recommend that he use.

They say that doctors make the worst patients. 

Besides his stubbornness my mother was angry at him for not putting up a fight, turning down Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy and opting to just let the cancer take him. She herself having been a breast cancer survivor over 25 years ago (along with living with lupus for 45 years) could not comprehend the thought of just giving up. But my father knew the odds. He had taken one look at the CT scan and he knew the primary source was in the liver and it has metastasized to the lungs, his jaw, and his pelvis. 

His body was dying but his mind was still as sharp as a tack.

I understood the diagnosis, as well. When speaking to the doctor on the phone he did not mince words by emphasizing quality of life. My father’s days were limited, and I was there to make the most of the time that was left between us before he departed. 

“I have one last question for you before I go.” he said to me.

“Anything. What’s your question, Dad?”

“How much....do you earn annually?”

My mother and I quickly glanced at each other and we both immediately let out a huge laugh. “HA HA HA! You have one last question and that’s what you want to ask me?!”

He was always curious about my finances. 

He is my Asian father. 

Normally, this type of question would be a point of heated contention and it would typically result in an argument at a restaurant, and yet, here he is living his last weeks and he STILL wouldn’t let the question go. And this time, without argument, I simply tell him. 

Why deny a dying man his last wish?

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” he shouts as we all share in a good laugh.

“I have one more question...”

“What is it, Dad?”

“Why do you always get upset when I ask you that question?”

This too would have normally resulted in a heated discussion, but I simply gave him an honest and simple answer, “Because you taught me that it was rude to ask people that question.” And I left it at that.

My mother gets up and heads to the kitchen and it’s in this moment that my father pulls me in closer to discuss more pressing matters. 

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve accepted my fate and I’ve lived a good life. I’m worried about your mom. I want you to take care of her after I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve saved up a lot of money. Use it to buy a house with a guest house for her. Make sure it has a big yard so she can do her gardening and she’ll be fine.”

 “I promise, Dad. I’ll spoil her.” 

“Good.”

My mother returns to the family room with an assortment of shirts for my father to wear. I grab a blue button up collared shirt from Tommy Bahama. “This shirt actually isn’t too shabby.”

“It was originally $125 and I got it for $90!”

Always in pursuit of looking his best while also landing a great deal.

He is my Asian father.  

“If you like the shirts they’re yours now. All of this is yours.”

None of the items that my father owned interested me. What interested me was giving him one last amazing experience before he was gone. The one thing my father truly treasured among all his possessions was a one of the finest wine collections I had ever seen. It contained over 500 bottles of wines he had collected over the course of twenty years housed in three separate wine refrigerators, which were spread throughout different rooms in the house and sent their electricity bill skyrocketing to the moon, and my mother’s nerves to the very edge of insanity. 

“Hey, what do you think about going into your wine collection and we drink the most expensive wine you have?”

“No,” he says hesitantly.

“But don’t you want to know what you bought? Don’t you want to at least know what the best wine you own tastes like? I don’t think you should leave this world without enjoying your one great vice in life.”

My father looks away from me and mutters, “No...It’s yours now. All of it.”

This is not how I want it to end. I want him to have one last good memory.

My mother interrupts, “I’m hungry. What are we having for lunch?”

I try to keep my father focused on his bucket list. I’m hoping for just one last memory, “Whatever you want, Dad. My treat.”

He looks at me and says, “I want a Pink’s hot dog.”

My mother and I look at each other in shock. This request from a man who was obsessed with his blood pressure. A man who constantly avoided salt like it was Kryptonite to Superman was now requesting for one of the saltiest most nitrate rich foods in America. 

“With mustard and relish.”

25 minutes later I returned home with three sodium bombs per his request. My father, who hadn’t eaten in three days, grabbed a hold of his hot dog, and ate the entire thing. My father, a man who did everything in his power to stave off death by cardiovascular disease to the point of obsession, was indulging in the one thing he avoided like the plague. 

SALT. 

As I sat on the couch and watched him eat his hot dog I could see the look on his face as he solemnly took each bite thinking, “What was the point of being so scared for all these years?” I took solace in the fact that for the first time in my life, I saw him as a person unafraid.  

 Later that day, a few of his closest friends came over to wish him well. I met them at the front door, “Hey, do me a favor. Can you see if you can make him agree to having one last glass of wine?”

It was a good idea.

HIs friends all walked in, paid their respects, and then peppered him with little hints like, “Hey, how about one last sip of wine before you go?”

My dad finally agreed.

“That fridge has the best stuff!” my dad shouted as he pointed to the fridge closest to the door. 

I was not as knowledgable about fine wines as my dad and his friends were. That’s what Google is for.    

I reached into the back of the fridge and found a bottle of Opus One from 1995. 

This was $600 bottle of wine. It wasn’t his best but it it would do nicely.

The room let out an audible “oooooh” when I entered the room with the bottle.

His best wine glasses were brought out, we each poured a glass, and we toasted my father. We share stories about his life, he boasts to his friends about my accomplishments, and we are basking in a moment of complete harmony.

For this moment in time, I was his perfect Asian son.

He thoughtfully studied the peaks generated by the swirling of the wine on the edge of the glass

“It’s been a good life. No regrets.”

I was glad I could give him this.

This week I bought that house for my mom. I told my father this as I fulfilled his last dying wish while I held his hand.

“I’ve got you, Dad. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’ve got you.”

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #7 - Pre-fic by roughly five years, so again the only people who know anything is different from before is Wangxian. I had an anonymous request for a look at A-Yuan living his best AU life, so here it is: a few snapshots of Wen Yuan/Sizhui’s summer school days making friends in Cloud Recesses. Enjoy <3]

[Masterpost]

--

“Dafan Wen Clan is presenting!”

Wen Sizhui takes a deep breath and steps around his desk, one of Wen Qing’s most highly favored apprentices - besides himself - at his side. They step to the center of the room and Wen Sizhui salutes the men seated on the dais at the front of the room.

“Wen Sizhui, Dafan Wen, here to learn from the Grandmaster,” he greets with his perpetual soft smile. He keeps his eyes trained on Qingheng-Jun and Grandmaster Lan, but it’s impossible not to notice the jarring note of black and red behind and a bit to the left of them. He ignores it for the moment - he’s positive that Wei Wuxian will find him later anyway to ask after Wen Qing and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing will kill him if he messes this up because he got distracted by her friend. He kneels to complete a kowtow and then straightens again. “I know that the Grandmaster values knowledge of all varieties. I present Grandmaster Lan with this book personally compiled by Wen-Zongzhu herself for the study of all as well as for practical use by the Gusu Lan healers. It details her latest research into medicinal practices using ingredients unique to Gusu Province, paired with innovative and varied methods of application. I hope the Grandmaster will find it suitable.”

A murmur sweeps briefly through the room around them, and Wen Sizhui stifles a wider smile, eyes still trained on the Lan Sect Leader and his brother who will be their teacher for the summer. Both of them are too well-mannered to show their surprise at such a highly-sought after gift, but Wen Sizhui breaks his own rule to allow himself a single glance at the men standing on the dais with them. He finds three different variations of similar reactions - Zewu-Jun is smiling gently at him and offers him a slight nod, Hanguang-Jun is practically radiating a pleased sort of smugness as he stares into the middle distance in his general direction, and Wei Wuxian is grinning openly from ear to ear. When he catches Wen Sizhui looking he shoots him a quick thumbs up and Wen Sizhui quickly returns his gaze to the two men seated in front, lest his attention wander too far or his amusement at Wei Wuxian’s antics show in his expression.

“A fitting gift,” Qingheng-Jun replies when the quick susurrus of whispered surprise from the other students has died down. “A treasure indeed, to benefit so from Wen-Zongzhu’s expertise.” He waves for the closest Lan attendant to step forward and take the tome from Wen Huali beside him.

The nervous tension leaves Wen Sizhui’s shoulders as he’s allowed to retreat behind his desk again, the attendant already calling for the next student.

“Lanling Jin is presenting!”

----

“I swear I thought I was going to puke that whole time - and I wasn’t even presenting anything! I’m glad I didn’t eat breakfast but I’m starving now,” Lan Jingyi exclaims that evening around a mouthful of rice and roasted vegetables.

“I thought Lans don’t talk during meals,” Jin Ling shoots back with a hint of a curl to his lip as he looks at the half-chewed food visible in Lan Jingyi’s open mouth with clear distaste.

“We don’t, but neither of you are Lan, and we’re not eating in the dining hall anyway so shut your mouth,” Lan Jingyi retorts, all lazy insolence that Wen Sizhui finds both funny and confusing, given the fact that this boy is a Lan. 

“Why were you nervous watching the rest of us present our gifts to Grandmaster Lan, Lan Jingyi?” he asks before Jin Ling can turn a darker shade of red while he splutters for a retort - Wen Sizhui gets the feeling he’s used to being shown at least some level of deference as the oldest of his siblings and the Jin Sect Heir (deference which Lan Jingyi is pointedly not showing him), but he also gets the feeling that Jin Ling is just one of those people who’s generally easy to tease. 

“All that pressure! Weren’t you scared you’d mess up in front of everybody?!”

“Who cares? It’s just Great-Uncle Lan you have to impress and he’s not scary at all!” 

Wen Sizhui and Lan Jingyi both pause and look at him straight-on at that and Jin Ling blushes again, seeming suddenly surprised to have their full attention on him even though he’s been loud-mouthing since he stepped foot in Cloud Recesses the previous day, practically begging to be paid attention to.

“What?” he adds, defensive.

“I confess that I am not very educated in some of the intricacies of the Great Sect bloodlines, Aunt Qing doesn’t enforce learning it. You are related to Grandmaster Lan and Qingheng-Jun?”

Jin Ling huffs at that and scowls down at his bowl.

“We don’t have time for me to tell you who I’m related to, it’s easier to ask who I’m not related to I swear.”

“Oh is this gossip? Is this sweet, juicy gossip?” Lan Jingyi asks with far too much enthusiasm, leaning over the table to poke a finger into Jin Ling’s upper arm, which the Jin Heir instantly swats away with a glare. 

“No it’s not gossip, idiot, and Lans aren’t supposed to gossip anyway! But everyone knows Uncle Chen is married to Uncle Yao and that Uncle Yao is my dad’s brother.”

“I thought Zewu-Jun is married to Chifeng-Zun of Qinghe Nie?”

“He’s married to both of them,” Lan Jingyi pipes up before Jin Ling can. “They all live here but I never really see them much. Well - Zewu-Jun I see slightly more often, of course, but Chifeng-Zun and Lianfang-Zun don’t interact with us disciples very much except for when we’re learning about the Nie Sect and they’re available to give lectures or demonstrations.”

“And Jin-gongzi - you visit your uncles enough to be familiar with Qingheng-Jun and the Grandmaster?”

“I don’t actually come here to Cloud Recesses very often anymore it happened more often when I was a kid, but Second Great-Uncle comes to see us in Lanling all the time, and Uncle Chen comes to see us at least a couple of times a year with Uncle Yao and Uncle Jue.”

Wen Sizhui’s head is beginning to hurt.

“Wei-Qianbei is married to Hanguang-Jun,” he points out next and Jin Ling rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t pop out of his skull.

“Believe me, I know.”

“So you are also related to them?”

“Twice over, yeah.”

“Wait what?” Lan Jingyi interjects, laughter already suffusing his voice. “How are you related to them twice?”

“My mom is Uncle Xian’s sister.”

“Wait whoa hold on that means you’re also related to Jiang-gongzi?!” Jingyi adds and now he’s definitely laughing - Jin Ling’s expression has gone positively pained which Wen Sizhui will admit is actually pretty funny. Jin Ling takes a deep breath in and lays his hands flat on the table, looking like he’s bracing for war.

“Alright, better to just get this all out of the way now. I’m only going to say this once, and you two had better keep up because I’m not repeating anything! I hate when I have to recite all of this, it’s ridiculous. But - okay. My dad’s second brother is Uncle Yao, who is married to Uncle Chen and Uncle Jue. So Uncle Ji is my Uncle once because he’s Uncle Chen’s brother, and then Uncle Xian is my Uncle once because he’s married to Uncle Ji. Lan-Zongzhu and Grandmaster Lan are my Great-Uncles, Madam Lan is my Great-Aunt.

“My mom’s youngest brother is Uncle Cheng, who is married to Uncle Sang who is Nie-Zongzhu, who is also my uncle because of Uncle Jue being married to Uncle Yao, so that’s twice related for both of them, too. My mom’s other brother is Uncle Xian, who is married to Uncle Ji so there’s the second time for both of them. Jiang-Zongzhu is my Great-Uncle and Madam Yu is my Great-Aunt. And then I have my Uncle Yu, but he’s just my dad’s youngest brother and he’s not married to anybody, and my Aunt Su is their sister but she isn’t married to anybody either.”

There’s a long silence while Wen Sizhui and Lan Jingyi stare at each other wide-eyed across the table.

“Remind me to send my Aunt Qing a thank you letter for not making me learn how all of this works,” Wen Sizhui finally says and Lan Jingyi bursts out laughing so loudly it startles a nearby flock of birds into flying off with a loud rustling of wings.

Wen Sizhui hides a smile behind a bite of his soup as Jin Ling shoves Lan Jingyi off his seat (only for him to keep laughing on the ground) with a snapped, “Shut up!”

As he watches his new friends he thinks to himself that he’ll have to remember to also thank her for allowing him to be the first Wen besides her and Uncle Ning to attend the Gusu Lan lectures in decades.

----

Wen Sizhui is doing his best to read Wen Qing’s return letter a few weeks later in the shade of a tree in the back hill. It would be easier without constant interruption, but he doesn’t mind the distraction in the end, and he’ll have plenty of time to finish reading the letter later. New friends are equally as important.

Ouyang Zizhen sighs again next to him and Wen Sizhui glances up from his letter to find him forlornly plucking the petals off a flower, a small pile of plucked blades of grass already neatly stacked in front of him.

“Zizhen,” he prompts, smiling indulgently when the other boy looks up at him with a truly impressive pout. It would work better on him had he not seen Wen Ning give Wen Qing some equally impressive doe-eyed pouts over the years (and perhaps learned how to do it himself from his uncle - it was the easiest way to be given extra sweets as a child). “You didn’t need to stay behind with me if you wanted to go to Caiyi with Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi.”

“Well I didn’t like the thought of you hanging out here by yourself on such a nice day! Are you sure you’re not a Lan with all this...meditating and quietly enjoying nature that you like to do?”

“Yes, I’m definitely a Wen,” he chuckles as he folds the letter up and tucks it into his sleeve. “My aunt says that we have to take good care of ourselves to be able to most effectively heal others, and meditation is good for you. The Lan Sect are masters at it, their lessons are extremely beneficial, and this weather is perfect for it.”

Ouyang Zizhen is grumbling something about how girls are extra flirty when the weather’s nice like this, and that Caiyi is apparently full of pretty girls just waiting to be flirted with, when a cheerful call suddenly rings out through the little field.

“Aiyah - Lan Zhan!! Look at these awful children stealing our favorite picnic spot!” Ouyang Zizhen scrambles to sit up and Wen Sizhui glances further up the ridge to see Wei Wuxian standing there with a wide grin and with his hands on his hips, Lan Wangji a silent pillar of icy white beside him.

“Wei-Qianbei!” Ouyang Zizhen squeaks, already nervous - it had become clear to the other three soon after the Ouyang heir had joined their friend group that authority figures make him nervous and they’ve been trying to help him with it, but it’s slow-going somewhere as tradition-bound as Cloud Recesses. 

“Hello Wei-Qianbei, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Sizhui greets politely for both of them, getting to his feet and helping Ouyang Zizhen to his so they can bow as the two men approach, though Wei Wuxian reaches them first by a long shot.

“What are two fine young gentlemen like yourselves doing hiding out in the back hills on such a nice day?” Wei Wuxian teases with narrowed eyes, a playful grin already tipping up the corners of his mouth.

“I was reading a letter from my aunt and Zizhen was keeping me company,” Wen Sizhui supplies before any assumptions can be made - he knows if anyone will jump to the most embarrassing assumptions it’ll be Wei Wuxian, even if he’s just doing it to tease.

“Ahh Wen Qing! How is she these days? Still terrifying?” Wei Wuxian laughs as Lan Wangji draws level with them - he had taken a much more sedate pace than his husband’s energetic bounding and sliding down the hillside to get to where the two teenagers are set up for their quiet afternoon.

“It depends on what frightens you, Wei-Qianbei,” Wen Sizhui replies sweetly with his most guileless smile. Between one blink and the next he’s got three long needles between his fingers, withdrawn from a pocket in his sleeve, and Wei Wuxian yelps, instantly ducking back a pace to half-hide behind Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Oohhhh I do not like how much you remind me of her!” he laughs, eyes bright. “Aiyah, put those away, Wen-gongzi! No one’s sick here, no need for your needles, put them away!”

Wen Sizhui tucks the needles back into his sleeve smoothly, still smiling. Ouyang Zizhen has, thankfully, relaxed marginally where he’s standing next to him. It’s difficult to be afraid of a man who goes around hiding behind his husband because of a silly little thing like a needle. 

“Wen-Zongzhu sends her greetings to both of you along with a...not very gentle reminder that it is your turn to visit her in Dafan this year as she and Uncle Ning have visited you in your travels the past two years in a row,” he reports dutifully once Wei Wuxian has righted himself and straightened out his robes.

“Ah such a filial boy, passing along your Aunt’s messages! And I appreciate that you didn’t quote her word-for-word as I’m assuming there were threats involved,” Wei Wuxian praises with a grin and a nudge of his elbow against Lan Wangji, who’s watching their conversation with his usual stoicism. “I’ll write her back myself though, don’t worry about it. And Lan Zhan and I will find another spot to while away our afternoon, go back to enjoying yourselves!” 

Wen Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen stay standing even after parting salutes have been exchanged, the pair of them turning in place to watch Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji continue on their way further into the hill, hands subtly linked under the trailing material of their sleeves. Ouyang Zizhen eventually sighs again and drops back down into his spot to continue assaulting the poor flower he’s still picking apart, but Wen Sizhui can’t resist watching the pair of them a few moments longer. 

They make for a striking couple, he’ll readily admit that much. The both of them are tall and broad-shouldered, Lan Wangji just slightly more so in both aspects. While Wei Wuxian’s dark wardrobe is a jarring contrast amongst the rest of the Lan Sect while in Cloud Recesses, out here in the mountain with no one around him but Lan Wangji they just look like two halves of a whole, light and dark, evenly matched. The tips of Lan Wangji’s silver guan glint in the sun, Wei Wuxian’s worn and time-dark leather band around the base of his ponytail its humble but equally elegant opposite.

Just before the pair has completely disappeared from sight between the trees, he sees them pause to embrace, Lan Wangji’s arms curling around Wei Wuxian’s waist and Wei Wuxian’s arms around his husband’s neck. He blushes slightly and averts his eyes to give them the privacy they seem to think they have and he returns to his seat next to Ouyang Zizhen, who sighs again but this time it sounds different. When Wen Sizhui glances down at him it’s to find a slightly dreamy expression on his face.

“Imagine having such gentlemen for uncles,” he supplies for an explanation when he notices Wen Sizhui looking at him curiously. “Jin Ling has nearly every major Sect Leader and Heir in his immediate family tree, do you think he’s immune to that...aura they all have around them by now?”

“You should ask him when he and Lan Jingyi get back,” Wen Sizhui teases with a smile, well aware by now of how such a question would be received by their prickly friend. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to answer yet more questions about his uncles.”

“A more important question to irritate the Young Mistress with is if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s love story is true.” 

“That depends on what version of it you’ve heard,” Wen Sizhui laughs as he gives up on any further meditation for the day and lays down in the grass beside his friend, eyes closed against the bright blue of the summer sky overhead. “All I’ve heard is the short version from my aunt, and she’s not what anyone would call a romantic - at least not that I’ve seen. Tell me the story?”

Ouyang Zizhen takes to telling it with relish, embellishing so many mundane things with such overly poetic language and dramatic sighs that Wen Sizhui can’t help but laugh occasionally, in the hazy way people laugh when they’re warm and content in the grass with a soft breeze stirring the scent of magnolias through the air.

By the time their friends find them in the evening Wen Sizhui has been treated to as many stories as Ouyang Zizhen can think to tell - romantic ones, funny ones, even folk tales he tells his sisters to help them sleep at night. Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling join them with little fanfare and only a little bit of roughhousing, and Wen Sizhui basks in both the golden hour and the presence of these boys who have somehow, over the course of mere weeks, become his closest friends.

----

“Why the pout so early in the morning, Young Mistress?” Lan Jingyi yawns behind his hand a few days later as Jin Ling joins the rest of them on the path to breakfast in the main dining hall for all the students. 

“Uncle Ji stopped me to talk on my way out the door,” he replies around a yawn of his own, not even rising to the obvious bait of Lan Jingyi’s favorite nickname for him.

“What did he want to say?” Wen Sizhui prompts, genuinely curious to know what someone as aloof as Lan Wangji would want to say to his nephew at 6 in the morning that would also make said nephew so grumpy.

“ ‘Dinner’,” Jin Ling replies in such a good imitation of Lan Wangji’s cool, dispassionate tone that Ouyang Zizhen snorts. 

“That’s it?” Lan Jingyi grumbles, likely irritated even by the prospect of being approached so early in the morning for something so simple.

“Yeah? He doesn’t usually say much if he doesn’t have to. It means he wants me to come have dinner with him and Uncle Xian tonight, probably so they can ask me how things are going with my classes.”

“And you just...know that. From one word.” The skepticism dripping from Lan Jingyi’s tone is too thick to be missed. Jin Ling makes a rude gesture in his direction.

“Yes, stupid. I’ve known him my whole life, of course I know how to talk to him, and my little brother talks like that too. Don’t judge me just because you’re too dumb to figure out what people are trying to say without it being spelled out for you.” 

Lan Jingyi makes a half-hearted grab for him as if to pull him into a headlock and Ouyang Zizhen whines, shoving them both in different directions. “It’s too early for you two to start this, just drop it,” he pouts and Wen Sizhui is in full agreement with that. He doesn’t mind waking early, he actually enjoys it now that he’s used to it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to put up with his friends wrestling in the middle of Cloud Recesses when he could be eating breakfast. 

“Is it strange for you to be attending lectures knowing that so much of your family is nearby when the rest of us are far from ours?” Wen Sizhui asks mainly to keep everyone awake and paying attention once the roughhousing has officially been put on hold and they’re all back to shuffling blearily along and yawning behind their hands as they go. 

“Not really,” Jin Ling shrugs. “They’ve all been good about giving me space like any other disciple. I probably have Uncle Ji to thank for that, the rest of them are...clingy. Besides, pretty much everywhere I go I’m related to somebody. You get used to it.”

Wen Sizhui startles as Ouyang Zizhen nudges him in the side with a bony elbow and he glances at his friend first to see what he wants before following his gaze. The four of them stumble to a clumsy halt and dip into bows as they realize they’ve come face to face with Lan Xichen walking in the opposite direction back towards the residences, a basket from the kitchens in hand. 

“Zewu-Jun,” they all greet and Lan Xichen smiles as he finishes closing the distance between them to return their bows with a nod - Wen Sizhui is determined to find out how the Lans (well..perhaps minus Lan Jingyi) can manage to turn every movement into something so regal.

“Wen-gongzi, Ouyang-gongzi, Lan Jingyi, A-Ling. I hope your morning is going well,” he greets in return, voice warm.

“Yes Zewu-Jun,” they chorus, only Lan Jingyi ruins it a bit with another wide yawn. Thankfully Lan Xichen just chuckles with what seems like understanding.

“I will not keep you from your breakfasts, then, nor would my husbands appreciate a delay in ours. A-Ling, shall I pass your greetings on to them?” There’s a distinct note of teasing under the polite question and Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen both stifle snorts behind their hands. Jin Ling, for once, has the grace to just sigh, seeming momentarily resigned to his lot in life.

“Yes Uncle Chen,” he mumbles, his attitude only making Lan Xichen smile wider. They exchange another round of salutes and step past each other, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen instantly pulling further ahead. Wen Sizhui glances over his shoulder in time to see Lan Xichen pause to give Jin Ling a pat on the shoulder and murmur something quietly just for him, both of which Jin Ling accepts with an affectionate smile that transforms his whole face. For all that Jin Ling bemoans his truly convoluted family situation to his friends, Wen Sizhui thinks that, if it were him, it would be nice to know that he’s loved no matter where he goes - and looking at the smile on his friend’s face, he realizes it might be possible that he feels the same. 

Jin Ling turns forward again to catch him looking and Wen Sizhui expects him to bluster and fuss at him to hide the moment of vulnerability, but instead all he does is blush a bit and duck his head, that pleased little smile still on his face, and step forward to join him so they can finish walking to the dining hall in peaceful quiet.

----

“A-Ling! Hey!!”

“Oh gods it’s Uncle day,” the nephew in question sighs with a roll of his eyes, tipping his head back as if the sky will have any reprieve to offer him from the affections of his family. 

“Three out of five before lunch, that’s a decent lead going into the afternoon,” Ouyang Zizhen remarks with a put-upon accent and mannerisms, both of which Lan Jingyi instantly copies, stroking an imaginary beard as he leans his shoulder against Ouyang Zizhen’s and tips his head back to look down the length of his nose at Jin Ling.

“Indeed, will the Young Mistress attempt a full score today? It’s a tricky feat, but it seems the uncles themselves are more than willing to help by seeking Young Mistress out whenever he dares to step foot outside.”

“Shut up you two,” Jin Ling hisses as Wen Sizhui laughs into his sleeve. “You’re so annoying!”

“Shall we count the Great Uncles as double points if they make an appearance as well?” Lan Jingyi addresses the question to Ouyang Zizhen, ignoring Jin Ling entirely save for a hand raised in his face to block his angry glaring.

“No, at least triple, I would say. Sizhui?”

“Four points each for Great Uncles, they are both a rare sighting out in the wild,” he supplies dutifully, as serene as ever as Jin Ling splutters and starts throwing punches - not at him, never at him, which Wen Sizhui would be lying if he said he hasn’t noticed. 

“Ah ah, hey!” Wei Wuxian laughs as he draws up next to them to put a restraining hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder. “While I fully support fighting while you’re young you’re supposed to save it for your enemies!”

“They are my enemies,” Jin Ling grumbles as Wei Wuxian waves off the attempts of the other three to stand and bow.

“Don’t get up, don’t get up! Aiyah your manners are too good, all of you. Where are yours, A-Ling?” Lan Jingyi’s eyes and grin both go wide with pure, mischievous delight as Wei Wuxian ruffles his free hand in Jin Ling’s hair, making him squawk and duck away from his grip. 

“Da-jiu!!” Jin Ling snaps as Wei Wuxian throws his head back to laugh. 

“Hush A-Ling, you can’t expect me to believe you haven’t missed getting teased by an uncle this last month since you left home, I’m just filling in for Mo Xuanyu! I have to go set up to teach the babies their archery basics so I’ll be on my way, but Lan Zhan asked you to come have dinner with us this evening, yes?”

“Yes,” Jin Ling mutters, still looking mutinous.

“Good! The invitation is actually for all four of you, I realized he probably didn’t make that clear.” Wen Sizhui looks up at that, surprise written as clearly on his face as it is on Ouyang Zizhen’s and Lan Jingyi’s. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” Wei Wuxian laughs.

“In the Jingshi? With you and Hanguang-Jun?” Lan Jingyi pipes up, looking starstruck.

“Of course! It’ll be nice, Lan Zhan’s going to cook and I’m going to sneak behind him and spice things properly. We want to see A-Ling and we thought it would be nice to have all of you over together since you’ve become such good friends.”

“Of course, Wei-qianbei,” Wen Sizhui replies with a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, we will be happy to accept.”

“Great! So polite! Jin Ling is so lucky to have such examples of gentlemanly behavior to learn from,” Wei Wuxian teases, ducking away from Jin Ling’s weak punch in his direction with another laugh. He offers them a jaunty parting salute before stepping back onto the main path.

“I’m telling er-jiu that you messed with me so he can come kick your ass!” Jin Ling shouts after his retreating back. Wei Wuxian just laughs again and waves a hand without even bothering to look back at them.

“Hey - Jin-gongzi,” Lan Jingyi says once Wei Wuxian has turned the corner and is out of sight. He smirks when Jin Ling turns to give him a wary look. “No shouting in Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Sizhui has to stand up and back away from the table to avoid several flailing limbs as Jin Ling goes in for a tackle, and he’s glad that the four of them had chosen to study far away from the main teaching pavilions as his laughter and his friends’ playful shouts echo off the trees around them.

----

“Lan Zhaaaan!” Wei Wuxian’s whining is audible as soon as the four junior disciples step through the gate that leads to the yard surrounding the Jingshi that evening. “Come on, they’ve been eating nothing but boring Lan food for a month! I’m sure they’ll appreciate some spice and flavor!”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s quiet admonishment is only audible because their doors are already thrown open to the warm summer breeze.

“Okay fine, we can set out the chili oil and let them decide for themselves. But we already know that A-Ling will want it! Just let me spice my bowl and his at least!”

Wen Sizhui glances at Jin Ling to try to gauge his reaction but the back of his head doesn’t offer any answers. It feels strange to even be anywhere near the private home of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, let alone to approach it with the intention to go inside, but Jin Ling clearly feels right at home doing so - and leading his three friends to do so as well.

“Da-jiu!” he shouts now while they’re still crossing the yard and there’s a clatter from inside the house shortly followed by Wei Wuxian bounding up to the threshold to grin at them.

“A-Ling! My favorite first nephew!” he cries, flinging one arm wide. He seems, if possible, even more energetic than when he can be seen flitting around the public spaces of Cloud Recesses.

“You say that all the time, da-jiu, and it never stops being ridiculous.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me A-Ling, you look just like your er-jiu when you do that, it’s creepy! Come in, come in, all four of you. Lan Zhan’s just finishing dinner.”

The four of them troop into the house and Wen Sizhui tries not to look around the space quite as obviously as Lan Jingyi is doing, but he can’t help but be curious. Their hosts at least don’t seem to notice, or if they do they don’t mind. Jin Ling gestures for them to settle at a table and begins to pour tea for them all as Wei Wuxian flits back to his husband’s side at the hearth on the other end of the main room.

“Where’s A-Xiao?” Jin Ling asks his uncles once the four of them are all settled in with tea and the silence threatens to creep in, thick and heavy. “My cousin,” he supplies quietly to the rest of them at the table.

“Dormitories,” Lan Wangji replies, his deep, steady voice instantly soothing some of the awkwardness curling through Wen Sizhui’s chest.

“Oh. When did he start taking classes with everyone else?” 

“Two months ago, right after we gave him his courtesy name and his ribbon. He’s Lan Xiafeng now, so you know just in case you run into him, but it’s taking him a while to get used to it,” Wei Wuxian supplies as he starts bringing finished dishes over to the table with surprisingly good balance. “Honestly he’s been ready for his formal studies for longer than that from a teacher’s standpoint, but we wanted him to choose when to move to the dormitories and begin his lessons with everyone else. He’d love to see you sometime if you can spare him a minute, though,” he continues. Wen Sizhui wonders if he should feel uncomfortable that they’re discussing family business in front of them and a glance at Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen proves that they’re looking similarly at a loss.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji calls without looking up from whatever he’s stirring and Wei Wuxian immediately flaps his hands a bit (thankfully he’s not still holding any dishes when he does it). “Guests.”

“Aiyah, I know Lan Zhan, but A-Ling asked! But of course you’re right anyway, enough family talk,” he sighs as he plops down at one of the two remaining place settings to grin at all of them. “I may mostly teach the babies these days but I remember what it was like both to take and teach the lessons you four are in. Tell me about them, come on! Don’t be shy.”

Lan Wangji brings the rest of the dishes over in silence over the next few minutes as Jin Ling practically bullies Wen Sizhui, Ouyang Zizhen, and Lan Jingyi out of their nervousness to get them talking. It doesn’t take too long before Wei Wuxian’s natural charisma and questions have the conversation flowing more freely, even once they begin eating. Wen Sizhui notices about halfway through the meal that Lan Wangji seems to uphold the Lan rule of no speaking during meals - even when Wei Wuxian tries to get him to offer up an opinion or a potential solution to whatever scenario they’re discussing - but at the same time he makes no move to stop the others from chatting, not even Lan Jingyi.

He studies Lan Wangji as subtly as he can in glances and out of the corners of his eyes, looking for the things that Jin Ling had told them about that afternoon in preparation for dinner. Jin Ling had sworn that if you look close enough, Lan Wangji’s face is actually very expressive, much more so than he seems from a distance, and that his expressions can help with decoding what he says when he hardly uses words. ‘It’s just a matter of knowing what to look for and paying enough attention to spot it’, Jin Ling had said with all the confidence that comes from a lifetime of prior experience, as if it should be that easy for everyone else.

It takes most of the remainder of the meal for Wen Sizhui to begin to see it. Lan Jingyi has relaxed enough to start teasing everyone at the table (well, everyone who’s not Lan Wangji) and something he has just said makes Wei Wuxian throw his head back and laugh. While the eye would normally be drawn to Wei Wuxian’s boisterous character, Wen Sizhui glances at Lan Wangji beside the other man just in time to spot the ghost of a smile on his lips and the way his eyebrows relax marginally out of their perpetually stern set, somehow managing to soften not only his eyes but his entire countenance. It’s such a small, subtle change, but now that he’s noticed it he can’t help but feel like Lan Wangji is...glowing. Practically radiating silent contentment, like a cat sleeping curled in a beam of summer sunshine or on a hearth in front of a fire in the winter.

Wen Sizhui is still staring (on accident) when Lan Wangji turns his head and meets his eyes, his smile somehow managing to gentle even further until it becomes so unexpectedly tender that Wen Sizhui can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed for getting caught looking. He offers his own smile back, an easy slip of a thing that feels right at home on his lips, and after a long moment Lan Wangji breaks the contact with a nod and a return of his gaze back to his husband at his side.

Wen Sizhui returns to the conversation at hand - something about talisman theory that is being hotly debated between Wei Wuxian, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen (who has also apparently relaxed in response to Wei Wuxian’s gregariousness). The conversation continues to fly quickly for the rest of the evening - witty and loud and fun - until they have to leave to make it back to their dorms for curfew.

They say their goodbyes and their thank you’s on the threshold of the porch and then step out of the warm light of the Jingshi into the dark hum of the evening, Wen Sizhui trailing behind his friends still chatting and laughing amongst themselves. At the last moment, he can’t quite resist turning to glance over his shoulder one more time, back towards the comfortable home tucked unobtrusively into its little copse of bamboo.

The sight of the warmly lit silhouettes of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian standing in the door to their home, Wei Wuxian leaning against his husband’s side with his head on his shoulder, imprints itself instantly into his mind like the bold strokes of a painting. He raises one hand in a tentative wave and instantly receives one in return from Wei Wuxian.

For propriety’s sake, he’s willing to pretend not to hear the gentle, “Be good, A-Yuan,” that follows after him onto the path, Lan Wangji’s mellow tones turning the goodbye into something so soft that it feels like a hug. Maybe, Wen Sizhui supposes as he gets ready for bed in the room he shares with Jin Ling a few minutes later, he’s loved here too.

[lassostark]

Summary:

Jaskier has a secret. Well, he has two.

The first is that he's in love with Geralt Rivia, captain of the rugby team and his childhood best friend. Only, they're no longer best friends. His second secret is that he writes Geralt poetry and anonymously posts it at the school's Freedom Wall under the pseudonym of Dandelion. And the thing is, Dandelion has become so popular - more popular than Jaskier - that it's getting more difficult to keep his silence when it's clear that Geralt is starting to develop feelings for the mysterious lovesick poet.

How naïve was Jaskier to think that it would be so easy.

Excerpt:

Dear Heart,

You’re the moon And the world is a lonely wolf; It cries at the sight of you For you are glorious And so out of reach.

Yours, Dandelion

~

“Ooh, another one from Dandelion!”

“Wha— really?”

“Where?”

“Move over, let me read!”

“That’s the second time this week! They’re being productive, eh?”

“Has anybody told Rivia yet? Oh, wait there’s— Triss! Hey! Have you seen Geralt?”

“I just got in, Duny. What is it?”

“Dandelion posted another poem at the wall.”

“Bloody hell, they’re on a roll.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Piss off, Chireadan. Nobody asked you.”

“Okay, Geralt just replied ‘on my way’. Where’s the poem?”

“It’s up there, the blue circle post-it.”

“… Oh. That’s quite painful.”

“I know.”

“They’re pining so hard they could build a forest.”

There’s a collective sigh of exasperation.

“Again, Chireadan: piss off.”

~

Jaskier slings his bag over his shoulder and closes his locker with a soft thud before going the opposite direction where the small crowd is forming in front of The Freedom Wall.

When he was in freshman year, the bulletin first gained popularity after the student council during that year proposed it to the school as a way to encourage freedom of expression amongst its students in Morhen Academy. Since then, the school never took the bulletin off, and it gradually became a safe space for students to express their thoughts, opinions, as well as anonymously divulge their secrets and desires. For Jaskier, who’s now in his last year of high school, utilising The Freedom Wall for the past year and a half as a means to share his poetry without compromising his identity has become both a blessing and a curse.

It’s a blessing because he can write and post his poetry while his identity remains safe, having come up with the moniker of Dandelion after his favourite flower. Not that anyone would think to guess it’s him. Nobody knows that Jaskier is a lovesick poet, that he has filled out dozens and dozens of pages of writing he hasn’t shared to anyone. Until that fateful day.

It’s a curse because while he pours his heart out into his notebook with prose and verses, some carrying a tune more than others — it’s not like it’ll make the object of his (albeit secret) affections notice Jaskier. Even if he puts up a large neon sign over his head, there’s just no way Geralt Rivia, resident captain of the Morhen Wolves rugby team, would look twice at him and think that those pretty words written for him could ever come from someone like Jaskier.

There’s just no way.

He’s been setting himself up for disappointment and heartbreak from the start, he knows that. He’s more than aware of that fact. But let it not be said that Jaskier Pankratz has always had a dreadful habit of hurting himself further.

Jaskier grows up with two parents and two older siblings. One of his early memories about his parents is that they always fought, and his siblings always bullied him just because he was the youngest.

Jaskier is six when he made his first friend.

He and one Geralt Rivia became inseparable after Geralt pushed their classmate Valdo Marx on the playground after he shoved Jaskier to get to the swing first.

They played together, had recess together. Some weekends, they would sleepover at each other’s place, though Jaskier preferred staying over at Geralt’s because he was scared that if his best friend heard his parents fight, then Geralt wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore.

Jaskier is nine when his parents separated.

He and Geralt still have sleepovers, but it’s Jaskier who often stays at his best friend’s place. He also adores Geralt’s mum. Visenna Rivia being an excellent baker and never failing to indulge the young boys’ every whim.

~

It’s later in the week and Jaskier has sequestered himself in his usual corner at the cafeteria. His packed lunch has always been the same since freshman year. The sandwich of the week (it’s tuna this time), a pear (it varies, sometimes it’s an apple, sometimes it’s grapes), and a juice box and bottled water.

He likes the quiet. Prefers it, really. But sometimes he’ll be joined by a couple of his friends. Chireadan, Renfri, Shani, and Priscilla are the ones who frequent his table at the corner. Triss, who’s Jaskier’s lab partner this year, as well as Duny and Pavetta, join him on occasion. But most of the time, Jaskier has the table to himself. And he’s perfectly fine with it, too.

With his creative mind, all he needs is his brown leather-bound notebook and favourite pen, and it’s more than enough. It should be.

Jaskier is munching on his pear while fiddling with a torn bracelet he’s decided to use as a bookmark for his notebook when he hears boisterous laughter across the cafeteria. He looks up, only to see the rugby team on the long table they pushed together in the middle of the area to accommodate the dozen players that make up the Morhen Wolves. They’re talking animatedly, voices loud and piercing, while others throw food at each other.

And right in the middle of it is Geralt Rivia. He’s one of the only people there who’s seated calmly, although Jaskier can see that small, upwards twitch on the corner of his mouth. The only indication that the silver-haired captain finds the whole thing amusing. Jaskier’s heart aches in that moment.

Then suddenly, Geralt looks up from his conversation with Eskel to meet Jaskier’s eyes.

Shit, Jaskier curses himself. He averts his eyes and ducks his head instead, cursing himself further when he feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment at being caught.

He forces himself to focus on his leather-bound notebook, jotting down a few lines for a new song he has in mind. All the while, he continues to fiddle with the bracelet.

~

On Geralt’s tenth birthday, Jaskier gifted his best friend a drawing of the two of them. Before discovering his love for writing, Jaskier was a pretty decent artist, so he carefully drew a mountain with the sun rising behind it, two figures — one with chestnut hair and one with dark grey — standing beside each other on a forked road before them.

“Why is it forked?” Geralt asks Jaskier with a curious tilt of his head.

Jaskier shrugs. “I thought it looked nice. Why draw one road when you can draw two, right? And besides, that way you can choose which path to take!”

Geralt frowns. “But what if you don’t want to go in the same direction as me?”

“Don’t be silly, I’d follow you anywhere! You’re my best friend!”

“Well, I’d follow you, too.”

The two young boys share grins, and they only get up when Geralt’s mum calls them for dinner.

~

It’s the middle of November now, and since Jaskier started posting his poetry on The Freedom Wall near the end of second year, he always arrives at the school earlier than usual to put up the post-it at the bulletin.

There’s nobody in sight, the hallways void of students and teachers alike. Luckily, the bulletin is only a few feet away from his locker, which is also near the boy’s toilet. So in case he hears anyone approaching, Jaskier can make a quick escape.

Checking that the coast is clear and he can’t hear any footsteps approaching, Jaskier swiftly takes out the yellow rectangle post-it from between the pages of his notebook. Using one of the coloured thumb tacks pinned to the bulletin, Jaskier goes on his tip toes to pin the note to the upper right corner. Satisfied, he straightens with a huff of breath and takes a moment to scan the other messages posted, eyes landing on other anonymous writings pinned in the bulletin.

“My parents are getting a divorce. I might move schools next term. I don’t want to go.”

“I came out to my family last night over dinner, and for the first time I saw my dad cry. He’s a lawyer, and I can’t even remember the last time we had a heart-to-heart. But he hugged me and told me he loved me.”

“Sure, this school has a zero tolerance for bullying. But what if it’s ourselves we’re bullying? Sometimes, I’m scared of my own thoughts.”

“FUCK HOMOPHOBIA. FUCK RACISM. FUCK ISLAMOPHOBIA. FREEDOM FOR ALL!!!”

“What if one day you wake up and you find that you’re the person you’ve always wanted to be? What would you do?”

“The cafeteria needs to revamp their menu. There’s only so much baked fucking potato I can consume in a goddamn week.”

“This country isn’t for me. As an immigrant, I don’t feel like I belong. But then I remember where I came from, where my family suffered for years of poverty and oppression. And that’s when the gratitude comes. How can I be so selfish when my parents sacrificed so much for my sisters, just so we can be safe and have a bright future?”

“Anyone got any guesses who Dandelion is?”

A bubble of surprised laughter erupts from Jaskier upon reading the last one. He purses his lips and reads it a second time, eyes attentively going over the spidery scrawl of the letters. He’s half tempted to take it down, but Jaskier knows he can’t. No student is allowed to remove or discard anything that’s posted at The Freedom Wall. Nobody except the teachers and caretakers, who clear out the massive bulletin drilled into the wall every week.

Some part of Jaskier twinges in sorrow every time he sees his writing, though anonymous, be discarded so carelessly like yesterday’s leftovers. Once it’s out there, it’s never really gone, though. His words are immortalised elsewhere. What he chooses to share is only a fragment, a sliver, of the deeper parts of Jaskier’s heart.

He only ever posts at the bulletin for one person, anyway.

~

Dear Heart,

The universe is a brilliant writer; It wrote your name in my stars Before any of us existed So when the time comes They’ll light up your path — And lead you straight to me.

Yours, Dandelion

~

Like everyone, Jaskier is walking briskly to his next class, which happens to be AP English Literature. He’s adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, mumbling to himself about purchasing a new one that weekend. He’s fixing the zipper of his bag when he rounds the next corner, only to collide hard with a solid body.

“Oomf!”

Jaskier hits the ground on his arse. His bag, halfway open, spills the contents between him and the person he bumped into.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” a gruff voice says above him, sounding just as shocked.

Jaskier stiffens, belated realising that the figure he collided with didn’t even move from the spot. Slowly, he raises his head to meet Geralt’s golden eyes.

Swallowing past the dryness he suddenly finds lodged in his throat, Jaskier quickly stammers, “I-it’s fine!” He clears his throat. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t see you. Was a bit occupied wrestling with my stupid bag.”

“It’s fine,” Geralt replies in that same gruff voice, although his tone is soft.

He looks away from Geralt’s eyes, unable to hold his piercing gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. It’s akin to looking directly at the sun, and Jaskier, who’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, fears that if he stares too long that Geralt will see something he doesn’t want to see. So instead, Jaskier focuses on gathering his books, notebooks, and pens scattered on the deserted hallway.

Wait. Deserted? Since when?

Ah, fuck. It doesn’t matter.

Jaskier is shoving his History book into his bag when he feels more than sees Geralt crouch in front of him. He wordlessly passes Jaskier some of his pens, which he accepts with a mumbled “thank you”. When he catches sight of Geralt clutching a brown, leather-bound notebook in his large hands, Jaskier feels his heart stop.

His eyes drift from the notebook to the rough-looking hands, and up to the chiseled features of Geralt’s handsome face. And he is. Handsome. Breathtakingly beautiful, with his sharp jawline and the high cheekbones. Full lips that are dry but look soft at the same time, an odd juxtaposition in Jaskier’s humble opinion.

Geralt is still looking at the notebook, Jaskier notes, thick fingers slowly stroking the spine as golden eyes study the initials embossed on the front cover.

“You’re finally using it,” Geralt comments, thumb lightly stroking the thin leather cord that keeps the notebook closed.

Jaskier gulps inaudibly. Give it back, give it back. Please.

“I’ve been using it for years,” he reveals quietly. Jaskier shrugs when Geralt looks up to meet his eyes. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him before he snorts softly and — thank god — finally hands it back to Jaskier. He more or less snatches it from the other man, careful not to let their fingers graze.

“It’s not like I always have my eyes on you,” Geralt eventually says.

Jaskier finally zips his bag closed, and they rise up from their crouched positions. Jaskier opens his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, but stops himself when the words register to him.

He tilts his head at Geralt. “Does this mean you sometimes have your eyes on me?”

Geralt blinks, and he looks startled for a moment that Jaskier can’t help but chuckle. It’s so easy to push his buttons, Jaskier has almost forgotten how much fun he used to have getting a rise out of Geralt.

“That’s not— I don’t—”

“Relax, Geralt. I was only teasing.”

Geralt shuts his mouth, looking nonplussed.

“Hmm.”

Oh, he’s definitely missed that, Jaskier thinks with a pang. His earlier mirth recedes, amused smile fading from his face.

They stand in front of each other in awkward silence. Jaskier fixes the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he fixes his eyes on his black Converse shoes.

Geralt clears his throat.

“Thanks, er, for the help,” Jaskier states. He chances a glance up and fights down a flinch when he sees Geralt already looking at him.

“Sure,” Geralt acknowledges with a nod, his expression pinched.

Jaskier thinks he looks a cross between constipated and freaked out. Could be a bit of both, who knows?

“So. I’m gonna go. I have AP English.”

Geralt nods again.

“AP Biology for me.”

“Okay. Er. Bye.”

“… Bye.”

It’s with an awkward wave, and a more awkward smile, that Jaskier walks past Geralt to turn the corner and get to class. Which he’s already a minute late for, fuck.

If his heart is hammering against his ribcage, and his palms happen to be sweaty and his cheeks flushed pink, Jaskier convinces himself it’s because he hightailed it across the hallway in record time to avoid getting detention from Ms. Tissaia.

Yeah. That’s why. It’s because he ran.

(Read the rest on AO3)

[dormarunt]

Pretending to be brothers please?

This was also the first prompt we got, from @wedgeantill, it said "Hello. 7, please? With Sergio 🙏" . @nharidy requested this one too, so here we go! (with Sergio) Thank you for the asks! <3 ----- “So her chauffeur drove you two to a mansion with guards and cameras, and none of that tipped you off that she might be— someone’s someone? Imagine if she was his wife.”

“Her relation to our seller is irrelevant,” chips in Sergio from his side of the table. He’s still doing calculations - on paper, which Martín low-key admired - but always manages to keep a portion of his brain open just for listening in. “As long as he doesn’t see Andrés tonight - or any other night until we leave town, for that matter - the deal can still go through.”

Martín only gives Sergio the smallest eye-roll since he clearly wasn’t part of that conversation, then focuses back on Andrés.

“Wait, I have to ask, would her sister have taken you to the same place? Where did she go for the night? I remember you said you only went home with one of them.”

“Yes, the youngest - Adelina. Her older sister has her own condo uptown.”

“Kinda wish I’d gone with a non-prime; that way you wouldn’t have done your chauffeured drive-of-shame right past her father who was coming home that the morning.”

“How was I supposed to know who her father was?”

“Had you looked through his file before, you would have seen a picture of that exact mansion and presumably would have told the nice lady, before getting under that guy’s roof and defiling his daughter, that you had a migraine or a sudden pull to asceticism.”

“The situation is salvageable,” says Sergio, finally setting his pen down and giving Martin his full attention - he didn’t particularly want it to begin with, but now that he has it, he finally looks his way. “Do you need a refresher on our order or any of the items therein?”

“No, and I’d love it if we talked more about ‘the situation’ and how it basically boils down to Andrés’ dick getting us all in trouble - again.”

“I don’t see how talking about it some more would bring anything new to the table. The situation, as I’ve said before, is salvageable - as long as this evening, you pretend to be my brother.”

‘The Situation’ is what Sergio also called the arrangement that his brother and Martín had, on the rare occasions when he was forced to acknowledge it. This is the most he’s talked about it ever, even as obliquely as he had, but Martín isn’t ready to let it drop just yet.

***

“I need you to help me pick.”

“What?” Martín takes the phone from his ear and is temporarily rendered blind by the bright screen. It’s almost 2 AM. He had been dreaming.

Andrés’ voice barely comes through a loud beat - he’s in a club, by the sound of it. He’d mentioned something about an art gallery, but knowing Andrés’ preferred age range in women, he was bound to land in a club before he ended up in someone’s bed.

“Pick a number - one, or two?”

“Andrés, it’s two in the morning, what are you talking about? Weren’t you supposed to be in bed with some redhead?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m trying—” The music blasts louder for a while, and then Andrés’ voice comes through once again. “She has a sister.”

Martín’s eyes are getting accustomed to the darkness and he’s fixated on a small polygon of light that the drapes let through. Of course the girl would have a sister, he sighs and instinctively pinches the bridge of his nose, because Andrés lives life on the narrow edge between a high-class porno and a cheap erotic novel.

With a streak of bisexuality and a boyfriend that isn’t opposed to letting him indulge.

(Martín indulges too.)

He’s no expert in the fairer sex - only in the hairier - so numbers are sufficient information for him to make a choice.

“Okay, two. You know I love prime numbers.”

“I do,” comes Andrés’ voice, the smile on his lips still audible. “Thanks. I’ll try to not wake you up in the morning. Love you.”

The line goes quiet and Martín tosses his phone on the bedside table. He’s fully awake now but nothing can put him to sleep faster than an orgasm, so he gets a hand in his boxers and tries to conjure the right mix of images in his mind that can get him there.

No, not Andrés and two redheads. Or one.

***

“Are you sure you never gave her your name?”

“Of course I’m sure. The young lady went home with Pablo Garcia.”

“I guess it could be worse, you could have had a go at their safe while in there.”

“I’m not saying it didn’t cross my mind, but there were guards and cameras. I was drunk and horny, not stupid.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time your dick put us all in danger, though.”

“We’re not in danger,” cut in Sergio yet again - just as Martín almost managed to forget that he was there. “The seller has no way of knowing what the real Andrés de Fonollosa looks like.”

He was right, and they were lucky that Sergio took research as seriously as he did, saving them of a potentially awkward - if not dangerous - meeting. Just the two of them, and a weapons dealer with armed muscle. It’s not all Sergio’s merit though.

“See? That’s why I insist that we don’t get caught - you wouldn’t want your face and your real name out there.”

“Surely that can’t be the main reason,” Sergio insisted on being part of the conversation. He reserved the best of snark for Andrés - no doubt a sibling thing - but sometimes he channeled it to Martín as well, and he did not appreciate it at all.

“I’m just saying,” he resumes, “imagine if your face was out there.”

“But it isn’t, so this is your lucky day - you get to play me for a whole afternoon of wonder and weaponry.”

“You’ll need some basic information in case they ask questions—” starts Sergio, leaning back in his chair to look at Martín.

“Wait, ask questions? What, about us being brothers? Do you expect a quiz?”

“You need to be prepared. You may know Andrés - or a side of him, at least - but you don’t know some more— intimate details. No,” one of his fingers flies up, “not that kind of intimate. About us growing up. Our history, our families.”

“So you’re expecting a quiz.”

“I’m expecting us to pass for brothers, if that becomes in any way a point of conversation.”

“I honestly can’t see any scenario in which they’d ask about anecdotes from our youth to ascertain whether we’re real siblings or merely pretending.”

***

“You don’t look alike at all.”

Literally the first thing the arms dealer says to them.

Sergio’s face turns from steely and determined to seething in 0.1 seconds flat. Of course, the guy wouldn’t be able to decipher it since Sergio just looks like Sergio to the untrained eye, but Martín can tell.

He doesn’t waste a second before taking the lead.

“Our dad liked to fuck a lot.”

[skgway]

1823 Aug., Tues. 12

5 3/4

11 55/60

3/4 hour in the stable and about – For about a couple of hours before breakfast looking over the Itinerary of our craven excursion and volume i  Baines’s Yorkshire Directory – Went down to breakfast at 9 55/60 –

At 11 1/4, set off to Haughend – Called at the Post-office Note from Mrs. Henry Priestley (Haugh end) very civil – To ask me to take my sister with me to dine and spend the day –  Letter from Marianne Dalton (Langton) 3 pages – She and Bell are to return home on Saturday next –

“When we meet you must not if you please, revive the subject of the letter-writing, because you know, I cannot help thinking you might have been better about it” –

Called for a moment at the Stansfield Rawsons’ – Only saw Miss R– [Rawson] got to Haughend at 12 1/4 – After luncheon, we all walked to Mill house, the Astleys’ TTL [to take leave] call, and sat a little while with Mrs. W[illiam] H[enry] Rawson – Lady A– [Astley] must surely have taken a fancy to me – She told me she talked to me as if I was a neighbor of theirs –

It seems she has more influence with her son than daughter, certainly not much with the latter, who will occasionally tell her she, Miss A[stley], knows a thing better than she, Lady Astley. They do not manage one another most judiciously. The young lady cannot bear to be told of her faults and Sir John is too indulgent. Lady Astley thinks I should do her a great deal of good, but Miss A[stley] fancies she is not a favourite with me. But I was not to mention this. My manner might convince Lady A[stley] the girl was right, for I neither did, nor could quite contradict it. 

Mary asked me before dinner how I liked her sister. I hesitated. She said she had observed to Major P[riestley] she was sure I liked the gentlemen better than the ladies. I pretended I never was so long in making up my mind about anyone as Lady A[stley]. If I had not been told she was an elegant woman it might have been different, but she improved on acquaintance. She and her daughter did not manage well together, but I thought I liked her ladyship the best of the two. Perhaps she had more heart and better temper. It seemed as if Major P[riestley] thought otherwise, and Mary said Miss A[stley] might be led but not driven, and did not second my opinion as to heart and temper. 

I said I admired Mary’s style of beauty more than her sisters and that Mary spoke better than Lady A[stley]. The young lady was not ladylike enough. I admired Mr. Astley the most. In the evening Lady A[stley] asked me three times to go to Everley, begged I would go any time. It would be a nice opportunity for me to go with Major and Miss P [Priestley] and she, Lady A, hoped I would and she should be most happy to see me. 

Sir John said at parting, ‘we shall meet again at Winterslow’ but they asked Miss Will[iam] Hen[ry] Rawson to go and Sir John was joking about his having to go to Bath to buy linen or they would have no sheets. He joked too about my being to go. Lady A[stley], I observed, said little or nothing about Miss Will[iam] Hen[ry] R[awson]s going but turning to me said I assure we shall always have a pair of sheets for you –

Sir John and Lady A[stley] and I being by ourselves a little before dinner dressing time he asked what I thought of – Sir John asking what I thought of Mr. Henry Ingram’s poem “the Flower of the Wye.” This bad to the mention of the author, and my mentioning his ungentlemanly conduct to Mariana and my not speaking to him, in fact, always turning my back on him in consequence –

Lady A– [Astley] mentioning the Warneford’s again (Lieutenant Colonel of the Wiltshire Militia, of Warneford house, 31 miles from Everley which latter is 33 miles from Bath) said they had only 2 daughters; the oldest 31, the youngest 24 or 25, very large – Would have £20,000 each – Spoke highly of the oldest – She is determined not to marry but to live like her maiden aunt Caroline, single and in good style like hers. Would this Miss W[arneford] suit me? It struck me instantly and I would go to Everley if I had any chance of meeting her there. 

No letter from M– [Mariana] set down to dinner at 6 – Coffee at 8 – Played (and lost) a hit at backgammon with Miss A– [Astley] after dinner – She played a little on the piano to me before dinner – Poor girl! She has not much in her – Like the Miss Butlers – Likes dancing at Halifax quadrilles – They were at Dr. Gervaise Alexander’s yesterday – Sat with them at the old church on Sunday –

Got home in an hour at 9 50/60. Mused on the 3 times kindly pressing repeated invitations given me by lady A– [Astley] to Everley, to go in summer or winter or whenever I felt inclined –

Rainy morning – A little rain all the way as I went – About 1 it became a pretty fine day and continued so afterwards very fine evening – Barometer 1/3 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 62 1/2º at 11p.m. – Came upstairs at 10 55/60 –

Miss Pickford had drank tea here, and got quite into my uncle and aunts good books – She told my aunt I had first rate talents and they were cultivated to the highest pitch – She had never met with anyone so clever! Is this want of judgement, or superabundance of partiality? 

They say I flatter – I never mean to do it – Do they look at home? I do not flatter others as others flatter me – Sir John overwhelmed me today – Lady A– [Astley] did it more gently, more judiciously, more bearably, but did it just as much – Everybody flatters me –

[the-elusive-libbin]

Hypnosis Mic- Hunger canons

Hunger Noises and reactions - Some of the Hypmic bois - Self indulgence at its finest

So I wanted to do some hunger stuff since I rarely do hunger based things and its actually my favourite kink. This is rather self indulgent so please do bear with it. Here are some mini canons regarding some of my favourite Hypnosis mic bois...this is one of my current hype anime series after all. Not included all of the guys, i.e Badass temple and Dotsuitare hompo, simply because I don’t know them all yet. Anyway, click ‘keep reading’ if you wanna keep reading ;)

Ichirou Yamada- Boisterous and rowdy- preferred wording: Belly: Ichirou tends to cater to his belly when it growls in public by raising an eyebrow at it, scoffing in mild irritation and eating a lot. Secretly he flusters more when his brothers hear his empty tummy and make jokes but the oldest buster bro puts on a face for the two youngsters, always has. He’s been without food for the sake of his younger brothers before and during those times, he would often fill his starving belly full of water in a feeble attempt to quieten the organ and hope that the others didn't ear the odd escaping moan; after all he's the one that's supposed to be caring for the two youngsters and he’d hate to make them worry. Nowadays he’s more nonchalant around others when they hear his groans, waving it off or joking about grabbing a bite to eat.

Jirou Yamada- Persistant and whiny yet deep, as though imitating Ichirou's belly- Preferred wording: Belly: Jirou doesn't hide his hunger anymore, sure he used to go hungry a lot and it's not like he's not embarrassed by the noises that emanate from his belly, but he's too used to complaining and whining for food when he's starved nowadays. If he wasn't too dense to realize the strong front that Ichirou always used to put up for he and Saburo, Jirou would attempt to mimic the oldest brother and do the same thing, putting on a strong front for the youngest bro. Unfortunately Jirou is dense and doesn’t realize ... his stomach has a habit of groaning directly after Ichirou's has. His mouth waters a lot at the sight of food when he’s ravenous and he will eat rapidly in order to fill his stomach quicker, something Ichirou has scolded him for on multiple occasions.

Ramuda Amemura - Long and high pitched with a deep undertone - Preferred wording: Tummy: Ramuda just let's his tummy rumble in public, it really doesn't bother him, especially since the girls tend to find it cute and sometimes they even give him candy. It's a win win in the little shit's eyes. He'll openly whine, about how hungry he is while patting his tummy with both hands and is even known to ask others if they can hear it moan, all for attention of course. Ramuda doesn’t like being hungry for too long though and isn’t usually due to the amount of sweets he passively consumes. Must have a good metabolism.

Gentaro Yumeno - Soft and gentle but very aggressive when neglected - Preferred wording: Stomach or Belly: Gentarou generally has a soft spoken stomach if you will. He eats meals on a regular time scale and doesn’t often skip. That does not mean however that he never skips meals as sometimes he can become so carried away with his writing that he forgets to eat. In situations like this, the writer will find his stomach a nuisance as it begins to suddenly, without warning, rumble at a fairly audible volume....embarrassing if you’re in a restaurant people watching and writing because there is no doubt that they would have heard the hungry groans. In response Gentaro inwardly flushes and decides it may be high time to grab some food before he is once again, rudely interrupted. Most of the time the man’s stomach is calm and collected but in it’s defense, there are only so many hours you can go without food before you have to speak up.

Dice Arisugawa - Constantly groaning, medium length, fairly deep, echoey rumbles- Preferred wording: Belly: Dice is always gambling his money away and so doesn’t tend to have money for food. Dude would sooner gamble his life away than eat. Of course canonically this means he’s always hungry and always trying to mooch food and money. Therefore I don’t think he’d be privy to hiding the ominous groans that constantly escape his belly, he’d use the moaning of his gut to emphasize his point as he complains about how he needs food and that he’s wasting away. Puppy dog eyes, groaning tummy and theatrical belly rubs or even lifting up his shirt to show you the damage are all things he’s used to. The only time he hides his growling tummy is when he’s fruitlessly trying to explain that he hasn’t been gambling....which of course everyone knows is a lie. He’s not flustered by his groans and canonically will love anyone who treats him to a meal.

Samatoki Aohitsugi- Deep and violent groans - Preferred wording: Gut: Samatoki has no time for his stomach’s noises and will try to cover the noises up should he accidentally skip or have no time for a solid meal. He especially likes to keep an arm wrapped around it when the crazy navy officer of the Mad Trigger Crew is nearby in the fear that he’ll soon be stuffed to the gills with something foul. Samatoki’s little sister cooks decent meal portions for him and often prepares bentos for while he’s ‘working’ so it’s unusual to hear the white haired man’s belly in the first place. He actually dislikes being hungry and is prone to getting hangry. He wouldn’t want to admit it but he’s rather flustered by his belly noises as he feels they ruin his tough guy image and make people feel sorry for him. Watch his face turn red should you comment on a loud grumble or groan.

Jyuto Iruma- Fairly average, medium sounding gurgles- Preferred wording: Stomach: Jyuto is flustered easily enough by his stomach but he tries not to let it show; coughing into a gloved fist or pushing his glasses back onto his face are often enough to keep his embarrassment at bay. Tease him however and you’ll get the opposite effect, polite ‘excuse me’s’ reddening cheeks and robotic movements. The guy wants to remain cool and collected, not look and sound as though he’s missed multiple meals, do him a favour and don’t tease. Jyuto tries to keep his stomach nice and satisfied while keeping to his meal schedules as best he can. He shares his fear of being stuffed by Rio with Samatoki and shudders at the thought of his teammate’s cooking. Canonically, Jyuto’s grumbling tummy has caused trouble for both himself and Samatoki before.

Rio Mason Busujima - Deep, guttural, animal-like groans- Preferred wording: Gut/Stomach/Belly: Rio canonically lives in a tent in the woods catching and eating whatever he can to eat, which often leads to the ex-marine slurping down a plethora of weird and wonderful things. There are times when of course, he is unable to catch a decent meal and so may have to go to bed on a partially or completely empty stomach. There is nothing stopping him from buying food, he just doesn’t do it often, when he does, he stocks up on canned rations. On occasion he has found himself running without provisions and in those cases his stomach likes to very much voice its displeasure. Rio isn’t really bothered by his stomach or its growls, they’re natural and he’s used to it. I think the only way to fluster him with hunger would be if his stomach groaned in a crowded room and everyone heard it or maybe if you were to place an ear to it. His stomach is often loud like an animal roar, even at the start phase of his hunger and can be calmed only by gentle tummy rubs and food. You’d have no chance of getting any sleep whilst lay beside this man when he’s hungry.

Jakurai Jinguji - Soft and regular yet deep- Preferred wording: Stomach: The good doctor detests the idea of neglecting his stomach. It shouldn’t happen with his patients so why should he let it happen to himself? Unfortunately it does, rather often actually as the poor guy is always so busy taking care of others that he forgets about himself. Jakurai will always eat when he gets the chance to and he is fully aware that he needs to eat regularly to maintain a healthy diet, he’s a doctor after all. When hungry, the doctor’s tummy is fairly soft and deep sounding, rumbling in low tones that are not unlike that of his voice. It can become quite loud when he’s been hungry for long or if the poor doc falls asleep with an empty stomach as it will rumble deeply in a feeble attempt to wake its sleeping master. Most of the time Jakurai feels the vibrations before hearing them, especially if the room he’s in is bustling so he’s not too worried. Stomach noises are natural and his is just doing its thing. That does not mean that he won’t be embarrassed should a loud groan catch him off guard. Either way, stand next to this doctor on a busy day where he’s skipped lunch and keep an ear out. Perhaps you can hear those groans becoming gradually louder and louder as time goes by~

Hifumi Izanami - Almost sing-song-like, high-pitched gurgles- Preferred wording: It varies depending on the girl he’s talking to, otherwise he uses stomach: Hifumi’s stomach isn’t normally overactive, loud or really very vocal. It’s only on the odd occasion where he’s super hungry where it will whine like a neglected child. He’s usually sated and not hungry but Hifumi has a fairly good metabolism and can become hungry whilst working or chilling at home after a few hours of not eating. Should his belly groan while he’s working at the host club, suit on of course, he’ll just flirt it away “Do you hear that? That was the sound of me hungering for your love, how about some champagne?” In some awkward chat up line that somehow always works...much to Doppo’s irritation. He will change the wording and the way he acts about being hungry to match the girl he is currently with however, complain softly to those who like cute guys and acting refined about it to those who like mature men for example. Should Hifumi’s stomach grumble at home however he’ll whine to Doppo while cooking them both a dinner. He’s more likely to complain than he is to fluster at the sounds. Unlike Jakurai, Hifumi can drink on an empty stomach without getting tipsy as he’s built up an tolerance.

Doppo Kannonzaka - Average, each growl varies and is situational- Preferred word: Stomach or belly: Doppo eats normal foods at scheduled hours of the day. His lunch breaks are at the same time each day, his breakfast he eats at the same time each day and he presumably eats dinner with Hifumi at around the same time each day. Doppo’s stomach makes all sorts of noises, hungry or not and he finds it futile to attempt to stop them because he knows that they won’t listen anyway. His stomach has a mind of its own. Some days Doppo can be absolutely ravenous and not feel the bite of hunger with his stomach not making a peep, other days his stomach will groan loudly and uncontrollably, varying in pitch and tone. Should anyone hear this or dare I say comment on the sounds, he will blush and maybe even slam his head to the desk, cursing the world under his breath. He’s already way too tired to deal with the embarrassment of his random hungry stomach’s outbursts at work. He’ll have a bigger breakfast tomorrow he promises himself.  Regarding Doppo and Hifumi - I would assume that they come home from work at separate intervals, one working a salary man 9-5 job with overtime and the other being a host (Presumably working the Shinjuku nightlife.) I imagine that they get at least one meal a day together aside from Hifumi’s days off. My prediction as someone who worked the nightlife in England for 6 years is that the two rarely get time together but do see each other, Hifumi would possibly have to work weekends but may get time off in the week of or work less shifts, then again he is supposedly Shinjuku’s number 1 host so that may not be entirely accurate. Anyway it’s all speculation and I would totally love to hear more about their living habits. Let me know what you think, I’m slowly going to work through asks on my day off but I’m more than happy to chat hypmic ;)

[spencapenca]

The Misfits

Hi! So I am currently writing a highschool AU called The Misfits. It is about the BAU as teenagers. Going through four of the roughest years of their lives. Highschool sucks for everyone, especially when you go through it alone. Rolling with the punches of life and high school, these students find solace in each other. Anyways! It continues after the break

CW! Mentions of mental abuse, emotional neglect, physical abuse, suicide, and homophobic slurs.

---

Spencer woke up early… way too early, but he was excited. This was his first day of highschool. Sure, he was at least five years younger than everyone in his grade, but he was ready. His mother on the other hand was not. She hadn’t moved out of her room in three days. He walked into the room and went over to her bed. 

“Good Morning Mama, I start high school today.” He says seeing that she was awake and reading. She looked at him and back at her book without saying a word, he realized that she was too far gone to respond right now. He walked out of the room sadly, going to the kitchen to look for food of some sort. He had become used to doing things by himself, adapting to the new changes. His dad had left six months earlier, which only worsened his mother's downward spiral. Spencer wanted his mom to get him ready for his first day: to cook him breakfast, pack his lunch, maybe even do the cheesy pictures that other moms did. But not Diana. No. Never Diana. Electronics were evil, from the government. His dad had bought him a phone and paid the bill; the only thing he did. Not that he ever answered Spencer's attempts to reach out but it was nice to have though, just in case. 

After standing on plenty of stools, Spencer decided on poptarts. He popped the strawberry pastries in the toaster and shifted his weight from foot to foot, thinking as he waited for the poptarts to become warm and toasty. His mind wandered to a time two years ago, his first day of middle school. His mom was still lucid then, she had made him breakfast and read to him. He was only seven then,he was nine now; always was smart for his age. It wasn’t easy to be the youngest in the grade. He got jostled around a lot and took a lot of elbows to the nose, but he was used to it. He was also used to the looks he got when he did the advanced work in class,the looks of doubt. He hated them. His attention popped back to the pastries when they sprung up in the toaster. He jumped before realizing what had just happened. He pulled them out and hissed at the heat, dropping them onto a paper towel. He sat and ate, allowing his mind to wander again. Remembering his mom before she went down hill. Before he was forced into being his own parent, he was already expected to be an adult.He just wanted to be cared for, like most kids did,he was only nine after all. Sure, he was in highschool, but he was still little. He still wanted the crutch of his mom and dad. He wanted to be held. When he went into his mom’s room earlier, he had hoped for her to scoop him up and give him a kiss on the forehead, and read some poetry to him. Or even just talk to him. Just be a human, and she would, in time…

After he finished eating, he had to rush to get dressed. Trying his best not to think about the fact that he had to walk the five and a half miles to school. He was too young to sign himself up for the school bus, obviously too young to drive, and on top of that he didn’t have anyone to carpool with. He rushed into his room and pulled on a pair of corduroy slacks, his old striped comfort sweater, and his tennis shoes. The only reason he wore a sweater was because it helped calm him down when he was having sensory issues, though he was always cold. Probably from the lack of vitamins in his diet. He rushed to pack his lunch, not able to find his old lunch bag, so he used a grocery sack. He remembered when his dad would pack his lunch and he lost some composure. Small tears stinging at the corners of his eye, a lump rising in his throat, the building pressure behind his nose. He pushed it all down, while making a sloppy PB and J and throwing a sleeve of Saltines into the sack. He called it a day and got his bag, shoving his lunch in the torn backpack. He walked out of the door and started the trek to school, getting to watch the sunrise. The purples made a small smile peak at his cheeks, the pinks mixing with the oranges made his chest feel warm. His hands flapped happily and he walked with a small bounce in his step. Sweat already starting to bead at his forehead.

  It took him an hour and a half, but he got to the school in enough time to get his schedule. He knew that he was assigned a guide for the first day, just to help him around the school because he was so young. Spencer walked into the main office, and didn’t even clear the top of the counter, his messy curls peeking up from behind it. 

“Um, excuse me. I need to get my schedule.” He said in a squeaky voice. 

“Okay honey, just come right around here.” The nice secretary lady said. Her name plate read Alex Blake. 

The small boy walked around to her side of the counter and smiled at her. “I’m Spencer Reid. R-E-I-D.” He said confidently, trying to show that he belonged here. 

“Oh the youngin. Okay honey, your freshman guide is Aaron Hotchner. He is a Junior. You guys surprisingly have a similar schedule, so stick with him. Let me know if you need anything.” She said, pointing him over to a tall ravenette man. 

He walked over, and in a small voice approached him. “Hi, I’m Spencer, your freshman. I need my schedule, please.” He said with a squeak, his voice rising in pitch because he was nervous. 

“Hey Spencer, um… Here is your schedule, we actually have a first period and lunch together. So just stick with me for a bit and we can head off to our first class. Which just so happens to be Algebra II.” He said without looking at the kid. He handed him his schedule and held back a gasp. “How old are you?” He asked in a hushed voice.

Spencer wasn’t surprised this was one of the first questions. He had become used to this. “I’m nine… I know I’m little, but I am advanced. I have a high IQ and tested when I was seven, being placed into seventh grade. Now I’m nine in the ninth.” He liked how that had worked. So far, this hadn’t sucked. 

…

Jennifer had woken up hours earlier, going on a run before school. She did her best to stay in shape during her off season, still allowing herself to indulge in normal teenage things from time to time. WIthin the three hours she had been awake, the young woman had already worked out and showered, standing in front of her mirror, looking at the shell of the person she once was. Tired, dark bags fell under her eyes, her face puffy from the long nights spent crying herself to sleep. Her sister had died seven months ago. Her sister's room had been left untouched, besides the clothes that she had taken from her closet. She would sleep in her sister's hoodie, only to put it back the next day so it wouldn’t lose her smell. Her death hit her harder than she let on. She had slowly started to become numb inside, forcing a smile only around her parents and friends. Everytime she passed her sister's bedroom a small piece of her heart would break again. 

Today was supposed to be the day her older sister started Senior year. They were going to be in school together for one year. Their year. Jennifer shook her head at the thought. Refusing to let tears fall from her eyes once more. She felt so broken and weak, though everyone told her it was normal. It would probably be easier if everywhere she turned Rosalyn wasn’t staring back at her. Her door being open, a crack, her shampoo bottle, the untouched toothbrush. Everywhere Jennifer looked she saw her dead sister. She refused to shower in the bathtub after finding her sister in it. She tried… once. It ended with her shaking and crying in the tub, her mom having to turn off the water and pick her up. Since then she barely walked into that bathroom. She blinked, being brought back to reality. She puts on a burnt red dress with paisley print on it, paired with simple white shoes. She brushed through her hair, and tied it up, a ribbon lacing around the ponytail. She had opted for a softer sense of style. Mainly to portray the happiness she longed to feel. 

She soon walked downstairs, greeted by her mother. Her father was already at work, having seemed burying himself in it since the death. Her mom was the American Dream of a mother: supportive, stay at home mom that cooks breakfast and dinner. She loved her mom, though she wished she saw her break down just once. Not just act like everything was okay. 

“Good morning sunshine, how did you sleep?” Sandy asked cheerfully.

Jennifer looked at her and put on the fake smile that had an all too comfortable home on her face. “Good morning, Mom. I slept well. What’s for breakfast?” She asked in a happy voice.

“French toast, eggs, sausage, fruit, and orange juice.” She answered, setting a plate of food in front of her. Sandy was sweet, really. And Jennifer appreciated her so much for the things she did. 

Jennifer's eyes lit up when the food was sat in front of her. She took a sip of her orange juice and smiled at her mom. “Thank you Mama. It looks really good.” 

Sandy smiled softly, living to see the smile of her daughter. It broke her when Rosalyn killed herself. She never let Jennifer see how it hurt her. She had to be strong for her daughter, keep her afloat too. She would cry when Jennifer wasn’t around. Sitting on the rug of her eldest’s floor, her smell enveloping her as she sobbed into it. Blaming herself for not seeing the warning signs of her daughter's depression. The withdrawal, the sudden “I love you’s’, soon to be followed by long hugs. 

Both ladies had happy, light conversations until it was time to leave for school. The time Jennifer was dreading. Sandy drove her happily, happy to see her daughter entering such a crucial time in her life. Reminding her not to forget that she had volleyball practice after school. After multiple rounds of I love yous and goodbyes, Jennifer walked into the school. She walked to the Secretary and was assigned her Freshman Guide. Emily Prentiss. Jennifer shrugged it off until she saw the other female. The blonde had known that she liked girls, coming to terms with it over the summer, though you couldn’t tell by looking at her. Emily was gorgeous. She had a totally opposite look of the younger woman. Tall, pale, dark haired beauty. Jennifer felt heat rush to her cheeks. ‘Keep it together Jareau!’ She thought to herself.

“So you’re the freshie I have. Good to know. I’m Emily.” She said with a nod.

“I’m Jennifer,” she said with a squeak in her voice that she swallowed. 

“I’m gonna call you JJ. Fits you better. Here’s your schedule. Try to keep up.” She says handing her it and walking off.

JJ. She liked it. She made a mental note of it. From this day forward she was JJ. 

…

Penelope has already been up for hours. Grooming herself to look perfect for the first day. She wanted to make sure everyone knew who Penelope Garcia was,though she wished her last name fit her better. During roll call she always had to explain that she was, in fact, Penelope Garcia. She had buried her feelings with her parents. Six feet under. After her parents died, she moved to Virginia and moved in with her mom’s best friend, of whom she thought of, and called her aunt. This was the first year she wanted to be back in school,the previous year she opted to do homeschooling. She didn’t want to be around anyone, but she decided that this year would be different. She would push herself to be happy. She was going to force herself into her old happy persona. Maybe it would start to feel real to her again. Though the issue wasn’t that she was sad, it was that she wouldn’t allow herself to be. She felt the need to be happy all the time. Show everyone how strong she is. That was except for one person, Derek Morgan. He was the next door neighbor's son. Her aunt had set her up to hang out with him because they had one thing in common: a dead parent. They had hit it off. He would come over and just talk to her some days when she was having a bad day, sitting out in a tree that she thought was secluded, until Derek came up. She was crying and he let her cry on his shoulder. He told her that it would all feel better soon. That it would take time. And from that moment forward, they were best friends. Soon morphing into more. This summer they had made it official. 

Penelope smelled the familiar smell of chocolate chip pancakes through the air and followed it downstairs. Greeting her aunt with a bubbly smile. “Good morning Alyssa! It smells amazing!” She complemented. They both sat and ate, light conversation flowing between them. She received the text that Derek was ready, finally home and showered from his football practice. 

“Goodbye Alyssa. Derek is gonna drive me to school today. Love you!” She called out from the doorway. Her black skirt ruffling up in the breeze. 

“Have a good day Pen!” She called back, the screen door slamming in response. 

Penelope walked over to Derek’s house, knocking on the door. He greets her with a toothy smile. “Good morning baby girl” He says, wrapping one arm around her shoulder as he walked out to his car with her. They had been dating for about four months, though they had been pining for at least eight months.

“Good morning handsome. Are you ready for sophomore year?” She asked, smiling at the male. He always held her hand while they drove. He could drive early because he had a birthday that fell early in the year. 

“Of course I am, are you? I know how hard this is. Especially since you’re new.” 

“I’m ready. I’m just gonna take this year by the horns, no one knows me, no one knows what happened. No one knows my past. All they know is I’m the new girl. That's all they need to know.” She says matter of factly. 

Derek looked over at her and smiled. “Okay, but remember. I understand, and I am always here. No matter what, no matter how bad you think it is. I’m in your corner.” 

Penelope blushed softly, “Thank you… I know.” 

After ten minutes they pull up to the school. Penelope took a deep breath and swallowed. Smoothing out her pink top. She looked cute, really. Pink top, black skirt, white shoes. Though, her and Derek looked out of place together. 

She looks over at him and smiles, pecking him on the cheek. “Lets go kick ass.” 

Derek let out a nice hearty laugh and rolled his eyes, “Lets go kick ass.”

They walked into the school, hand in hand, smiles on both of their faces, like nothing could ruin their happy high, 

…

Five a.m always came too early in Derek’s opinion. Groaning as he rolled out of bed, he threw on his practice uniform and grabbed his equipment bag, heading to the field. When he arrived, he ran his five laps around the field and then drank water, heading out to practice. Three long hours later he was dripping sweat, putting away his cleats.

 One of his teammates comes over to him, “Yo Morgan, you coming out to breakfast with the team? We’re going to IHop before school. It’s a tradition.” 

“Nah man, I’m good. Thank you though.” Derek said, not wanting to give an explanation to why. 

“Come one man! It’s tradition! It's your first year on varsity, just give me a good reason why, and I will leave you alone. Just one good, legitimate reason why.” 

“I’m… I’m picking up my girl okay? It’s her first day here, and I promised her I would pick her up and drive her. Chill?” 

“Show me a picture of ‘your girl’ and I’ll leave it be. Lady Man Morgan.” He teased, pushing his shoulder.

Derek pulled out his phone and showed him his lockscreen, him and Penelope together, Her head resting on his chest. There was a significant height difference between the pair. “That's my girl. Her name is Penelope, but I call her Pen.” He boasts, until he hears a scoff and a chuckle. Who did this kid think he was?

“Oh, THAT’S your girl. Dude just skip her. She ain’t cute anyways.” 

Derek felt a small bubble of anger rise in his chest, “Watch what you say, that’s my girl. You right, she ain’t cute, she is beautiful. I can’t see what would make you think otherwise McClellan.” He replied through gritted teeth.

“Come on… It’s obvious isn’t it? The  ELEPHANT in the room… Well picture I guess.” He added snarkily. Of course he was talking about her weight, most people did. It always pissed Derek off in public, when people would see them at dinner and stare at her. Making comments about her or what she was eating. 

Derek glared at him, “Oh… so you’re that type of asshole. Okay, well be sure to never invite me anywhere with you again. I would much rather hang out with my girlfriend. She is gorgeous, funny, kind, smart, and stronger than you would ever be.” He spat, turning away and texting her. ‘Good morning, gorgeous. I hope you slept well, I just got out of practice. Will be ready to go at 9:00’ 

She responded almost immediately, like normal. ‘Good morning babe :), I slept amazing, I’ll meet you at your front door.’ 

Derek smiled and put his phone away, driving home. Greeted by his two older sisters in the kitchen, Desiree and Sarah. They basically raised him. His mom was always busy working as a nurse at the hospital, and his dad died in Chicago when he was ten. It was still hard, even after six years. Big dates always reminds him of the lack of a father. The first day was no different. His fifth grade year was his last first day with his dad. His dad would always make chocolate chip waffles and give him a pep talk. Tell him to be good, make sure he was always kind, and then kiss his forehead, and ruffle his hair. He missed it every year. 

Desiree tried to keep the tradition of chocolate chip waffles alive, trying to keep their dad alive with the memories. “Der! I made waffles for you, for after you shower. Please  shower first. You smell like sweaty boy and feet.” She called from the kitchen, not even seeing him yet. 

Derek just laughs in response and goes upstairs getting ready for the day. He looks in the mirror and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Dad, I promise this year I am going to do my best in school, I’m going to stay out of trouble, and I’m always going to be kind. I gotta girlfriend this year. You would love her pops. She’s feisty, she’s so smart and kind. Her folks are gone too. Maybe you know them… maybe not. I don’t know how it works, but I gotta go pops. I love you.” He said into the mirror. Sometimes he would talk to the picture of his dad that he hung on his mirror, looking himself in the eyes. He found it helped on the hard days.

He walked downstairs and smiled when he smelled the waffles, “You guys are the best!” He commented through a mouthful of hot waffle. Light banter flows between the siblings, followed by hugs. Derek leaves when Penelope walks over to his house, hearing her humming something before she even knocks at the door. He smiles widely at her, she looked pretty today. He always had thought she was pretty, even when they had first met. “Good morning, baby girl!” He greeted, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close so he could secretly get a smell of her perfume. She always smelled sweet, like vanilla, or cake. 

The two drove to school, Derek holding her hand the entire time. They hadn’t kissed or anything yet. Just hand holding, they had cuddled while watching movies, but they both didn’t want to hurt the other. Derek knew she wasn’t in the best state, so he was always her best friend first, boyfriend came second. 

He looks over at her and smiles when she says, “Let’s kick ass.” “Let’s kick ass.” 

…

Emily woke up bright and early, dealing with her mother. Of course, today of all days she had to be home. She woke up to her light being flipped on, “Emily! Get out of bed, it is six in the morning. You have school today!” Her mother said, her voice raised. 

“Mother. It’s six. School starts at NINE FIFTEEN.” She said, her pillow now over her eyes, “Leave me alone.” She groans

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, you have two minutes to get out of bed before I pour water on you. Now. And look presentable.” She commands, the door slamming shut with her exit. 

Emily groaned and got out of her bed, her dark messy curls falling over her eyes. She lets out an annoyed huff and throws her hair into a messy ponytail and walks to the bathroom. She washes her face and then goes into her room, pulling out an outfit. Fishnet tights, ripped jeans, cuffed of course, a black and white striped long sleeved shirt, and a band tee over it. She slipped on her Doc’s and an assortment of chains. Her mom always hated how she looked, how she dressed. It started out as a way to piss her mom off, show her that she isn’t some political figure. She never would be. She sat down at her vanity to do her makeup, she favored dark colors, purples and blacks mainly. She smiled as she winged her eyeliner, it came out perfectly. The raven headed girl decided to go downstairs, drink some coffee. Maybe it would make her feel better. 

When she got downstairs her mother audibly gasped, “Emily! You look like the grim reaper's wife!” 

Emily looked at her and rolled her eyes, walking over to the cabinet and getting the items to make her coffee, pouring the cream into the bottom of a tumbler filled with ice, pouring the hot coffee over it. “As long as SHE is pretty, I’ll take it,” She mouthed, knowing her mother hated her sexuality. She often told her it was a phase, just a rebellion. 

Elizabeth dropped the spoon she was using to eat her oats, “Emily, you and I both know that you’re just rebelling. Don’t talk that homosexual talk in this household. It’s dirty and imperfect. We’re Prentiss’ we don’t do those things.” 

The teen looked at her and scoffed, her heart dropping. She took it, always did, always would. Though she would never show her mother the pain she caused; she would never let her win. The second that Emily showed any trace of hurt, she would win. Emily translated that to her normal social life. Always making herself look like a hardass, scaring everyone around her. She couldn’t let herself be vulnerable, or else her mother would use it, and treat it like a weakness. Emily was always a pawn in her mother's political games. She knew it. 

Emily had let the stress get to her, taking the coffee upstairs, she dug in her bedside drawer to grab her old friend. She would smoke weed whenever she needed to relax, whenever her life seemed like too much. She was high most of the time. She normally used a dab pen, though sometimes she would use a (joint/blunt). She never used bongs, she held herself higher than that. She put the pen to her mouth and inhaled. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hold…. Inhale. Exhale. She repeated this process a couple of times, feeling the buzz of more vapor in her lungs than air, knowing that's her sign to stop. She could longboard to school now. Forget about the rest of her problems momentarily. Though, it was less than ideal to do in her boots. 

She goes downstairs, and thankfully her mother is gone. She said her goodbyes to her nanny, Amanda, and walked out the front door with her long board in one hand, her backpack on, and her music blaring in her ears. She would listen to a mix of most everything. Sometimes it was screamo, sometimes it was soft pop. Today it was her love playlist. She liked to imagine herself riding alongside a pretty girl, holding her hand as they skated together. She pushed the two miles to school, arriving early anyways. She makes a beeline for the secretary. She had become close to her the previous school year after Blake found her crying in the bathroom because of her mother. The vile names she had spit at her. Ever since then she had become a confidant. 

“Blake! You will not believe what happened. Ugh! It was so fucking, sorry, freaking stupid!” She huffed, pulling a chair besides her desk.

“Well, good morning to you too Emily. What happened?” She asked, holding back a laugh

“Well for starters, my mother was home. That in and of itself is horrible. Then she wakes me up at six this morning, demanding I get up and dressed. So I did. But THAT wasn’t good enough for her either, now was it?” She spat angrily, her hands tapping on her leg that was bouncing up and down, anxiety still very obviously present.

“Oh… wow. She said something about your clothes didn’t she?”

“OF COURSE she did. Because GOD FORBID her precious little perfect angel. She said something about me looking like the Grim Reaper’s wife. So I said as long as SHE is pretty, I don’t care. That thoroughly pissed her off. It’s like she just doesn’t care. I’m not her perfect little girl, and she can’t use me, so she decides that I’m just not good enough. All A’s and on honor roll, not to mention the advanced classes. But THAT'S not good enough.” She ranted, the older woman listening, nodding her head and adding small affirmatives.

“I’m sorry that she is like that. I think that your outfit is quite cool, and she has no reason to get mad at you over that. It is your sexuality, and you can’t control who you like. I wish I could help you, but from what I’ve heard, she isn’t around much, and your nanny is pretty accepting.” 

Emily nodded, taking a ragged breath, “You’re right… I better shut up, there is a freshman” Emily says, seeing a blonde girl walk in. She looked like that Junior that committed suicide. Shit. That was her sister. She was gorgeous, unique looking. She was soft. Her hair framing her angular face perfectly. She was just beautiful. Emily honestly forgot to breathe for a moment, letting her face turn a rosy color before realizing what she was doing. She shook her head and got up, walking behind the desk, over to distract herself. 

It took about ten minutes, but Alex came over to Emily, presenting her with the freshman. Her mind started to race, the pretty girl standing in front of her, leaving her speechless. She soon heard that her name was Jennifer. JJ… It fit. It was soft enough to be spoken with the utmost love, but also to be called carelessly. She made it known too. 

“I’m gonna call you JJ, it fits you better. Here’s your schedule, try to keep up.” She spoke back, trying so hard not to turn into a pile of mush in front of her. She turned on her heels and walked fastly in the other direction, making sure no one could see the radiant smile painted on her face. 

…

Aaron woke up at 5:30, making sure he had enough time to get breakfast ready for his mother and his little brother. He had always made sure to step up, wanting to make the house a more peaceful place. His dad had begun taking his rough days and frustrations out on Aaron, soon becoming more than just yelling. The young boy made sure to keep his brother and mother safe, taking the brunt of the abuse. His father died when he was fourteen, and he had a wave of relief crash over him. He knew that he didn’t have to take the abuse any longer, he didn’t have to wait until his father went to sleep to do things because he was afraid of getting thrown against the wall. He didn’t have to step in between his mother and his father, letting the punches land on his body. The first time his father ever hit Sean was the day Aaron knew he wasn’t able to be a kid. He grew up extremely fast, acting and talking like an adult from the age of eight. He had never learned how to be a kid. He never knew how to play with other kids. And that would come to affect him. He was always seen as the hardass, from the clothes he would wear, to the way he talked. He was always more mature, not laughing at the jokes his classmates would tell, not really having many friends. He always stuck up for everyone though. He would see freshmen being made fun of by upperclassmen and he would make sure he put a stop to it. 

The ravenette would make his family breakfast everyday, today he was making them french toast and eggs. He saw a very sleepy looking Sean bound down the hallway, his hair a sleep ridden mess. “Good morning, breakfast is on the table. I need to go get ready for school. You have forty five minutes to eat and get dressed. I’m walking you to the bus stop this morning.” He said leaving the room, running into his mother in the hallway. “Good morning mama, breakfast is on the table. Have a good day at work.” 

The male got into the shower quickly, rushing to get ready. He pulled on a pair of khakis and a green polo shirt, looking like a dad about to go golfing. He chuckled and rolled his eyes at his reflection, smoothing out his hair. He looked at his phone and realized that he needed to get a move on. He took Sean to the bus stop, walking back for his friend, Dave Rossi to pick him up. Dave and him had been friends since elementary school, seeking solace in each other. He was the stability that Dave needed, and Dave was the rebellion he needed. The man pulled up in his classic convertible. Aaron climbed into the front seat, relaxing into the leather. 

“Hey Dave, thanks for picking me up.” He piped up with a small smile.

“Aaron! It’s no issue. How is Sean and Amanda?” 

“Oh, they’re good. Sean misses you, he keeps asking me when you’re coming over again. Mom misses you too.” 

Dave smiled at him and hummed in response, “I’ll have to come over one night for dinner” He said, pulling into the school. It was a short drive, but it was one that was well worth the gas.

Aaron walked into the school building and met with Blake, getting introduced with his freshman. Spencer Reid. When he saw the boy he was confused, he looked like a child. “Hi, I’m Aaron. What’s your name?”

“Spencer, I’m your freshman. I need my schedule.” He squeaked out. Damn he even sounded young. 

Aaron was puzzled. How old was this kid?  “Hey Spencer, um… Here is your schedule, we actually have a first period and lunch together. So just stick with me for a bit and we can head off to our first class. Which just so happens to be Algebra II. How old are you?” He asked, his voice lower in pitch.

Spencer looked up at him. “I’m nine… I know I’m little, but I am advanced. I have a high IQ and tested when I was seven, being placed into seventh grade. Now I’m nine in the ninth.”

Aaron looked at him, keeping his face in a calm manner. Nine. He was nine in high school. He knew that he needed to protect him. He was an easy target. He led the boy to their first hour, showing him the ropes. Maybe this year wouldn’t be terrible. 

…

David woke up to the smell of food cooking. This was new. Normally he was home alone. He used to have his nanny Laura around, but  when he started highschool his parents decided he was old enough to stay home without constant supervision. He missed the company though, seeing as how they had grown a nice friendship in the time. He wandered downstairs and saw his parents in the kitchen, a warm smile spreading across his face. They were home… For the first time in at least a month. 

“Ma! Pa!” He greeted from the doorway, soon walking into the kitchen. He felt a warm bubble of happiness in his chest, something he felt less and less. The young man was lonely to say the least. He never had his parents around as a kid. He was always being handed around from nanny to butler, his parents deciding to buy his love instead. It started with nice toys, soon turning to electronics, and then a car. He was spoiled, but not on his own accord. He knew that his parents felt guilty for how they were absent in his life. 

“Bambino!” His father greets, kissing the side of his head obnoxiously like the Italian father he was. Though the warmth of the moment was short lived when his phone rang, calling both him and Mrs. Rossi into work. Dave sighed, knowing that no arguing or sadness could help his case. 

Dave sat in silence, eating the eggs his dad had made for him. He put his dirty dishes in the sink rinsing them off to make his job easier for later. Even though he had people to do these things for him, he insisted on doing it himself. He wasn’t that lazy. He knew that he would be on his own, so he figured he needed to know those basic life skills. He did get to learn some things from his friend Aaron. Aaron and him had been friends since fourth grade, despite the social classes. He thought of Aaron like an older brother, though they were the same age. He needed the responsibility and boundaries the other male had, craving that himself. 

Dave walked upstairs, getting ready for the day. A hot shower, followed by jeans, a white tee-shirt and a leather jacket. His hair messily fluffed to the side. He went for a Greaser esc style. He packed his bag, soon going out to his car to pick Aaron up. He felt bad for the man because he didn’t drive yet, he was too busy to deal with minimal things. Or that is what he said. When he got to the males house, he smiled warmly. He was so alone at home, any interaction made him happy. When Aaron told him Sean missed him his heart swelled. Dave was an only child. He always loved children, being around them, playing or talking to them, coloring, really anything they wanted. He thought of the Hotchner family as his family away from home. Amanda being around more than his mother ever was. 

Dave pulled into the school at 7:15, leaving time to screw around before his first hour. His grades never suffered from his antics. He felt himself slipping into the persona of David Rossi, the class clown. He acted different at school, making himself overly obnoxious, trying to be funny because he wanted acceptance. Was that really too much to ask?

[champagne-bucky]

The Undoing: Four

Summary: The truth about a past life is unveiled.

Warnings: THIS IS A DARK STORY!! dark! Steve Rogers x reader, kidnapping, non con and dub con (or at least mentions of), dark! Bucky Barnes, Stockholm syndrome, grooming, mentions of pregnancy termination and suicide mentions (for one chapter), possibly more tags to be added!

Notes: Ahhh, so here we are, part 4 and the present time in which this story takes place. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get shit done, but I’ve just been so unmotivated and it sucks because I had all these things planned and ughhh procrastination sucks. Anyways enjoy part 4. Please make sure to like, comment, reblog, inbox, and follow for more!! Enjoy :)

PLEASE READ WARNINGS!!

*Present time*

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Sasha. Happy birthday to you,” the small crowd that was Sasha’s family cheered as she blew out her candles.

Finally, her 18th birthday. A day where she is legally considered an adult. A day that her father had promised to grant her the freedoms that she saw the other kids had. A day where she would no longer be sheltered.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” her mother came up to the young woman and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her father followed suit, a side hug and kiss as she worked on cutting the cake.

“I want the first piece,” one shouted.

“I want a really big piece,” said another.

The shouting amongst her siblings didn’t subside until her father quieted them down with the threat of “no cake at all.”

While her mother busied herself in the kitchen, Sasha’s father was helping his youngest children get their slices of cake. Birthdays and holidays were the only times the Rogers’ family got to indulge in sweet treats. Steve had made it clear that his children were to only eat the healthiest of foods, and his doting wife always complied.

A knock on the door caught Sasha’s attention. While the family was in momentary disarray, Sasha was the only one who ended up hearing the faint series of knocks.

Therefore, she wiped her hands of sweet buttercream icing and made her way to the locked door. The knocks continued on even after she told them to wait a minute. A peek through the peephole revealed a stranger. To be fair, everyone was a stranger to the Rogers’ family. No frequent visitors, friends, even family, the Rogers’ only knew each other.

“Daddy, someones at our door,” Steve abandoned the youngest child to meet Sasha at the door.

Steve glanced through the peephole and for a minute it seemed like he saw a ghost. “It can’t be,” Steve swung open the door so fast that Sasha feared she would get knocked out by it.

“Bucky,” Steve looked at the stranger on the other side of the door.  

“Been a while huh?” The man, Bucky, gives a half grin at Sasha’s father.

“Wow,” Bucky turns to Sasha, “she’s all grown up,” Bucky invites himself in, but before he could get halfway past the threshold Steve stops him.

“Why all of a sudden have you turned up?” Steve gives Bucky a look that says “don’t say too much.”

“Because there’s a party going on,” Bucky then turns to Sasha. “Happy birthday sweetheart. My god, look at you,” Bucky looks her up and down. Sasha looked very taken back by the strange man. Who was he and why did he know your father?

Steve cleared his throat, “uhm, Y/N is in the kitchen cutting the cake. Why don’t you stay for some,” Bucky obliged and made his way into the kitchen.

“Dad, who is he?” Steve was quick to dismiss her question by replying that he’d been an old friend that knew him back when Sasha was first born.

Buck had made his way into the small kitchen, nothing had changed since Steve had brought his now wife here. In that kitchen were a bunch of children, some big and some small, all asking for a slice of Sasha’s birthday cake.

And then there was her, the young women that Bucky once knew, now all grown up with a family of her own. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at how pleasant she looked while serving the youngest children slices of their cake. She turned once she felt a presence at the door. A mix of emotions flashed through her eyes for a moment, but then her confused expression turned into a smile. She gladly walked over to the long time friend and greeted him with a huge smile and open arms.

“Bucky, it’s great to see you,” not a hint of sarcasm or an urgent surge of rage coursed this beautiful woman. She was genuinely happy to see the man that ruined her life prematurely.

“You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you,” Bucky smiled as he hugged her back. She looked nice in her freshly ironed dress and brand new heels her husband had demanded she wear around the house at all times.

“Please, come sit down while we have some cake. Kids, get to the dining room now please,” the herd of small children rushed out into the dining room with their sweet treats in hand.

__

Bucky was observant throughout dessert. Upon dodging judgemental and questioning looks from Steve, Bucky got to know more about the rest of the Rogers family.

“Last time I was here you had just had Gwynedd, yes?” Their mother nodded as a carbon copy of Steve Rogers looked up at him with a smile. She was going to be 17 soon, as she mentioned to the family a handful of times about birthday party ideas.

Then there was the third oldest, Max, a short haired, freckly 15 year old who had dreams of becoming an engineer. Reid was approaching 13 years old in the next couple of months, he was adamant on a firetruck themed party seeing as he wanted to be a fireman when he grew up. 11 year old Jocelyn had the same physique as her mother, but her personality was all Steve, she was sassy and always helping out her younger sibling. Last, and probably won’t be the least, was 9 year old Sarah Rogers, named accordingly after Steve’s long departed mother of course, she was the prized baby of the family that no one could touch.

Then there was Sasha, the oldest Rogers. Sasha was 100% her mother, from looks to personality. It was almost like someone hit a copy and paste button on everything Y/N Rogers and stamped it perfectly onto Sasha. Bucky couldn’t believe that the once small baby girl he held in his hands had grown into a beautiful, young woman. Bucky was snapped out of his thoughts when Steve called his name.  

“So, um, Bucky, what plans do you have for the summer?”

“Daddy says we might be able to go to the seashore this summer if we all behave,” Sarah shouted with her mouthful of cake. Her mother scolded her for interrupting Bucky and Steve.

“Well that sounds a lot more exciting than what I’m doing, Sarah. I’ll be fixing up this old house I bought a few blocks over from you guys. I got it for cheap so I want to do some remodeling and maybe sell the place before autumn.”

“Why would you buy a house just to sell it again in a few months?” It was Gwenyd’s turn to interrupt this time.

“It’s called house flipping Gwen, people buy crappy houses and pour all their money into it so they can get stinkn’ rich off the place,” Sasha finally spoke up.

“Sash, remember we don’t use words like that in front of the younger ones,” her mother reminded her before putting her head down and eating the rest of her cake slice.

“You’re very correct Sasha. Think of this as a new hobby of mine, Steve, taking something old and run down and forming it into something new and modern.”

“So what are you going to do to it?” Gwenyd asked.

“Well I'm going to redo the whole structure of the outside, maybe add in a pool and deck area in the backyard. The inside I’m planning on gutting the whole thing and putting in my own personal touches,” the children all ooh’d and ahh’d at the idea.

The wheels in Bucky’s head were turning for a moment. He looked at sweet Sasha and the other kids. He couldn’t just leave them caged up in this house for the summer. He knows Steve. He knows that he’ll keep them locked up inside for fear of one of the children saying something about their unusual situation. He didn’t want to leave Sasha most of all. 18 years old and definitely hasn’t gotten a chance to explore the world. He wanted to help them.

“Say, kids, redoing a big house is a lot of work for one man. How about you guys help me out and I’ll give you some money for your seashore trip,” Reid jumped out of his chair all excited.

“Daddy, Mommy, please please please let us help Bucky. Please!” Steve quieted Reid down.

Their mother kept her head down. She would love for them to get out of the house for a bit, but Steve makes all the rules.

“I’ll have to think about it, Bucky,” Steve said which caused the younger siblings to groan.

“I think it’ll be fun, dad. We get a little bit of work experience, we’ll be kept busy for a couple weeks, and we can make our own money,” Sasha spoke up and Gwenyd was giving her dad a thumbs up to agree with her older sister.

“I said I’ll think about it, girls,” Steve said sternly while finishing off his cake.

Steve couldn’t help but glare at Bucky throughout the rest of dessert. Something just wasn’t right about Bucky’s abrupt visit. Steve’s wife didn’t seem to care much because she enjoyed getting visitors, but Bucky wasn’t a frequent visitor in their home.

Bucky left Steve soon after Gweyndd was born. He stayed around because Steve needed someone to help take care of Sasha while he was busy breaking in his wife. Steve never told Bucky to leave him after that, he would’ve preferred if Bucky stayed around to be in their lives. However, one morning he took off and never came back, he even went as far as breaking all contact with Steve.

Dessert was over and the kids were helping their mother clean up. Steve offered to help, but the kids hopped right to it, cleaning down the table and loading the dishes into the sink. While they were busy, Steve led Bucky into their family room with a couple beers in his hands.

“So, why are you really here?” Bucky laughed.

“Stevie, I just said I was stopping by. Sasha’s 18th birthday is a pretty big deal. No longer a young girl, but a grown woman,” Steve seethed at his response.

“So after all these years of no contact you just decided to show up again after like everything is okay?” Bucky looked at their surroundings to see if anyone was listening. When the coast was cleared he finally spoke up.

“I had the cops on my ass since that first week. That stupid family next door had cameras showing me getting Y/N to come outside with me. Lucky I convinced Sam to pull those traffic cameras and delete the evidence or we both would’ve been caught.”

“The cops were snooping around and you didn’t think to tell me?” Steve heart rate picked up. He did get questioned by the cops one day, but already rehearsed a solid alibi. Who would've guessed that taking that one drama class in high school gave him solid acting skills.

“I had to lay low. I’m pretty sure they tapped my phone and had P.I.’s following me everywhere I went. Once I was cleared of anything I got a new job and skipped town.”

The case went cold after a few years, Steve guessed that they were trying to pin the disappearance on Bucky, but considering Bucky is standing in front of him today it seems he got off.

“So what do they think happened?” Steve whispered.

“A classic runaway case. The family refuses to accept that she’s gone for good. I got to town every now and then and I hear that the parents go looking for her every night on their own. Everyone gave up on them,” Steve let out a breath of relief. He feared that the cops were still after his wife after all this time. It’s refreshing to find out that the case is really over.

“So, you really taking the kids to the beach?” Bucky smirked already knowing Steve’s response.

“They’ve been hounding me all year that they wanted to get out of the house and do something fun. Had to tell them something to get them off my back.”

“When are you gonna break the news to them?”

“Probably a week before I told them we would go. I’m sure Reid or Joce will do something that’ll make me “change my mind”,” Steve smirked. He really couldn’t risk them going out of the house.

“Why don’t they come with me,” Steve laughed.

“I’m serious, Steve. All that time in the house with the kids, how do you and the missus have any “free time”,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“What we do is none of your business. Plus, I don’t want any of these kids to run their mouths like Sasha did,” Bucky asked what he meant by that. Sweet Sasha would sell out her family like that?

Steve explained the whole situation. She took playing house a little too far and took the kids outside to play. Just as bad luck would have it, the neighbors were also outside when they noticed a bunch of unattended children running around and playing. The nosy bastards kept asking Sasha questions. Did you kids just move in? Where are your parents? You’ve been living here how long?

Fucking CPS got involved and wouldn’t let up on the family. Steve’s wife sure as hell got a punishment of a lifetime. She also had to stay in the basement anytime a social worker would have random visits. Couldn’t risk anything.

To get them off their backs, Steve promised that he would enroll all the children in real schools so they would get more social interaction from their age groups. Yeah, that lasted about a month or two until the social workers stopped coming by. Everyone of them got pulled out of school except for Sasha. She enjoyed learning so much and was already making her way into high school.

It took months of convincing her mother to help her out to convince Steve to let her go to high school. Long nights and heated arguments between the couple was giving Steve major migraines. He finally agreed, but only on a string of strict conditions. Luckily, Sasha was already well behaved at this point so he wasn’t too worried about her fucking up again.

“I think it’ll be a good idea to let the kids come with me. They can learn new things and it’ll get them out of your hair. Think of all the time you and Y/N will have. So much time that you could be giving the kids and new brother or sister,” Steve did perk up at that idea. He has been on his wife for a while now about wanting a new baby, they just aren’t getting many opportunities to try with all the kids around.

Steve thought for a moment, “You’ll make sure they won’t get into any trouble right?”

“I’ll watch them like hawks,” Bucky promised as he saw Sasha coming out of the kitchen to head upstairs.

“Hey daddy, I’m gonna go to bed, but I just wanted to say goodnight. Thank you for a great birthday,” Sasha kissed her father’s cheek.

“It was nice meeting you Bucky,” Bucky smiled at her as she walked upstairs.

“You raised her well, Stevie.”

“Fine,” Bucky was surprised.

“Fine what?”

“You can have the kids help you, but don’t get into anything stupid or I’ll have your head,” Steve threatened as the other children started to come in to say goodnight.

“I’ll be here 8 sharp then,” Bucky got up to leave soon after the kids were getting ready for bed.

Bucky had his own planning to do, and he would make sure he would keep Steve’s word.

__

For something that the children were so excited about, they were relieved that helping Bucky out was over.

What they thought was a couple week project turned into the whole summer. A few fights and temper tantrums later and the house was almost done. However, Bucky wouldn’t need their help any longer. Instead, he agreed that he would keep them longer so Steve had a good excuse to say why their trip wasn’t happening this summer. The kids were so upset that their beach trip got canceled, but Bucky made it up to them by buying them ice cream and letting them watch movies all day one day.

Not only did they get endless amounts of ice cream, but they had a new addition to expect in the next 9 months. Yes, their mother got pregnant again with another child. Bucky could tell Sasha was a little upset by this, but the others were thoroughly excited about a new brother or sister joining the family.

The nights got cooler and the days were getting shorter meaning fall was approaching them. Which meant Sasha would finally be able to get back to school. While most kids dreaded going back Sasha didn’t. She loved school, her teachers, classes, and most of all was getting new books. There has never been a kid who enjoyed reading a European World History book more than Sasha Rogers. Also she couldn’t wait to get some peace and quiet away from her brothers and sisters.

“Sash,” Bucky stopped her before she could walk out of his new house.

“Yeah, Buck,” they had grown rather close during this time, almost as if they were long lost friends.

“I got you something. Think of it as a late birthday present,” Bucky pulled out of his back pocket a rectangular device. Sasha had seen them on TV all the time. In fact, she begged for one for so many years, but her father yelled at her to drop it before he got even more angry.

“I’m not supposed to have one of these. Dad will kill me, he’ll kill you,” Bucky laughed and shoved the phone and its box in her hands.

“It’ll be our secret. Hide this in and don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell mom or Gwen, even your friends at school,” Bucky urged her to take it.

“But I can’t pay for it,” Sasha wasn’t allowed to have a job either.

“I’ll take care of everything. Just to make sure we are clear, don’t do anything stupid with this phone. You tell no one about it at all. If I find anything bad on this phone I won’t hesitate to tell your father, understand?” Sasha gulped and shook her head out of fear of what her father would do.

“Uhm, uh, thank you so much Bucky,” Sasha hugged him.

“It’s no problem at all, Sash.”

Now with a phone in her hand and access to contacting her, Bucky had his own plan in motion.

Tags to be added in comments!!

[themusicplayedherlife]

Can you write a continuation of the Tim Drake x demigod reader where he introduced reader to the rest of the family?

a/n: This time it didn’t take years for me to finish this request lmfao! I didn’t write much interaction between the family because they’re so many members of the batfam and I can’t write group settings for the life of me??? but I def had some ideas about Damian and his curiosity towards Reader, anyway, anon! Hope you enjoy!

Meeting the family is inevitable, according to Annabeth after a long and winded rant about having dinner with Tim and his family from your end. 

Granted, you knew most of his brothers and sisters in the Hermes cabin (including his three adopted siblings that he arrived at camp with), but knowing your fellow campers is one thing, getting to know them as the family he was raised with? That’s another matter altogether.

You knew of Dick Grayson, son of Aphrodite; Jason Todd, son of Ares; and Cassandra, daughter of Psyche. How could you not? They are prominent members of Camp Half-Blood. Maybe not like Percy and the rest of your group, but it‘s hard to ignore the adopted children of Bruce Wayne, ally of the gods and demigods (you had Wonder Woman and his adopted children to thank for that). Not only were they good looking, but they excelled in combat from the very moment they stepped foot into camp.  

But you only know them as that—fellow campers. This is you getting to know them... better—intimately. And not to mention getting to finally meet THE Bruce Wayne and the rest of his mortal family members in person! No more second hand stories from Tim, or listening in on the stories his siblings would recount to the curious campers.

Wow. This is definitely out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?

A warm hand wraps around your cold fingers, steadying your shaky limbs.

“Hey,” Tim softly says, squeezing your fingers as another hand cradles your cheek. “They’re going to love you, χρυσή μου.”

My golden one. You practically melt at the softness and love in his voice when he calls you so. A reminder of how much you mean to him, of how much he loves you.

You smile involuntarily and lean into his touch.

You’re not given the chance to return the affection, the double doors of the manor being thrown open followed by a loud raucous of:

“He’s right there!” from Jason, and “Stop being such a dick,” from a tall, beautiful redhead with freckles followed by a lot more noise and bickering from what you assume is the rest of his family members.

You practically recoil, pulse beginning to pick up and fingers slowly beginning to twitch in his hold.

“Babe,” Tim starts, cutting through all the noise and he flashes you a smile, a reassuring one, with a squeeze of your hand. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You nod and try to return the smile, but there’s no denying that his words and touch manage to ground you just a bit further.

“That's enough,” a deep, calm voice interjects, the earlier bickering coming to an abrupt stop as you remind yourself to breathe.

Bruce Wayne is a lot taller than you had imagined him to be—very handsome too. His stare is even more intense than you had expected, sharper and darker than the smolders he’d spare the pictures taken of him prompted or unprompted. And you can’t help the way your mind scans over him, searching and prodding like it usually does--there’s a darkness in this man that you can’t ignore. Burning deep and hot like hellfire. You wonder if it originates from his traumatic childhood, or if the darkness began to grow with the years--with his journey as the masked vigilante.

Tim has his own darkness, and so do his siblings, but Mr. Wayne? It seems to be tenfold. Controlled, sure, but barely hanging on by a thread.

Bruce pulls you out of your momentary awe, his voice somewhat gruff, but still managing to be kind. “Welcome home,” he says, mostly to Tim, but the small lift of his lips in your direction makes you feel welcomed as well. Yes, there’s a darkness in him, but there’s also a kindness that is rarely seen in others. It’s that kindness that you’re sure has raised Tim and his siblings, taught them that unbearable need to help others with no expectations of reciprocation. They’re just... kind to be kind.

Is it that kindness that stops him from bursting?

Tim tugs you along with him up the final steps of the manor where he hugs his adopted father after letting you go momentarily. “Thank you, Bruce.” He turns to you, holding out his hand for you to take and introducing you to him with an air of pride, as if he’s talked about you aside from being his partner to him before. And seeing the expression of familiarity flash behind Bruce’s blue eyes, you know he has.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you offer a bit shyly, unsure of whether to offer him your hand or if to lean in for a hug. You’re not exactly sure what the proper etiquette is to greeting a parent, let alone your boyfriend’s father. You’ve only had the chance to interact with Percy’s mom, and even that is rare. With the rest it’s always been a “hello! Must steal your child for a quest, bye!” Never a proper sit down where you can properly introduce yourself to them. 

Relief fills you when Bruce helps you by offering you his hand, mindful of which hand Tim is holding to keep you steady—emotionally and physically. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Tim and Diana speak highly of you.”

You immediately feel the heat crawl on your skin. What exactly have they said? “Likewise, Mr. Wayne. And I just want to say, on behalf of all my friends, thank you for all that you have done for us at camp. We really appreciate it.”

Tim squeezes your hand when Bruce chuckles lowly and asks for you to drop the formalities, telling you to call him Bruce instead.

Before anyone else can introduce themselves to you or you can take note of who else has followed Bruce and Jason to the door, Jason lets out a loud groan. “Can we hurry this along? We know who she is already and I’m hungry!”

“Jason,” the same redhead from before scolds him, smacking him—quite harshly, might you add—on the arm before extending her hand in your direction. “Barbara Gordon.” Ah! Dick’s ex girlfriend! You’ve heard Tim and Dick mention her a couple of times before. Mostly about how she’s always down Dick’s throat for being too reckless or something, you’re not entirely sure. “I’m so glad you’re finally able to join us for dinner! We’ve been trying to convince Tim to bring you along for a while now!”

You know they have been. Tim has mentioned it before, but at the time, you weren’t exactly ready to be in a crowded room with strangers. You’re still not completely ready, but after a talk with Hazel and Annabeth, you decided you couldn’t put it off for much longer.

As Hazel said, “You love Tim, whether you want to admit it or not. And it’s pretty obvious Tim loves you, too! Making an effort to meet his family would show that to Tim without you having to say those words just yet.”

You squeeze Tim’s hand, hoping she’s right. “I’m sorry.”

She waves her hand, a warm smile on her face. “No, I’m sorry if we all seem a little impatient. I really hope we don’t put you off! We’re all just a little... eager to meet the person that has stolen our Timmy’s heart.”

“Babs!” Tim whines, but it goes ignored by Barbara.

She laughs. “Come on in! The rest of the family is waiting in the den.”

Dinner is chaotic. Not as chaotic as dinner is back at camp, but it’s still pretty chaotic.

The youngest and only biological child of Bruce Wayne, is Damian, a boy with a sharp tongue and a curious thing, eyeing you before quickly looking away with a huff and pretending he hadn’t just been staring at you. Unlike the rest of the family, the darkness in him is a speck compared to theirs, even if he speaks with harsh words and an air of indifference. There’s more of a childish innocence that surrounds him, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s attributed to the rest of his family trying to help him make the most of his childhood. 

You offer him a smile, one you hope doesn’t look strained or unnatural. You really do want to make him feel at ease with you. Make it easier for him to ask questions about you and your lineage like the rest of his family does.

Duke is the funniest of the group, not adopted, but still very much part of the family. He’s motivated, and just as smart as Tim, if their conversation about some riddle and case you briefly heard mentioned on the news is anything to go by. And just like Bruce and the rest of the family, he’s observant, maybe even more so than they are; offering you an out when it all becomes overwhelming by changing conversations or asking you if you need anything. He especially takes a liking to hearing stories of you and your mother, Athena, seemingly realizing that speaking about your mother is a clutch to you.

You can’t help it when you ask, “Are you sure you’re not a son of Athena’s?”

He’s taken aback by your question before laughing jovially. “That’d be so cool if I were, honestly! But nah, I’m just a regular ol’ meta-human.”

Dick snorts, leaning into your space to whisper loudly, as if to tease Duke—and completely ignoring the fact you lean away from him and closer to Tim—“Look at him nonchalantly trying to slip in that he’s not exactly human.”

Tim nudges Dick away from you with the palm of his hand, making his brother chuckle and back away with palms up in surrender. You thank Tim with a small smile which he returns.

Duke rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “How else was I supposed to say it?”

“Not at all,” Barbara adds in with a chirp, passing Cassandra the bowl of fruit that had been placed down by Alfred, their butler, something that you find really weird to say or even think. A butler! So weird.

“You guys are just jealous!”

Dick quirks an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m a child of Aphrodite.”

Jason pauses in his indulgence on seconds to flash him a smirk. “Ares.”

“Psyche,” Cassandra quietly adds as she adds fruit to her plate.

Tim grins. “Hermès.”

Damian glares at him without any heat. “My grandfather is Ra’s Al Ghul; my mother is Thalia Al Ghul; and my father is Batman.” Which is still wild to you. Who would’ve thought. I mean, other than the few conspiracies running around.

Barbara turns to you with an eye roll and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“Okay, all right, point taken! No need to flex. Damn.” Duke shakes his head. “A guy can’t even feel special.”

Bruce chuckles lowly. “You are special, Duke.” Duke lifts his head after huffing and beams, the rest of the family following after their father’s sincere words. “All of you are special.”

“But I’m more special, correct, father?”

A fond an exasperated chorus of “Damian!” fills the room.

The manor is quiet at night. Surprisingly enough.

Eleven people under one rooftop and you’re certain you could drop a pin on the floor and it’d resound throughout the manor.

And yet, even in the quiet, you and Tim lay awake in his childhood bedroom, too wired to fall asleep and give into your tiredness; both of you laying on your side and facing each other.

“You’re drained,” you whisper to Tim, brushing his hair falling over his eyes behind his ear.

He hums, closing his eyes as your fingers trail down the back of his ear and to his jaw. “I love my family, but it can be too much when everyone is together.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, tapping your finger against his chin gently before dropping your hand down next to your face. “It’s not as bad as camp.”

“Maybe,” he agrees absentmindedly. “But at least at camp I can go hide out with you in your cabin or sneak off to the lake.”

”Guess so.”

His lashes flutter as brilliant blue eyes appear once more. “Meeting my family didn’t tire you out?”

You smile, hearing the worry in his voice. “A little. But it was fun meeting them. Loved them.”

“Yeah?” he asks, wrapping you up in his arms.

“Yeah,” you whisper, patting his chest with your palms, his heartbeat a soothing thump against your hand. “Almost as much as I love you.”

His long fingers wrap around your wrist just as it stutters under your hand. “Do you mean it?” He asks breathless, barely heard in the darkness of his room full of wooden book shelves and books you can’t believe he actually read at some point in his life. 

“What?” You ask, watching him as he brings the hand that had been resting on his chest to his lips.

He presses a gentle kiss against your skin, eyes never leaving yours. “That you love me.”

You freeze, eyes moving from the hand he’s kissing to his brilliant blue eyes that don’t seem to ever stop sparkling. Even in the darkness he’s pure light, and you don’t understand how he can shine so brightly when the darkness surrounds him, practically ready to devour him. But you wouldn’t let it. You would never let that darkness take a hold of him. And if it ever did, you’d fight to bring him back, even if it meant going back to Tartarus, you would. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curve, smile growing and taking shape as he leans closer. Your hand rests on his cheek as you take him in; as he practically melts under your confession and touch. “I love you too, χρυσή μου.”

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 7: Sweet Dreams.

(Lyn + Michael)

Lyn.

Push. Hold. Lower. Hold. Repeat.

I mechanically went through the motions of my push-ups. They always say exercises are supposed to release those happy feelings, yet it wasn’t helping me all that much right now. I lowered myself all the way down and rolled onto my back, staring up at the morning sky.

It was a chilly morning, which wasn’t all that surprising since it was October. The grass was wet enough that I could feel my back getting soaked from just lying here. I forced myself up into a crunch, holding for 5 seconds before lowering myself down again.

My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the scene of Jackie just lying there. Every time I closed my eyes it was just there. It was really fucking with me. I haven’t really spoken to anyone about it. I didn’t really want to. I know what was holding me back from getting the help I needed, but I couldn’t fight through it. It was like this whole thing has royally screwed with my hold on myself, and now things were spiraling out of my control.

Then there was what Ally and her friend Michael explained to me the other day. It was so utterly ridiculous, but it was something. It made zero sense to me, but so did fucking blood showers and random attacks in the locker room, so in some way it made more sense than anything else. I mean, I thought I did see a shadow in the tree after Ally told me she didn’t like being there, and I know there was writing on the wall. And Jackie’s wound…those were claw marks, not knife wounds.

My stomach lurched when I thought about the wound and I rolled onto my side, steadying my breathing. I screwed my eyes shut and forced my brain to think about anything besides that. For whatever reason, it settled on Nailed It. I started giggling like a madwoman as I fought off my nausea. Man, I must look like a strange site right now.

I forced myself to my feet and sluggishly walked back to my res. When I opened my door, Nura looked over and frowned.

“Lyn, are you okay?”

“Hmm,” I hummed. I picked through my drawer to find a clean shirt to wear.

“You just seem…different. Do you want to talk about it?” I could hear the concern in her voice, and it made me sick to my stomach. I hated when someone worried about me. With my back still to her, I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face before turning around.

“I’m good, thanks! Just a little tired, that’s all,” I said. Ugh, my voice sounded so bloody fake.

Nura nodded slowly but she definitely didn’t believe me in the slightest. I turned away and grabbed a few more things before heading to the showers.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but the icky feeling that was worming around inside my body wouldn’t go away. I was shaking as I washed my hair, trying to calm myself down. There was no need to get so worked up over nothing. Something. Worked up over something. Something out of my control.

I need to get my head on straight. Maybe once I ate something I’d feel better. It felt like a false hope, but it was something. I carefully cleaned under my nails, paranoid that Jackie’s blood was still under them. I cleaned them religiously 3 times a day, but the feeling was still lingering. Finally, feeling extremely raw from all the scrubbing, I stepped out of the shower and dressed quickly.

Not wanting to talk to Nura again, I dumped my stuff off quickly and made a beeline for food hall. I zipped my parka up and pulled up the hood. It was threatening to rain already, and I didn’t want to get cold after just getting out of the shower.

The smell of food didn’t really entice me like I figured, but I still grabbed a plate of eggs and toast. I sat down at a mostly empty table and slowly worked my way through the food. My stomach was still squirming around, and the food wasn’t making it feel any better.

I heard the footsteps before I even saw who they belonged to. Those stomping steps could only belong to her. “Lyn, Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker,” snarled Loryn as she sat down across from me. “Why are you avoiding me? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days now!”

I cringed and looked away, shame colouring my cheeks. “Oh…hey Loryn.”

“Oh, do not ‘hey Loryn’ me, Lyn!” She slammed her hand on the table. “You show up for practice looking like an absolute wreck and speed out of there so fast I didn’t get a chance to even say hi! What the hell is going on?!”

“Loryn please, not here,” I muttered, very aware of some of the people listening in.

“Not here?” Loryn seethed, “Then where? Because like I said, you’ve been dodging me since the hospital.”

I rubbed at my face awkwardly, not sure how to answer. I settled for a shrug and a small shake of my head, which only annoyed Loryn more.

“Okay, fuck this.” She got up and walked around, grabbing me by the wrist and forcing me to my feet. “We’re walking. Let’s go.”

I meekly followed her out of the food hall, knowing there was no way I was going to get away from her this time. The rain had started to fall lightly as we stepped outside. Loryn’s angry stomps simmered down to heavy clomps as we walked towards the little pond.

“You better start speaking now, Lyn” said Loryn sternly. I knew she wasn’t going to stay mad at me for long, but the concern I saw in her eyes didn’t make me feel much better.

“If I told you I wasn’t really sure, how mad would you be?” I asked lightly, trying to joke a little.

Loryn’s mouth twitched slightly as she crossed her arms. “I have two older sisters, Lyn, and a little one. I can literally stand here all day if I have to.”

I sighed, shoulders dropping heavily. “I just…I dunno. I’m processing a lot of things right now…” I shoved my hands in my pockets sullenly.

“I get that,” said Loryn as she threw a hand up angrily, “but Lyn, you can’t just push everyone out when you are going through things. We’ve been over this before!”

My mind flashed back to first year, when I got into a huge fight with my parents over Thanksgiving break. That was when I spiralled the first time, indulging in a lot of self-destructive behaviours. Like my extremely unhealthy dating speed run, or my run in with Adderall. Loryn was the first one to notice that something was going on, and I eventually broke down and told her what happened.

My relationship with them was complicated. Being the youngest daughter in a family of three, I had a lot of expectations to live up to. They expected absolute perfection at all times, which is where my need for perfect grades comes from, as well as all the extra training I did on my own. I was getting better, but I still tended to retreat into myself when dealing with an extreme number of emotions. I didn’t want other people to be bothered with me, most likely caused by my upbringing. Asking for help meant you were falling behind the bar, and well…yeah, lots of fighting.

I sighed again, looking at Loryn’s shoulder instead of her face. “I can’t sleep.”

“How long?”

“Since…” my voice got caught in my throat. “…the whole locker room thing. It started a little before, I think. But when I saw…I just can’t sleep right now.”

“Lyn…” Loryn’s voice softened. “It’s totally normal, okay? What you saw…I can’t even imagine that. But it’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up.”

“I know that!” I snapped, before dropping my head in shame. “Sorry. I know that,” I repeated, less annoyed, “but they’re in my head. You know she called me?”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” I kicked a pebble away, watching it fly. “She must have gotten word of the whole incident or something. Anyway, they wanted to check in on me, but I didn’t answer at first. Then I made the stupid fucking mistake of answering the second time.”

Loryn frowned in displeasure. “Yeah? And what?”

I shook my head. “Just the whole ‘well I’m glad to hear that you’re okay,’ which would have been fine if it wasn’t followed up with ‘I just hope this doesn’t affect your grades.’”

Loryn’s face went red with anger, similar to how she looked at me earlier. “Are you serious? One of your friends got hurt and that’s what she says to you?”

“Yup,” I said flatly. “So, on top of my fucking night terrors, I’ve got my mum on my mind. Mix it all together and you get one miserable Lyn,” I finished with a pathetic laugh.

“Lyn, c’mere,” Loryn said with her arms opened wide. I walked into her hug and let her squeeze me tightly. “What you’re going through is allowed, but you gotta open up. I can’t help you if you avoid me like the plague.”

I dropped my chin on the top of her head. “I know, I’m a dumbass.”

“That much is obvious,” Loryn muttered into my shoulder. “Did they give you anything at the hospital?” I shook my head. “Okay, then we need to get something to help you. Because I don’t know how to say this nicely, so I won’t, but you look like shit.”

I chuckled weakly. “Do you say that to all your boyfriends?”

“Only when they look like shit,” she said curtly. “Come on, let’s go do something fun to help you relax a little, then we are totally figuring out who we can call about this.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. “But I have plans today, so can this not take long?”

“What? What kind of plans do you have?”

“I’m…” Shoot, I don’t know how to explain I was going to look into the history of the school because I was going ghost hunting. My brain scrambled to make up something intelligent to say but it couldn’t. Loryn was looking at me questioningly, no doubt thinking I was making it up so I could get out of talking to someone. I finally settled on a half-truth.

“I’m meeting up with Ally later,” I said lamely. I totally never planned on bringing her. Sifting through the archives could take a ton of time and I wouldn’t want to make her help with that.

Loryn made a thoughtful face before breaking out in a playful grin. I was confused and asked, “What’s that face for?”

“Nah, not telling,” she said teasingly.

“What the heck? What about being open and shit?”

“Oh, that’s only for you! I don’t keep locking away my feelings.”

I groaned, “Loryn, just tell me pleaseeeeee.”

“’The cute brunette,’” she said, doing a poor imitation of me.

My ears heated up. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

Loryn giggled. “Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“She’s cute, yeah. And I like hanging out with her,” I said throwing my hands in the air, “so what?”

“This is like your second date already,” Loryn pointed out.

Okay, now my face was heating up. “I-I- no, I mean, it’s not like that,” I spluttered as Loryn laughed at me. “I mean, yeah, she’s cute and really fun to hang around with, but that’s all that’s going on, you know?”

“Whatever you say, Lyn. I don’t get in the way of you dating.” Loryn nodded approvingly. “She’s a better pick than Derek at least. No wait, scratch that, the dirt on my shoe is a better choice than him.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” she stuck her tongue out.

I grabbed her tongue with a small smirk on my face. “Ally is just a friend, that’s all. Who knows, maybe it will become something more but right now it’s nothing. I don’t know her all that well. She just asked for my help on a history thing. I gotta put this big brain of mine to good use, you know?”

Loryn pulled her tongue away and smiled cheekily at me. “Okidoki. Alrighty, let’s go.”

“Do we have to?”

“Lyn!”

I held my hands up defensively. “Kidding, only kidding.”

Maybe this whole talking to someone thing might be good for me. I already felt a little bit better, even if I was running on very little sleep. I would never admit to Loryn that she was right about this though, because she would never let me live it down. Sometimes it would have been nice to have a friend like her growing up. I probably would have been a little better adjusted, but it is what it is. That’s what growing up is, right? Learning how to be your own person and discovering things you never knew before.

XXX

Michael

If someone told me that I would be swiping some of my lab equipment so I could do a test on a sample from in the locker room from a supposed ghost attack at the beginning of the school year, I would have laughed politely and nodded along without believing a word they said.

But here I was, doing just that.

If my lab partner Travis noticed, he didn’t say anything. We were looking at blood samples today and he kept smushing the lens containing the blood by accident, and I think he just wanted to leave.

Time in lab always seemed to drag on forever. It might have to do with the 3hr slot that was dedicated to it, but I felt like my energy was slowly being drained away. Finally, the TA looked over and told everyone to start cleaning up. I quickly put everything away and wiped down my station, ready to get the heck out of here.

“Hey, Michael?”

I held back from gritting my teeth and looked over at the TA. “Yea’?”

She smiled at me and handed me my assignment back. “You almost forget this.”

I chuckled with a sheepish grin as I took it. “Oh, thanks Jas.”

“No problem.”

After that nearly embarrassed display on my part, I was out of here. I slipped off my lab shoes and tossed them into my backpack with my lab coat. I slipped my sneakers on and pulled my coat from the hook as I sped to the door, ready to get out of here.

It was raining when I came out, which was a bit of a mood killer. Then a thought popped in my head.

Wait, why was I in lab? They’re cancelled for the week.

All of a sudden, the sky rumbled as if it was annoyed that I came to this realization. I looked around, seeing if there was anyone around. The whole campus was empty, except one person sitting on the steps leading into the Harper building. I madly ran over, my feet slipping on the wet pavement with something that definitely not rain.

“Hey! HEY!” I hollered, trying to get their attention. They wouldn’t look up. Maybe they couldn’t hear me? I yelled louder, waving my arms around. Finally, they looked over.

Half her face was rotting off. Skin was hanging by threads as her face oozed with pus. Her left eye was leaking something cloudy, and her smile was disturbing. I forced myself to stop running towards her, backpedalling to now get away. But she lifted a hand and crooked her finger, and I was pulled over against my will, like there was a giant hand tugging at me.

“W-what do you w-want?” I stuttered nervously.

She tilted her head, and a chuck of skin plopped to the ground. I nearly threw up right there, but I managed to hold it in. Barely. She stood up and I could see that other parts of her body were equally as rotten. She opened her mouth and shrieked in my face, spittle and pus and blood all splashing against me.

Oh my God oh my God ohmygod.

Her finger dug into my cheek as her good eye examined me. “You are the perfect specimen,” she said, her voice sounding like echoes in my ears. Before I could ask what she meant by that, she stabbed her hand through my chest.

I woke up with a jolt.

I quickly patted my hands over my chest but there was no bleeding. I sighed in relief before grabbing my phone to check the time. It was just around 11, I must have turned my alarm off by accident. I used the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat off my face before texting Ally.

M: Ally, I just had a super weird dream.

It didn’t take long for her to reply.

                                                                                  A: Huh? What do you mean?

M: I was in lab when suddenly I realized that we have no classes and there was this woman sitting on the steps of Harper. I went over to ask her something and she was a rotting corpse!!!

                                                                                  A: are you serious?

M: yeah!! Then she fricking stabbed me!!!

                                                                                  A: D:

                                                                                  A: OMG

                                                                                  A: That sounds so freaky

M: yea for realz! She said something really weird to me to

M: *too

M: she said you are the perfect specimen

                                                                                 A: oh spicy, ghost has the hots for you

                                                                                 A: plz invite me to the wedding

M: Ally I was murdered in my dreams and you think we should get married?

                                                                                 A: was it your worst date ever then?

M: … I would say yes

M: though my date with Kiki Gillmore was pretty bad too

                                                                                 A: :P

I put my phone down and chewed on my nail, feeling a little better about the whole thing. It was just really freaky to feel something going though my body like that. I don’t even know who she was, but she looked pretty pissed off. And that voice, man. That was freaky crap. It wasn’t the first time I had a strange dream like that, but they were never that violent.

What did my dad always say about strange dreams? Michael, all dreams have some basis in reality. If something happens in a dream, there must be a reason for it.

Whelp, I really really really hope that wasn’t the case here. I’m not sure about other people, but I wasn’t a big fan of dying. Especially dying by hand stabbing. If I was going to die, I wanted it to be at least peaceful or heroic.

Deciding I needed to get rid of the heebie jeebies, I rolled out of bed and put on some clean clothes. There as a small shop that sold neato things like crystals and stuff. The lady who owned the store even did tarot readings. If there was some place I could buy ghostly protection from, it would be her place.

I suspiciously glanced at the rain-soaked pavement as I walked down towards the main street. At least it was just rain this time.

It didn’t take me too long to make it to The Dreaming Mythic. As usual, it looked pretty dead on the inside. I popped in, making sure the door closed behind me so the rain didn’t get in. Instantly I got hit with the smell of sage and…lavender? I think it was lavender. I poked around for a little bit before I approached the counter after getting freaked out by the petrified doll heads.

Being stabbed by a rotting corpse ghost was preferable to death by dolls.

Talia, the owner of the shop, smiled when she saw me approached. Probably because I’m the first customer she’s had today. Or in the last few days. Regardless, she leaned forward and asked, “Well, what can I do for you today, Mr. Yamamoto?”

I smiled at her pleasantly. “Hey, Talia. This probably won’t sound too strange to you, but I’m in the market for some magical protection,” I said, wiggling my fingers at her for dramatic effect.

“What kind of protection exactly?”

I pointed up. “Protection from them.”

She looked bemused. “Angels?”

Oh, she was playing with me today. I laughed and shook my head. “Nah, I wish. What I’m looking for is something to protect me and a few friends against ghosts.”

“Ghosts, is it?” She frowned and rubbed her nose. “What kind of ghosts?”

“I think they’re angry, maybe even vengeful.”

“Ah,” she said softly. She turned around to open up a small cupboard above her head. “How did you get mixed up with an angry spirit, Mr. Yamamoto?”

I crossed my arms behind my head, stretching my back out. “Uh, it’s not me exactly. Well, it kinda is. My friend, Ally, she’s the one getting into it. Her friend, Lyn, and some of the other girls on the swim team are being haunted, we think.”

“Oh, I heard about that poor kid getting attacked,” she commented. “It sounded a little too convenient to just be a knife attack. And right after they had such an ominous warning sign?” She shook her head in mild disappointment as she continued to gather things in her arms.

I poked at the amulets dangling from the display as I waited for her to finish up. Talia was nearly done, as she put down her armful of items before disappearing into the back room for a few minutes. I looked down, not sure exactly what gems she had pulled out. I recognized the amethyst, but that was about it. I wasn’t exactly a rock guy. Finally, she came back with a large dusty book and dropped it on the counter.

“I don’t know the personalities of the people you’re helping,” she said carefully, “but anyone who is willing to get entangled with the departed is someone who has done this before. I think for your friend Ally, this is what she needs.”

She handed me a necklace with an amethyst stone in the middle and some bracelet with a black stone in the center. “Amethyst is for soothing the user, and the onyx will help protect the wearer from dark spirits. For you, son, I recommend a peridot. It is associated with protection, purity, and emotional balance.” She frowned, muttering under her breath. She grabbed a ring off the counter and placed it gently in my hand. “Give this to the tall one. She’s going to need the quartz if she plans on helping you. All of you should be wearing some form of onyx, if I’m being truthful.”

I looked down at the various jewelry in my hands. “Um…how much do I owe you?”

She stared at me very intensely. I never really noticed it before, but the green in her eyes looked a little yellow in this light. She gave me a small smile. “$15.”

That seemed extremely underpriced. I raised my brow in question, but she only shook her head. “Mr. Yamamoto, how would you feel if you charged someone an insane price to help protect themselves from something that might kill them?”

“Super crappy, I guess,” I said quietly. The thought of the ghosts killing us was something that never once crossed my mind. I tapped my debit card against the machine and thanked her before heading out, my backpack now filled with various forms of protection.

Well, at least I felt a little productive today. Later tonight Lyn was planning on doing some research, I think. And I know Ally hasn’t said anything about joining her, but I had a sneaky feeling in my gut that she was going to. I wasn’t like, 100% sure, but the eyes she was giving Lyn during our chat had been p r e t t y intense. I chuckled to myself, because I was pretty sure Ally wasn’t completely aware of it just yet.

Nothing like a little romance to spice up a good old ghost hunt, amiright?