#just another person being over-indulgent as if cass needs more of that

[caitlynmeow]

House Dimitrescu's cook makes the daughters grilled cheese sandwiches because they love them, but for a certain middle sister, the cook makes sure to cut the sandwich into small bite-size pieces because said middle sister only eats it this way.

[cljordan-imperium]

Alright CL. This one is very self indulgent so feel free not to answer it but I was wondering how your OCs would react to Heaven? Would they get along well?

Okay, so there are going to be multiple characters answering because...well, they are excited for this. They are from 3 different storylines - @theimperiumchronicles (obviously), @bombsbodyguardsbroken (multiple), and @magical-mistakes-vm. So...here we go!!

I'm going to break this down by storyline, and then by character

@theimperiumchronicles

Abriella -

Brie would love her! She's fierce, she's protective, she loves Arthur scars and all. Brie would be like, YES SISTER, come on in, bring the human and I'll boost whatever magic you need. Need me to bring back some ancestors from the dead, I'm a necromancer bitch!

Cassandra -

ANOTHER WITCH!! OMG!! Do you do naked moon dances? How do you scry? Do you do blood magic or crystal magic? I'm mated to Lucifer, YES...THE LUCIFER?! Need help?? You have a direct line, babes!! Let's have tea and dish!

Arch -

He would observe and be cautious. He is not into dark arts, but is a mage, so he mixes potions, crystals, poultices, and mystical powers. He is very protective of Cruz and Abriella. As long as she is not a threat to them, he might engage her in discussions regarding her magic, if she needs protective amulets for Arthur and herself, any charms or potions/poultices and the like.

Arioch -

Arioch, the demon of revenge is going to see her like a little sister. He'll be protective and assist her in keeping Arthur safe, maybe even doing her dirty work for her, keeping her hands clean. Being able to do the work from the other side of the veil, there will be no trace of how it was done or who did it. He's a demon after all, so it's not like the blame can be left on the human side. They'll get along wonderfully.

Lucifer -

He'll sit back and wait for Cass and Heaven to need something. Imagine him sitting back on a chair, legs outstretched, smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest, and just shaking his head. That's Luc. He's just amused his woman is excited as hell.

Jasper -

*sigh* Jasper is probably the first one to get stabbed. He's...he's Jasper and he'd be himself. He likes to test limits. Once he'd been an ass enough, he'd love the fuck out of her and take her under his wing like Arioch. He'd help her take care of Arthur and since he plays in the world of the Blinders with Anna and her friendship with Rose & Alfie, he can help run interference without her having to kill Alfie. Doesn't want to upset Anna now.

Anna -

Anna would want to help Arthur because she always wants to fix the broken, so she'd rope in Jean Pierre and Armaund (so we'll just thrown them in with Anna). In that way, they'd just bring Heaven into the fold like a broken person too. She's been damaged and hurt in the past and they'd just love her and try to protect her too. She might be the one that stabs Jasper, it wouldn't be the first time.

Kellen -

Kellen would be curious. Cautious, but curious. He'd want to know where her powers came from and why she is so quick to use them offensively. He'd want her and Arthur to come to the Uffernian Palace so he could study her. Safety for both of them would be promised so he could learn more about her history and magic. The only reason curiosity hasn't killed this panther is he's a very powerful demon.

Grae -

Unlike his boss, Grae would be on guard. He would keep Ada far away from her or Arthur. He's already protective of her, but if he thought she'd be in any danger from a woman who's ready to kill if she thinks Arthur is in any danger, not a chance. He's still trying to figure out Ada's powers so he would not risk it. He'd be careful around her too. Grae knows what he means to Ada, which means he would not risk angering the witch.

Dartan -

If he managed not to get killed, again, I think they'd get along. He was a powerful warlock in his first life so they would have much to discuss. However he has the personality of rough grit sandpaper against raw skin.

Amaya -

Amaya at first would be a little trepidatious, I mean the last spell she did DID end her up in literal hell and married to Dartan..ish. So, she'd be friendly but kind of skittish and shy. Once she felt a little more comfortable, I think they'd be great friends. If Dartan can keep from being, well, the current Dartan, then I think they could be a great foursome, like two couple friend group. Hell would have no fury like the four of them in Small Heath. Dartan is going to help Amaya with her magic eventually so if they were to meet after that, they'd be crazy deadly, like they could take all the Sabinis out in one swoop kind of deadly.

Mithos -

Mithos is another vengeance demon AND he is Co-Captain of the Queen's Royal Guard. The vengeance demon part of him is going to adore her and her style. The guardian side of him is going to totally understand her protection of Arthur. If you have read the scene I posted the other day where Brie almost went into Stasis you know how far he'll go for those he cares about. He will kill and he will die for Abriella, any day any time. So he would understand, and he would help her. He honors those who have love and loyalty.

Seren -

Seren is the Princess Royal and daughter of an ex of Korben that went on to marry one of his good friends and now is a "gift" to him that was originally to be his ward. Yeah...complicated. She's also been sent to study at the Mage Consortium in Uffern. (I have a spreadsheet to keep it all straight when my brain stops working...seriously) ANYWAY...she would find Heaven absolutely fascinating. First, the magic. Seren holds innate magic she's been using her whole life, so she'd want to talk to her about her skills, and how she got them. The whole history. She'd find the treatment of Heaven's family horrific. Then would come her protection of Arthur. This would be a foreign concept to Seren. She's always been a tool. Her mother was a tool, an object, a means to an end. She would adore Heaven, but not understand her love and protection of Arthur.

*****

@bombsbodyguardsbroken

Melania -

The daughter of Marie LaVeau magic is no secret to her, she's seen the darkest of the dark. She's called upon the ancestors herself. She understands protecting those she loves and would want to help Haven if she could. Make it so that she feels safe and that Arthur is safe. She also knows what it's like to not be able to trust family. Mel was killed the first time by the woman who she thought was her mother, requiring Marie to resurrect her, which is when she learned who her true family was. In the current story she will end up being forced to kill one brother and try to kill her true father. So, loyalty is paramount to her.

Dontanion -

A powerful Voodoo Priest, he is the most powerful of the family. He would be interested in Heaven's abilities. He would even offer to show her some protections she might not be aware of and ways to invoke the ancestors and beings from the other side of the veil. And wait till Heaven meets Fluffy!

Francois -

While not as powerful as his brother, his energy is darker and he is more intimidating. Both brothers had to stand by as Melania grew up, unable to tell her who they truly were and also unable to intercede in many things that happened that hurt her. Now the truth is out, they too protect her the way that Heaven wants to protect Arthur. He too would want to help her and develop/strengthen her magic in ways to help her protect him. Also in ways to help her heal the trauma of his past so the demons are held at bay longer.

Mama Marie -

Marie LaVeau herself, the most powerful Voodoo Priestess that has ever existed, and ever will. The Queen of the Bayou. She would accept Heaven as a child of hers, no matter who birthed Heaven or what she had done in the past. She is a soul who need love and practices the craft, that is all Marie needs to know. She adopts lost souls and gives them a home and a mom to come to when they need. She would try to gently guide Heaven where she could, and support her. Give Heaven the family that she had stolen in the past, the love and support a mother can, and welcome Arthur in as well.

@magical-mistakes-vm

Vollrath -

As a Master Warlock, Vollrath would see it as his duty to ensure that Heaven had everything she needed but also that she was not going too far, which might cause conflict. He can be...abrupt/abrasive/an asshole. He comes from a good place but his people skills suck ass. Mahala is going to work on that, but...I think it would go badly, but yeah... However, anyone coming after Heaven would die, and die very ugly. He would not ask questions, he would not give second chances. You come after a witch in his territory and your life is forfeit, whether he and the witch are on good terms is not a variable in the equation.

Mahala -

In contrast Mahala would be in awe. She would have a gazillion questions and just want to know everything. Heaven would be instantly accepted just as she was. Arthur would be loved as like a big brother. Mahala would offer them a family like bond, and want to learn from Heaven to help protect Arthur too, and even to protect Heaven from anyone who came after her. She'd see anyone coming after Heaven as the hunters that Vollrath has mentioned. And, Vollrath said they have to die...so.... *CRINGE*

SOOO...that is how my OC's would see her. At least the ones that immediately went ME ME ME ME ME ME...If any more of them pop up my brain might just turn to pudding. LMAO

[impeccablebackside]

so wicht jellicle love using sex toys

I would like to defer to this post, which is going to be much more inclusive about the use of toys, as well as have fucking machines discussed. I am still in the mindset that if someone wanted an outlet for their horny, they would simply find someone to fill or get filled by. As also mentioned in that linked post, I am not fully subscribed to the idea that sex toys are even a thing in universe. That is not meant with any negativity though. I also prefer the intimacy of two (or more) people over a person and whatever toy as well.

However, you asked for an answer and I will give new thoughts. We shall discuss which queens use toys during sex with a lover rather than solo.

Here is by queen, so strap in:

Victoria will sometimes use a vibe wand when Plato is fucking her, and it always makes her cum very quickly. Typically with him giving it to her while she is on her back, legs spread so that she has access to her pussy. Resting the wand on her clit, she will give pulses at first that send little shocks of pleasure before going full on and losing herself in a hard orgasm. Between her mans and the wand, she is puddled after and needs some time to recover.

Rumple will insert a vibrator when she is giving head, letting it buzz through her while she is occupied with somethingone else. She does not give a lot of blowjobs, but makes they most out of it. The little whines that escape her and the pleasure that builds lends her to be more eager with her efforts too. With eating another queen out, the same approach does happen as well, but she sometimes will surprise her love by fucking them with the same vibrator or . Rumple is attentive when she is pussy licking, and knows when to give an extra bit of attention that will makes someone squirm.

Tanto does not use toys, or at least nothing that would be considered a toy specifically. Much preferring just having moments between her and another person where they can share their bodies without the need for anything extraneous. The only caveat to any of this is strap-ons. While being an almost gold-star lesbian, she still craves being fucked by a 'dick' from time to time, and her partners are usually happy to oblige. While a strap-on is technically a toy, she sees it as an extension of one's ability to pleasure someone else. While there is fun in that, it is all business at the same time.

Cass uses toys as a way to flex on her lovers. Allowing them to fuck her with a dildo rather than themselves, she will get them desperate for her body. Seeing her get pleasure make anyone begging to be the one fucking her instead. It all works into her joy of have some power / control over whomver she is with.

Deme, when with another person (or you know, Munk), does not use any toys. They both much rather enjoy being with one another like that, and not involve anything else.

Bomba may choose to ride a dildo while giving a blowjob, but she does not indulge in that often. She also prefers to limit distractions. Though if she did have a strap, you know she would be a force, and make Tugger a bottom for once if he is into it (he is into it).

Jenny uses a dildo when she needs to be double penetrated. Having someone fucking her, while she has something in her ass feels wondrous to her. Since she is also into bondage, she will consent to being tied up and fucked by a her lover with toys or have a higher powered vibrator pressed against her pussy while she squirms and wriggles at the sensation.

Jelly uses toys as a way to be teased by her partner. Either playing with herself while she is being degraded for her weakness to succumb to her body's need for pleasure, or having her partner tease her with a toy while still degrading her. Sometimes a vibing toy is used instead. There have been moments where a massage gun with a larger ball end is used on her, sort of to mimic slightly aggressive fisting, and Jelly absolutely loses it.

[whumpiary]

content warning: noncon/dubcon vibes, intimate whumper, sensory deprivation

-

Cassius’ knees have long since gone numb, kneeling in the center of the bedroom like this. His shoulders are shaking from holding his hands so tensely behind himself, his spine aches from keeping himself upright. His thighs had been cramping, earlier. Whether they’ve stopped now or he’s just stopped feeling it, he can’t really be sure.

He could rest. If he wanted. Sit back on his calves instead of kneeling up. But… that wasn't the agreement.

“Would you like to kneel or be strung up?”

He hasn’t seen it, but he’d bet another hour on the floor here that the ribbon he holds between his fingers matches the one around his eyes. Red silk. Or satin maybe. To be honest, he doesn’t know the difference. Shiny and slippery and soft. He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger, little circles over and over, as he holds it taught, the change of grain in the fabric oddly soothing and the one solid thing he has left to hold on to.

“Would you like me to tie your wrists together or would you like to hold the ribbon in place?”

It’s freezing in here. He keeps shaking. Bone-deep cold. He’d assumed, maybe stupidly, that the fire would be left going while Christopher was gone. That the heating in the room would stay on. That the fucking window was going to stay closed. Maybe it would’ve if he’d chosen differently.

“Naked for an hour, or clothed for two?”

There’s a part of him that’s glad for the noise cancelling headphones. For one thing, at least, his ears are still warm. Which is more than he can say for any other part of him. For another, the white noise isn’t as bad as he’d expected. He loathes the blindfold usually. Hates that he can’t see anything, can’t track anything, every noise a could-be-threat that he can’t help but stay hyper vigilant to. The static is a relief in comparison, a neutral wash that fades everything out to grey. Well, almost everything. 

“Shame we can’t take away that last little sense of yours, isn’t it?”

There’s only a small part of him that’s startled by Christopher’s return. The rest has been waiting for him patiently the whole time, tiny shreds of sensory information filtering through the grey wash of the cold and the dark and the static. The vibrating creak through a floorboard shifting. The deepening of shadow behind the blindfold. And louder, brighter, more vibrant than all of it, the thrum, thrum, thrum of all the things Christopher wants. Fucking ravenous. Cass has never understood how one person could be so hungry all the time and not starve.

I’ll be what you want, I’ll be what you need.

Let me feed you, let me feed you, let me feed you. 

He feels himself readjust, spine straightening automatically much to the protest of the muscles in his back. His breath picks up, sitting high in his chest. His nostrils glare, blindfold A shiver runs over his skin, sets it on fire, reminds each cell to wake up. Spike of adrenaline preparing him to run from the tiger that he can’t see. As though he could run now, on the long-numb legs. 

Christopher doesn't touch him at first. Cassius feels himself bristling with the need for it. 

The first thing that happens is a light bump of the headphones that makes him flinch in fright. Then a pause. Then they’re lifted away and the deafening cacophony of roomtone and the rest of the world floods his ears and makes him gasp, nearly in pain with it. He can’t tell if everything’s louder without the static or just horribly, horribly silent but his whole body sways with the dizzy nausea it sets through him. 

He whimpers. Christopher shushes him gently. He tries to tilt his cheek into a nonexistent hand, desperate for the reality of touch. 

“Did you move, darling boy?”

It takes him a minute to remember to respond, to shake his head. But when he does, he does so with fervour. 

No, he didn’t move. He was good today. Wasn’t he good today? Please.

“Did he move?”

A question over his head, to the back of the room, to someone Cassius hadn’t been given the privilege of knowing was there. He nearly turns his head to look. He catches himself a few millimetres to the right and stills, clenching his jaw.

He was good today. Wasn’t he good today?

There must be an answer in the affirmative Cassius doesn’t hear because Christopher’s fingers press into the soft patch of skin just under his jaw and tilt his head up. He’s kissed tenderly, deeply, softly, violently. He doesn’t drop the ribbon.

He can imagine Christopher’s smile against his lips, his glittering eyes.

“I’m so proud of you”

He wishes the praise didn’t make his heart sing. Wishes, too, that it wasn’t just his heart the words set alight.

Christopher’s hand pushes back lazily through his hair and he tries not to lean into it but he does all the same. The man’s fingers trail down along his neck, across his shoulders. The touch is like a prayer. Like he’s being prayed to. Like he’s something holy.

Venerated. Sacrosanct. Divine.

“You know one of my friends has his boy do this for hours and hours on end. Usually with a gag of some description…” The man’s fingers brush against Cassius’ lips and he parts them just a little, jaw soft and slack. Christopher presses his fingers past his boy’s teeth, pressing down on his tongue. Pushing in further. “It’s quite the sight.” 

Cassius opens his mouth wider. Relaxes his tongue. Sucks. He can hear the soft gasp of Christopher’s breath, the tug of his lust. What he wants. What he restrains from. The man’s fingers press further in. 

“His boy doesn’t need incentive, though,” Christopher continues, voice thick with desire. “He’ll wait and wait like a good boy with nothing but the promise that it’ll be over soon. Isn’t that lovely?”

Are you going to be good for me today? Are you going to earn it?

Cass wonders if his lips have gone purple in the cold or if they’re still the plump pink Christopher adores so much. When he was a kid his lips were always going purple. Cass used to secretly like the look of it. 

"You’ve been so good for me today, haven’t you? Indulging me like this,” Christopher says. He runs his fingers through Cassius’ hair, back and back until they’re tangled loosely at the back of his skull, ready to tug and pull and push as he pleases. He’s been good. He’s been good. Please, he���s been so good.

It’s the retreating of Christopher’s fingers, rather than the pressing in, that threaten to make Cass gag. He nearly does. Nearly. He doesn’t. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pressing forward into the hand at his cheek. The word comes from nowhere, falling from his lips unbidden. His head feels full of the static that left. “Sorry, I’m so sorry”

Christopher hums in his throat, thumb running across Cassius’ cheek to catch a tear that’s slid down past the blindfold. “What are you sorry for, my love?”

He shakes his head and turns his face until he can press it into the man’s palm. He holds back a useless whine. His body shakes with a voiceless sob instead.

What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck? Why was he being like this? He wasn’t even hurt today. 

Please, for the love of God. Wasn’t he good?

“Oh, darling, you’ve gotten yourself all worked up for nothing, haven’t you?”

He whines, cries, sobs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Tell me I’m good.

“Please ju-” he gags on nothing and his breath hitches. Even behind the blindfold, he screws his eyes shut. He wants the static back. “Help me.”

Christopher hums and cards fingers through Cassus’ hair again, settles a warm palm on his cheek. “Of course,” he says. “Always.”

Bullshit. Still, Cass accepts the kiss that’s laid to his lips like it’s his last chance for air before drowning. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. 

Christopher tilts Cassius’ head up with two fingers under his jaw, both still slick with spit. “Now, would you like to see Henri now or-"

“Tomorrow,” Cass says, all but cries out. He can’t say why he feels so desperate. “Please. Tomorrow.”

“Are you sure, darling?” the man asks, lips like hot coals against the curve of his shoulder. “That wasn’t what you wanted earlier.”

“Please, don’t. I don’t want to see him. Please, I don’t want him to see me like thi-”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” his voice is so careful and soft. Like a whisper. His fingers skirt the blindfold and don’t lift it. “Tomorrow, then.”

Don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t come near me. 

“What do you need, my love?”

Stay with me, hold me, don’t leave. 

“You,” he says, unbidden, unprompted, unburdened right now of the shame that comes with admitting it. “Please. For fuck’s sake. I need you.”

Christopher hums again, the self satisfaction so thick in his voice it’s practically dripping.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

“Come on, darling boy, let’s get you to bed.” 

I love you, I love you, please love me too.

“For what it’s worth, I think you look divine.”

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 21 – Missed Opportunities

Chapter 1     Chapter 20

“You’re not going to be able to make it?  I put it on the calendar and everything.  Physical and digital,” Marinette pouted.

“I know,” Dick groaned in frustration with himself.  “But I’m telling you in advance this time.  I can’t make it.  I’ll watch videos.  I’ll give you extra back massages.  I’ll hire a personal instructor.  I’m sorry.”

“Dick… we rescheduled this twice so you could make it.”  Marinette knew her voice was getting exasperated and angry, but she couldn’t help it.  This kept happening.  He kept missing everything.  At this rate, he was going to miss the birth as well.

“I know but this is… This is really important, Mari,” he begged her to understand.  This could be the missing piece they needed.  He had to go.

“And this,” she indicated her belly, “isn’t?” She was giving him a hard, challenging look.

“That isn’t… I did not say that,” he answered indignantly.

“No, I know.  That wasn’t fair,” she conceded quickly.  It wasn’t Dick’s fault he was going to be gone and he was getting better.  He was letting her know in advance he wasn’t going to make the birthing class.  She collapsed against the counter, her shoulders slumping in defeat.  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Dick let out a long pained sigh.  “I know this is frustrating.  I’m frustrated and upset.  I can’t control the timing for this, for any of this.  And it’s all happening at the same time and it’s all converging and I can’t control any of it.” Dick’s voice got increasingly aggravated as he spoke and his gestures wilder.  He hated the timing of all of this, but he needed to be there.  They had finally been able to track a talon and he needed to trade off with Wally to keep up the tail.  He was the leader.  It was his family he was defending.  He had to go.

Marinette sighed and squared her shoulders.  This was just as trying on him as it was on her and she desperately wanted him not to suffer because of things he couldn’t control.  She cupped his face to bring his focus back to her.  “Yeah, it sucks and I hate it.  But we just need to remember we love each other, right?  We love each other and we want to be together.” she gave him a long, luxuriant kiss. “The universe is messing with us. We aren’t going to let it win.”

Dick observed the determined, loving look in her eyes.  Her confidence grounded him.  Things were bad now, but they would get better.  He would stop this plot and then things would be better.  He rested his hands over hers and smiled.  “We’re going to take on the universe huh?”

Marinette nodded, eyes shining with mirth, “And win.  That part’s important.”

Dick chuckled indulgently. “Of course.  And win.  Together.”

“Together,” Marinette nodded. “As long as we work together and communicate and we’re honest with each other, there’s no way the universe can bring us down.”

It took almost the entirety of Dick’s over a decade of training to hide the wince that resulted from the ‘honest’ comment.  It was like her comment was designed to cut even though he knew it wasn’t.  It still hit hard.  As soon as this was over he could come clean.  He would be honest.  And there wouldn’t be any more secrets between them.  They just needed to hold out for a few more weeks… or months… God, he hoped it wasn’t longer than that.  Instead, he smiled and nudged her nose with his.  “I love you.”

Her responding smile was absolutely brilliant.  “I love you too, Bluebird.”

<><><><><> 

“I’m so sorry I’m going to miss it.”  The remorse in Marinette’s voice was clear even over the speaker.  She was still in the office working on a few last minute issues with Lucius on issues with the fabric.

“It’s okay, Marinette.  I understand,” Dick calmly assured her.

“Yeah, we get it, Pixie Pop.  Your show is coming up really… long time from now,” Jason teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes, reveling in the chaos he was unleashing.

“It isn’t long.  It’s short. Really short,” Marinette ranted, the words spilling out quickly.  “Only a few weeks.  Can you believe it’s just a few weeks away?  I should have everything done and be working on details now.  Rachel, do not emulate this.  I expect you to be better than me.”

Lucius chuckled.  “Every inventor and creator I know does this.  This is always what it is like right before a debut.  You’re doing fine.”

“I’ve seen what you have so far, it looks amazing already,” Stephanie assured her. And it did.  She was completely blown away with what Marinette had done.

“No kidding.  You made me willing to wear designer clothes,” Duke agreed.

“Do you need anything Marinette?  Do you need me to bring over something to eat or drink?  Did you take your vitamins today?” Dick fussed.  He knew how she was when she was working and it was already dinner time.  If he knew her, and he did, then she didn’t even realize how late it was yet.

“Thank you, Dick.  I’m fine. You guys just enjoy your night together. And yes I did,” she assured him. Despite not being able to see her, Dick knew she had a smile on her face.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work, but I’ll see you at home tonight, right? You’re not going to spend all night there working on it?” Dick asked pointedly.

“Don’t worry Mr. Grayson.  I’ll make sure she doesn’t work herself too hard.  I’ve already ordered food in for us and a company car to take Rachel home after dinner and another for Marinette at 9, so she has to leave by then,” Lucius assured him with a chuckle.

“You two do realize I’m not a child, right?” Marinette snapped.

“Of course.  You’re an adult.  An extremely self-sacrificing, prone to self-destruction adult.  You’ll fit right into the Wayne family whenever Mr. Grayson finally wakes up.” They could hear Lucius’ smirk through the phone as well as Rachel’s giggle and Marinette’s squeak.

“Rachel!” she exclaimed a few octaves higher than normal.  “Do not encourage him!”

“Absolutely encourage him,” Stephanie called out loudly.

“Rachel, you’re supposed to be on my side.” They could tell she was trying to be offended but couldn’t quite pull it off.  “You know what?  Don’t you have homework to do?  You should be doing your homework.”

“I already got my homework done before I came here and the essay that’s due Monday,” Rachel answered easily.

“Oh, well that’s… very well organized.  Good job, Rachel,” Marinette admitted grudgingly.

“Well, somebody here should be,” Lucius teased.

“And you!  You know what, you don’t need to be here.  In fact, you’re not welcome here anymore.  You can go home.  Call a car for yourself,” Marinette growled playfully.

“Might I remind you, this is my office,” Lucius responded, completely nonplussed by her comment.

“You might, but it won’t change my previous statement.”  Lucius’ laughter rang clear through the phone, a clear indication that Marinette had punctuated her retort by sticking her tongue out at him.

“Lucius, stop flirting with my girlfriend,” Dick implored with a smile.

“Mr. Grayson, if I wanted to flirt with your girlfriend, she would no longer be your girlfriend,” Lucius responded smoothly.

“Oooooooh, damn,” Duke laughed.  “So that’s what total destruction looks like.”

“Lucius,” Marinette admonished him, “don’t say true things like that to him. One of us being a nervous wreck with a tendency to spiral into anxiety induced death spirals and nightmares is enough.”

“You okay, fam?” Tim asked cautiously.  He looked over to Dick to see how much of what she had said should be taken seriously and judging by the frown on his face, all of it except the Lucius part.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Marinette answered in an overly confident, chipper voice. They could just picture the toothy, too wide grin on her face and twitching eye.  “Just another few weeks and it will all be over,” she continued. “One way or another,” she added quietly.

“I know you’re dreading the end of our association when you’re sought out by every major name in the business, but I think your future husband is more than happy to have you out of my influence,” Lucius teased.  “Until he realizes there’s another year on the contract.”

“Yeah, okay.  On that note, I’m going to let you get back to work so Marinette can get home and in bed at a reasonable time.  Lucius… I’m keeping my eye on you,” he said in a stern voice that anyone else might have taken as serious.

Lucius laughed.  “Understood, Mr. Grayson.  Have a good night.”

“Love you, Bluebird.  Have fun, guys.” Marinette called out to them.

“Night Marinette!” Jason, Duke, Stephanie and Tim yelled to her.

“Love you too.  Night,” Dick said before hanging up.  He tapped the phone against his lips with a concerned frown.  He wasn’t doing enough to lessen her stress.  She was still too stressed and it wasn’t good for the babies. Maybe he could give her a massage tonight.  He plastered on a smile and turned to the others.  “Let’s get this movie started.”

“Is she always like that?” Duke asked after a few minutes.

“Like what?” Dick tried to give him a confused look but Duke just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.  “Yeah, lately, yeah.  Stress from the show.  When the show is over she should be much more relaxed.  Adrien seems to think this is completely normal and expected for her.”

“Cass and I would take her out for another girl’s night if we thought it would help, but at this point, I don’t think there is anything we can do but not add to her stress,” Stephanie grimaced.

“What a thought, not adding to Pixie’s stress,” Jason glared at Dick, a look that Dick didn’t miss.

Tim looked awkwardly between Dick and Jason.  “So… going back to what Lucius said, you thinking about proposing to Marinette?”

Dick looked away from Jason and blinked a few times, trying to get his mind to switch tracks.  “I have a ring, but not now.  Not yet. We love each other, but I don’t think we’re there yet.  There’s still trust issues,” Dick shrugged.

Jason scoffed and took a drink.  “Have anything to do with you abandoning her regularly with no notice and sketchy ass excuses?”

Dick glared at him.  “Probably,” he growled, knowing full well that was exactly what it was.  All of their problems boiled down to the Titans and him focusing too much on figuring out the Court of Owl plan.  All the missed appointments, all the missed life events, all the broken promises, were all because of Titan activity.  

“Have you thought about just… telling her?” Tim asked carefully.

Dick drew in a deep, frustrated breath.  Of course he had.  They all pushed him to tell her constantly.  Bruce had even given his blessing.  He could just tell her and alleviate a lot of their issues, but he refused to put that on her while she was already under so much stress and according to the doctor, it was dangerous for her to be under any.  He couldn’t control the fashion show but he could control this.  He wasn’t going to endanger the twins and Marinette just to make himself more comfortable.

She already got so worried about him from the injuries he came home with.  She would get that adorable, heartbreaking concerned frown and furrowed brow every time she looked at them, and since some of them took weeks to heal, she had that expression every day, several times a day for weeks.  After one particularly bad fight with Double Dare, she had nightmares for days about him getting hurt and then the babies getting caught in an attack.  He wasn’t about to tell her he did that regularly and induce nightmares every night while she was pregnant.

“You know, you’re going to have a couple kids with her pretty soon.  It might be important information for her,” Jason prodded.

“If Grayson doesn’t want to tell her, he has every right not to,” Damian interjected.

“Thank you, Damian,” Dick responded, silently, momentarily thankful he didn’t have the same protective streak for Marinette that the rest of the family had acquired.

“He knows her better than the rest of us and if he does not find her trustworthy, that insight should be respected,” Damian finished, returning his attention to the movie.

“What?” Dick exclaimed looking back at Damian in shock.  Was that really what Damian was getting from this?  Is that why he thought Dick didn’t want to tell Marinette?  “That’s not… Damian that is not why I haven’t…”

“She should know if she’s going to be doing this alone,” Jason interrupted. His voice was hard and accusatory, as it often was with Dick lately.

Distantly, Dick heard someone gasp and shuffle around, but he was far too focused to process it.  “She won’t be doing it alone,” Dick growled back.  Jason had been exceptionally hostile lately, more so than even Adrien, but the insinuation that Dick would abandon his family was going too far. “I’m going to be there for her and the babies.”

“I can’t hear the movie,” Damian warned them.

“Shut it, Imitation’s Imitation,” Jason snarled before rounding back on Dick. “Are you?  When does that start?  ‘Cuz you sure as Hell haven’t been so far.”

“Jason,” Stephanie tried to interject.

“I’ve had…” Dick started.

“Yeah, yeah.  Vigilante business, which has always been more important than making baby appointments, more important than being there for Marinette.  You need to figure out if you’re Nightwing or a father.”

“I’m both,” Dick gritted out through his teeth.

“But which is more important?” Jason argued

“Being a father, of course,” Dick yelled out.

“That’s not how it looks right now.  How many appointments have you missed?  How many events?  You abandon her constantly for things that other people could easily handle and eventually, she’s going to figure out that you don’t actually work for WE, and what’s your plan for that?  Or is that plan?  Let her figure it out and walk away from you so you don’t have to be the bad guy?”

“Shouldn’t your loyalty be to Grayson?  You’ve switched loyalties rather quickly.  One look from a pretty woman and as expected you turn your back on your family,” Damian snarled, finally turning away from the movie.  

“What the fuck do you think she is?  She’s family.  She’s carrying your niece and nephew.  They are our family, all three of them even if Dickhead walks away from them.  They are still our family and they deserve some consideration too,” Jason yelled back.

Damian opened his mouth to respond but Cass moved next to him, shaking her head. Damian grunted, but acquiesced, letting Dick and Jason fight it out between themselves.

“What is your obsession with me leaving them?  It’s not going to happen.  I’m not going to abandon them!” Dick howled.

Jason shook his head and gave a bitter chuckle.  His voice suddenly back to an eerily normal level.  “You’re right.  You always are, Golden Boy.  ‘I’m not going to’ would imply a future event.  You already have abandoned them.”

“Fuck you!  I have not.” The lowering of Jason’s voice only made Dick’s anger surge.  He was acting like he won an argument, like it was already over.  It was far from over.  “I’ve been doing everything in my power to protect them.  Whatever the Court of Owls is planning it is going to be huge and devastating, and we now know it includes Gotham.  I’ve been doing nothing but investigating them for months to stop them.  I’ve fought talons, I’ve tracked down associates, fuck, I’ve gotten captured by talons and had to get saved by Garth and Donna.”

“They should have kept you,” Jason grumbled, heading to the door.  “I’m going to go check on Pixie Pop.  It’s getting late, someone should and naturally, that someone won’t be you.”

Dick seethed as he stared at the door Jason left through.  How dare he?  How dare he! He had no right to suggest not only was Dick abandoning them, but that he wanted to.  Abandoning her was the last thing he wanted to do.  He didn’t want to leave in the middle of dates.  He didn’t want to miss the babies kicking.  He didn’t want to miss entire weeks of development.  He didn’t want to miss snuggling with Marinette.  He didn’t want to sleep without her.  He did all of that because he was protecting her, because he loved her.  He couldn’t just pass off all of his responsibilities to someone else.  He was the team leader.  He had to be the one to make the decisions.

“You okay?” Tim asked gently.  He wanted to make sure Dick was okay, but wasn’t looking to incur his wrath.  Jason had said everything that needed to be said, now Dick just needed to calm down and consider the words.

“He doesn’t understand.  He doesn’t understand what it means to be a leader, what it means to be a father,” Dick growled.

Tim looked away and gave a heavy sigh.  He wasn’t listening.  He decided he was doing the right thing and he wouldn’t listen to any other opinions. He’d dedicated himself to this course and he wouldn’t be swayed.  He’d gotten better about it in the last few years, but still had miles to go.  “Maybe,” he granted, turning to look Dick, his eyes hardened to steel, “but he does know what it means to be abandoned.”

Chapter 22

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95

[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. 

[fuckingdeadbutroyal]

Jasonette July- Soulmate AU- Part 3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Bruce would never admit it. No, of course not. Bruce was a literal father of eight, Catwomans fiance and motherfucking Batman himself. Right then, standing in the ruins of what was once “The City of Love”? He could not handle the situation. There should have been more people coming to Paris’ rescue, more heroes offering their support and overall more attention on everything that was happening, more attention on what has been going on for years. The irritation seeped into the batfamily like some kind of mist. Everyone felt it, but each person was dealing with it in their very own, individual way. 

For example there currently was a frustrated Cassandra Cain asking Tim for directions, while using a crowbar to open a door that has been sealed shut by the rubble of one of the broken buildings. She was angry, or at least that’s what she has been taught this emotion was called. The decade she has spent on the streets of Gotham have made her capable of handling all kinds of tools and left her with every necessary skill there was, if you needed to open a door or look for something any other person would not have paid any attention to. The young adult wasn’t keen on following her main mission. The villain could be caught later, but those people were dying right then and there. Tim has told them about the Miraculous Cure. Yes, all those people would come back to life if only their heroine would finally manage to catch that damn akuma. 

The memories would stay though. The city would consist of traumatised citizens and be vulnerable to further attacks or, in the worst case, further manipulation. Dick could not stop thinking about what could happen afterwards. What are they going to do once the villain has been eliminated and the miraculous cure has been cast? How would the citizens of Paris react when some sociopath would raise their voice and demand power and set up rules and just overall exploit the damaged and desperate minds of the victims? 

Would this emotional trauma lead to new extremists? 

Would they have to fight a new Hitler or have to assassinate the next Stalin? Speaking of assassination: Damian was raging. His already bad temper was a perfect starting point, which means that now that he had mixed his constant anger with the situational rage... he felt alive. 

He remembered that that was what superboy has felt like the first time he realised he could fly. Kon-Els’ emotions were always very...expressive. He loved to indulge every bit of adrenaline and excitement he could reach. Damian was glad to have him as his soulmate, though. The other boys positivity and extroverted way of acting was complementary to Damians introverted defensivness. Kon-Els’ habit of sharing his pleasent emotions and sensations through their soulmate-bond has opened the Wayne heirs eyes in several ways.

Now the youngest batfamily-members’ adrenaline and rage-filled soul was holding back from sharing that powerup with his lover, though. Instead he was focusing on Paris and subconciously hoping not to remember it in it’s current form, having planned on taking his boyfriend there for their anniversary. No, instead he was looking at those pained faces and ruins. His mind was tunneled, sure, but whatever he saw on the other end of that tube did not stand a single chance. The boy was rummaging through the streets, following each and every one of Red Robins and Batmans orders without giving it a second guess. Damian was reacting to everything colored red that came into his vision. Paired up with his oldest brother, who has taken to asking the citizens about what they have witnessed and if there was anyone who needed immediate help. Damian did not speak. He stared down anyone who didn’t answer them right away and “put on pause” whoever was causing trouble inside the shelters. He was following the “no killing policy”. (Which didn’t mean he held back.) A broken bone was a broken bone, no matter if it killed you or just immobilsed you for a few weeks. Dick did not approve of Damians actions, but the young one was careful not to leave a trace of his doings and knew for sure that there wouldn’t be anyone who would dare to tattle on him, not if they valued their oh so precious teeth.

Each and any trace that could lead them to the villains identity has been collected. Barbara paid special attention to accuracy and professionalism, no matter how difficult it was. She didn’t allow herself to loose focus, didn’t turn away from the mission. She wanted to, oh how much she wanted to just stop looking at those weird dusty footprints and butterfly themed anythings and pull the people in misery out of their ashes. Orakle couldn’t dare do it, though. Anyone else has already stopped paying attention to the mission. If she did too, there would be no one left to find the source of evil. She kept on playing the matra her father has taught her in the back of her head: “Find the criminal, save the future victims, find the criminal, save the future victims...” 

The future was uncertain, even for Duke. His photokinetic skill let him see into the near future, aswell as a bit of the past. But that didn’t help because that day he just couldn’t see anything but death and destruction in both directions. His vision was clouded with blood and dust and he quite honestly felt blind and useless. They should’ve come sooner, they didn’t have the right to leave these people to their own devices. Especialy since they knew that their devices were malfunctioning. The boys heart was full of regret. If only he could have seen this coming, if only he could have showed the akumatised victim a way out! It was his job as “The Signal” after all, he didn’t wear this annoyingly bright yellow suit for no reason!

Tim was surprisingly calm. He had his coffeemashine working, Alfred keeping him comany in the batcave and several constant sources of information keeping him entertained. He hated to admit it, but for once he felt fulfilled. His brain was working at just the right pace, he was giving out orders and information without having to secondguess himself and could allow himself to just let the mission take it’s course. He saw the dots moving around on the screen, saw the battlefield growing and changing and knew when to usher his family away from, or even towards danger. Yes, the pressure was incredibly high, but oh god was it exhilarating. 

Which didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed when his orders were being ignored. Cass not listening to him he has already been counting on, she was saving the people and that was all he needed her to do. Stephanies string of fate, which was connected to Tims heart, was safe and sound and she kept him updated about her actions, so he was fine with keeping her out of the equation, for now. Jason though? 

“Hood! What the fuck is up with you?”, Tim signaled his older brother, who was currently walking at the pace of an elderly zombie and, for whatever reason, constantly turning in the direction of the Saine, completly disregarding the route Tim has assigned him on. “I totally get your need for caffeine now, Red.”, Jason laughed in return, “doesn’t mean I support it though.” Having said that he went back to silently brooding in the direction that was making him even more tired than he already was. 

Jason was exhausted, but he wasn’t dumb. He’d guessed that his soulmate had to be somewhere in the area and he was certain that the strenghtening bond was due to their proximity. The further he walked the more he felt them. Or in other words, felt his body succumb to their weakness. Whoever they were, Jason knew they were on the verge of dying. A soulmates bond can only do so much. Sure, if he ate and slept for two, his bonded would get their share, but it still wasn’t enough. Judging by the way he was currently about to collapse, they haven’t been taking care of themselves for a while now. Jason had to do something. He needed to find them and get them to someplace where they could recover, at least enough for Jason to be able to get back to work again. 

Blinking, Red Hood realised where he was. Where there should have been water, just a few dozen meters in front of him, were...

“Red, am I hallucinating or is that river full of giant ladybugs?”

“Those are boats. Their color indicates them to be Lucky Charms, a creation of Ladybugs superpower. Batman and the others have found several other items all over the city and collected the ones they could. Apparently Ladybug has to throw them in the air in order to cast the cure. Are you capable of investigating these ones? I think they could be shelters but my drones haven’t arrived yet so we have no heatvision to investigate from abov-”

“I’m on it.”, Jason interrupted him, having gotten a grasp of the situation and, due to his tiredness, not being capable of listening for such amounts of information without succumbing to the monotone lullaby of another human beings voice.

Tim watched in wonder, as the big, scary, red hooded man stopped midtrack, made a 90° turn and climbed into a destroyed cafe. He came out of it, several minutes later, armed with what seemed like two cups of coffee, a bag full of food held between his teeth and unconcious parisians on each one of his shoulders. Jason carefully squatted, letting them down at the door of the nearby akuma-shelter and sitting crosslegged next to them. After carefully dropping his bag of baked goods in his lap and downing the probably burning hot coffee from his left hand in one go, he finally turned his com back on and just sat there, eating. 

A few moments had passed before Tim mustered up the courage to speak to him. He’s been fighting evil in the streets of the most crime-ridden city their planet had to offer for years now, but never in his whole career has he seen something as terrifying as that man he considered a brother, who he knew had commited murder, died and come back to life, just sit and eat while everything around him consisted of ruins, death and destruction.

“Tho-those civilans. Did you-?”

“I knew you would ask that!”, a full mouth replied, “Of fucking course not. They were knocked out by their bloody ceiling collapsing onto their damn heads. They’re still breathing and I’m sure there’s like, first aid in those shelters. I just gotta-”, he took another bite, taking his time, again swallowing his second cup of coffee in one go and letting out an exhausted but slightly more energized breath, “I just gotta recharge, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Are you okay? Why so weak all of a sudden?”

“Who are ya calling weak, replacement?”

“I meant what I said, now spill.”

An uncharacteristical sigh escaped Jasons lips. He didn’t like speaking of his soulmate. It made him feel weak, especialy due to their bond consisting of literal suffering. Given the current situation, though, he decided to share.

“Did you know I have a soulmate?”

Tims surprise was evident but he did not dare speak up, in fear of disrupting his brothers confession. 

“We’re kind of a fucked up pair, to be honest. Our bond isn’t as cute as yours and Spoilers. It’s like...very physical. Whenever she gets hurt I get the same bruise.”

Jason now knew she was female. He felt her much more intensely, recognized those physical attributes he was sensing. If felt weird and he would have to get used to it. (Only if the both of them were going to survive the next few hours, of course.) 

He took another bite of the third pastry he was currently eating, before continuing: “Whenever one of us has hurt ourselves when we were little, the other did something similar in some sort of “payback”. It was dumb. Silly realy...”

Tim was only half listening. As much as he wanted to know every tiny detail of this secretive mans confessions, he still had a job to do. A shelter not far from Dukes whereabouts has been covered by more debris and was therefore in danger of collapsing on itself. He gave out orders to everyone but Jason. Red Robin had a guess considering what he was about to be told and couldn’t risk ignoring that possibly incredibly important piece of information.

Jason was finishing his seventh pastry, while explaining to Tim how he recognized Paris through his soulmate and pointed out how odd it was, that she knew what every angle looked like from above and how she has never set foot inside an akuma-shelter. 

Saying it out loud made it painfully obvious. Especially when he paired the information with the fact that his wounds seemed to heal so quickly and the exhaustion the bonded pair was feeling.

Ladybugs powers include healing.

Ladybug was fighting the most difficult battle this war has ever offered.

Ladybug was Jasons soulmate and he knew where he could find her.

------------------------

Hello!!!

I hope you are having a great day, night, morning...probably night. Nighttime is tumblrtime after all. 

Thank you SO MUCH for all your feedback, it is now my fuel, my water, my blood, I love y’all.

Also, English is my third language so please, if you find any mistakes or notice a grammatical sin: please tell me! I am still learning and would love to correct my mistakes.

Part 4 is in the making and either it will be very long or I’ll make a part 5. No promises though!

P.S.: Proper Jasonette is finally happening next chapter, I’m excited ^^

I never would have thought I’d get to say that but I now have a taglist! If you want to be added just tell me in whichever way: I will find you and I will tag you *insert evil laughter*

Tag List \o/:

@maribat-is-lifeblood @lokilex @amayakans 

Thanks for reading ^^

[kingreywrites]

All that I have to lose

Fandom: Tangled

Words count: 2352

New Dream Appreciation Week Day Seven: Happily Ever After

Summary: Somewhere between meeting Stalyan and being betrayed by Cassandra, Rapunzel changed her mind about her opinion on weddings and happily ever afters. It could have been the natural progression of her thoughts on the subject, once she stopped seeing marriage as a prison instead of the new adventure that it was - but sadly, there was one event that served as a definite turning point, and she hated it.

Ten months after leaving Corona, Eugene got sick.

Read on ao3

Note: I can’t believe this week is already over! This was absolutely awesome, thanks again to the people organizing it, you’re incredible! <3

@our-newdream

Rapunzel hated that she could pinpoint exactly the time when she changed her mind for sure about marriage, and about what living happily ever after truly meant. Until then, she had always felt like it would be the end of her story - she and Eugene would settle down, happy and content without any new adventure to live through. It was okay, but she hadn't felt ready to give up on exploring the world quite… That is, until she understood that her definitions were wrong. But that didn't mean she liked her turning point. In fact, she hated it, because she knew that she had felt progressively more open about marriage during their journey, and she knew that she didn't need a life-changing event to understand that it wasn't the end of her adventures but the start of a new one. She would have come around, and had been nearly there after the whole Stalyan mess - but then, something happened to change her mind immediately and she hated it.

Eugene got sick.

To be precise, Eugene had left the caravan because they all wanted some air and had stopped in the middle of a clearing to do so. He went to the forest and came back some time after, and everything had been okay. It should have been okay. But then, Eugene had started acting weird - he kept drinking water, complaining that he was thirsty and that everything was too hot. He bickered with Cassandra, but lost his train of thought halfway through a curse, which never happened.

By the time Rapunzel was sure something was wrong, he had a raging fever and started talking about things that weren't there. It was Cass who finally understood what was wrong - she found berries in his bag, that weren't berries as much as it was belladonna.

Poison.

The following minutes were a blur to Rapunzel - she knew they had pushed Eugene into the caravan and bundled him into bed, despite his growing confusion and panic. She knew she had been panicking too, reminiscing about all she knew about belladonna which terrified her even more, but had also kept it all to herself behind a cheerful facade, because Eugene wasn't making sense and kept asking about her wellbeing. She couldn't worry him more.

By the time they agreed to rush back to the city they left two days ago because it was the closest one, his breathing was ragged and uneven, and his fever was through the roof. Rapunzel couldn't leave his side, because he would panic otherwise - and she didn't want to leave him anyway.

"Rapunzel," he gasped at some point, startling her, "you- you okay?"

"Don't worry Eugene," she soothed for the umpteenth time, hoping that he wouldn't notice her wobbly voice, "I'm fine."

She wasn't. Of course she wasn't, not when the love of her life was in such a state - in the throws of nightmares without even sleeping, begging her for water that she knew he would throw up right after. She had never seen him like this - had never seen anyone like this, really, but especially not him, who hadn't even caught a cold since they met. She did, though, she had fallen sick once or twice already, and he had been by her side to reassure her each time, assuring her that he had a strong immune system and that he rarely got sick.

She hoped it would be strong enough to fight this until a doctor could help.

"You're not allowed to eat berries anymore," Rapunzel whispered some time later, when his hallucinations seemed to have abated and they had needed to stop for the night, because the horses were exhausted. "Never ever."

"Did I-" He swallowed harshly against the dryness of his throat and tried again, looking heartbreakingly lost. "Did I confuse bimberries and dimberries again?"

"Something like that," she sniffed, getting his sweaty hair out of his forehead and cringing at the heat that was still here.

"Don't let Cassandra kill me."

"I won't. I won't let anything kill you," she promised, and Eugene smiled, but it was still vague and confused, as if he was indulging her without really understanding what she was saying.

His face and neck were covered by splotches of red, and he kept tensing his muscles against his will - the jerky movements scared her, and hurt him, and she hated it. She knew a lot about belladonna, because she had read again and again, during eighteen years, one of her three books that was about plants. She knew its effects - she knew everything that could go wrong, every potentialities, but it had never been terrifying until it was Eugene's symptoms. As she listened to him breathe, she kept fearing that his heart wouldn't have enough energy to pump anymore, or that his lungs would give up, or that another delirium would make him hurt himself further, and she had to do everything in her power not to cry.

She kept thinking about him dying, and she understood that she couldn't have an happily ever after without him. All the freedom and adventures would never make up from the sheer happiness he gave her every day, just by existing. She always knew this fact, in a way, but now it was a thought that choked her and made her hands tremble as she put a cold cloth over his forehead - because, until now, it hadn't been a true subject of doubt since he died that first time.

"I can't- I can't-" he muttered some hours later, never able to finish his sentences as he struggled beneath the bed sheets. Neither of them had gotten any sleep yet - neither of them could, Eugene because of the fever, and Rapunzel because of Eugene. "Blondie-"

"I'm here," she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek, making him look at her even when his eyes kept straying to the left, seeing something that wasn't there. "I'm here Eugene, I promise."

"No, no, I can't-" He sounded gutted, and one of his hand went to his stomach, clenching unnaturally over it.

Rapunzel worried that he was feeling sick again, because he hadn't managed to keep anything down, but when she tried to make him lean over the side of the bed, he fought her off.

"I can't let you do this," Eugene insisted, trying to get away from her.

"What? Eugene, please-"

"If you do this, you will die!"

With wide eyes, Rapunzel took in his appearance - the bags under his eyes, the unnatural blush on his cheeks, his heaving chest and his hand, not over his stomach because of nausea but over a familiar spot, that she should have recognised immediately. She exhaled shakily, her eyes burning as she tried once again to get close to him, careful not to spook him even more.

"Eugene, it's over. She- Gothel is dead. And you're fine."

"N-no, I… My side…"

Gently, she put her hand over his, not even flinching when he tried unsuccessfully to cringe away from her. She kept her fingers right over his and didn't move - not when he called her name in panic, not when he tried to convince her that he wasn't worth her life, not when he begged her to just let him die instead. They were tears falling from her eyes, but she didn't move.

"It's over," she whispered again when he calmed down on his own, his pupils blown but looking directly at her this time. "We're safe. I'm safe, because you saved me and you're safe, because I saved you."

As she talked, she slowly removed his hand from his side, taking it in hers and squeezing as hard as she dared, hoping it would ground him as much as it did her. Eugene kept watching her, mouth slightly open as he panted, but he didn't fight her anymore.

In a surprising show of strength, he raised himself quickly and brought her on an half-sitting hug, his head resting on the crook of her neck. She scootched over, bringing him to her lap as she hugged him back as strongly as she could, feeling like they would both fall apart if she didn't. He was mumbling things against her skin, his fever still high, and she didn't understand everything but she felt his relief in her bones.

"I'm glad you're okay," he muttered more clearly, and Rapunzel hugged him tighter, hoping that he wouldn't see the tears gathering under her eyelashes. She shouldn't have worried, because she felt his body go limp, Eugene finally succumbing to sleep now that he was sure she was safe. She kept holding him though - focusing on his weight against her so as not to drown in the emotions his hallucination brought back.

That was her turning point - the one event that rushed her natural train of thought straight to its conclusion, the event that she hated so much.

Because, at this exact instant, with Eugene's burning skin against hers, after ten months on the road toward her destiny, Rapunzel suddenly understood the feelings that she never managed to voice - she finally understood why she kept rejecting his proposal, and she understood why that didn't matter, in the end.

She was scared that her happily ever after meant the end of her adventure. She was scared that once they settled down, they would be safe and sound and locked inside forever, as naive as it might sound. For a long time, happiness had meant staying where she was meant to be, high up in her tower, making someone else happy - but now, she wanted to experience it all, be the person she knew she could be, make her own life and her own happiness...

But she wanted to do all of that with Eugene.

She had been scared that marriage would mark the end of her journey, but how could it, when Eugene was with her? It all seemed silly now, when she was holding him as tightly as she could while his ragged breathing tickled her neck and made her heartbeat speed up with worry. It all seemed silly, because Eugene was her happily ever after and had always been - he was her dream, he was who she felt free and wanted to go on adventures with.

Here and there, as she brushed his sweaty hair out of his face again, she realised that she would sacrifice it all if that meant saving him. Her adventures, her freedom, her destiny, it all meant surprisingly little compared to the knowledge that Eugene was safe and in good health, able to talk and laugh and smile as much as he wanted. He had told her, after the mess that was her coronation, about his fear of losing her like he lost most good things in his life - he had told her about his abandonment issues, and how that made him want to propose because he couldn't imagine his life without her. He had also apologised for it, apologised for not considering her feelings better, for proposing out of the blue because he was scared when it should be a shared choice between both of them.

In hindsight, she wished she could go back in time just to insist even more that he shouldn't apologise so much for it. She understood now - she thought she did before, thought her first-hand experience with losing him gave her more perspective than most, but she had somehow forgot how raw it felt to see him hurt. Now, faced with the too real possibility of losing him again, she wished she could propose to him right now, wished that they could get married and go hide out in the castle forever, if it meant he was safe with her forever too. She could accept any happily ever after, as long as it was in his company. And, the thing was, she knew it wouldn't be a sacrifice - she knew she wouldn't be unhappy, because she knew Eugene's happiness also relied heavily on hers. They made each other happy.

Eugene mumbled something incoherently, his lips right on the side of her jaw, and Rapunzel realised that she was crying, silent tears making their way down, to form dark little spot on his clothes. She shifted, to have one hand to dry her tears, and he twitched.

"You 'k?" he rasped once again, like he had done dozens of time since he ate those damned berries, because sickness or not, she was always his first concern.

He hadn't even opened his eyes. Rapunzel cupped his cheek with her free hand, stroking it softly with her thumb and erasing the rare teardrops that made their way here. 

"I'm okay," she answered, not willing to share the jostling thoughts in her head screaming that she wasn't, she couldn't be when he wasn't. "I'm okay."

"Good," he said simply, before falling asleep again, a gentle smile on his lips and an unnatural blush still on his cheeks.

Rapunzel curled up as much as she could around him and cried.

In the end, they arrived in a day and a half in the village and they broke the doctor's door down in their panic. Thankfully, said doctor was a nice little old lady who looked suspiciously like old lady Crowley - but she clearly wasn't the evil twin between them. She didn't take offence in her broken door, and didn't even argue with Rapunzel when she insisted to stay with her when she treated Eugene.

By the end of the day, his fever was barely one, and he wasn't hallucinating anymore. The following morning, he woke up, completely clear-headed if a little confused about their whereabouts.

"You're okay?" he asked Rapunzel when she took his hand and, for a moment, she wanted to beg him to never ask this question ever again. But, on the other hand, she understood - he was her first concern too. Maybe she hadn't understood that fully before, but she was completely certain now: him being safe and sound was her happily ever after.

"I'm okay," she settled on, and it wasn't a lie anymore.

[incoherentbabblings]

Angst #14 “Just get home as soon as possible, okay?!”with Tim’s perspective during his false death in the rebirth >333

Birthday Ask Game

Oh no you set me off on Rebirth Tim and Steph and the word home oh no this is so self-indulgent oh no.

Angst #14 “Just get home as soon as possible, okay?!” 

“You won’t be too long right?”

“Why? Nervous?” Tim had asked, as he moved around the apartment, packing a small bag. “I’m just picking up the rest of my stuff from the Titans. Won’t be more than three days.”

“Two days.”

Tim laughed, and Stephanie tugged on his t-shirt, not finding it funny. “Fine, fine.” He conceded. “Two days. C’mon Steph. It’s not like I’m going to the moon or something.”

“I get worried when I can’t keep an eye on you.”

Tim kissed her hard. “You don’t need to worry about me running off with Supergirl or something.”

She tugged him back to her when he returned to packing. “I’m not. That’s not it. You’re more of a magnet for trouble than I am. I turn away for three seconds and you’re tied to a bomb or pumped full of Scarecrow gas or hanging by a thread off Wayne Tower.”

“Steph…”

It was her turn to kiss him. She did it for long enough that Tim had shut his eyes and was smiling dreamily. She placed a hand directly over his heart, and begged,

“Just get home as soon as possible, okay?!”

He stared at her, those big eyes and golden hair, felt the warm hand penetrating his suit and chest, and smiled.

“Promise.”

Promises, promises, promises.

Tim had promised Mr Grim Reaper that his friends would come for him.

According to the clock built into his computer in his suit – three months had passed. Doubt was starting to set in.

Maybe they never would. Last Tim remembered, he was being blown up by four dozen bullets and bombs. Maybe they thought he was dead.

Bruce wouldn’t. Tim had proved with Bruce himself that having a dead body didn’t count for anything, and Bruce wouldn’t have even that to go off. Greatest Detective… he wouldn’t believe it.

But it had been three months.

He didn’t have much in the way of company, so Tim suspected he was going more than slightly mad. Splendid isolation my ass.

Really the only thing he had was the videos and pictures stored on his computer. He had been shy – initially – about looking at them. He hated the idea of Oz watching him watching them, but he had never visited after Tim’s arrival, and so eventually Tim felt safe enough to put on the videos and images – little projections upwards for him to see.

Just so he could hear another person’s voice, just so he could see another person’s face.

That was all.

He only had pictures of his parents, and when he looked at them, he half wished he were dead with them. So, he very quickly stopped looking at those photos.

Dick and Bruce were prominent. What he’d remembered as rare outings with Bruce out of costume were in fact more common than he realised, though he had little video footage of Bruce being genuinely himself and not playing up a schtick for the cameras. There was the training footage Dick would send, as well as clips of him showing off for jumping and acrobatic routines, but again, largely photos.

The videos were dominated by Steph.

“The plan doesn’t exist without you.”

True.

“…And I’m pretty good on my own. But you and me together?”

“We’re unstoppable.”

Tim smiled at the certainty of her reply.

“Whatever happens… I want you right there next to me.”

“I want her with me.” He murmured, repeating his own words back at himself. The video at that point didn’t show much, Steph had put her phone down so they could neck properly, but the sounds remained, as did the shot of the setting Gotham sun.

His eyes stung, and he rolled onto his back, pressing the heels of his palms down into his eyelids until he saw stars.

Stephanie wouldn’t know. Stephanie would think he was dead. Four months of bliss for what? What did he have to show for it? He was supposed to build a better world with her, for her. He’d wanted to give her a better family than what she had been born into. She deserved it. He wanted to make Gotham worthy of her.

Stephanie probably believed he was dead. Three months. He’d been gone almost as long as they had been together. She would move on and find someone else. Maybe he’d made up the severity in his head of their relationship. He had the next twenty years mapped out as one possibility. What if it had just been teenagers being teenagers for her? What if she had already moved on? Someone who made her happier?

The idea of such a thing made Tim unspeakably angry, as if he had any right to say otherwise. It felt like his home was being taken from him.

His anger quickly settled. Four months and yet it had meant a lot to her. He knew this. Times like when she would curl behind him while she thought he was getting his five hours of precious sleep, the secrets and feelings she would never say aloud except during first light, when everything was a little bit more fragile. She wouldn’t have recovered so easily from his disappearance. The thought was both a comfort to himself and heart-breaking for her. He didn’t want her to be in pain. Ever.

Stephanie was his home. More than Gotham even. He needed to return to her. To Bruce. To Dick. To Babs and Duke and Cass and Jason and Damian and Alfred and his Titans and… Steph.

Sniffing, he pulled back, and flipped through more photos. He paused on such a silly one – he and Steph at a café. It was just a silly selfie he had taken. Steph had been laughing about the different snapchat filters and insisted on taking one with him. It was so dumb with the cartoon ears, but he laughed all the same. She looked so happy.

His laughter quickly became him crying as he looked at it. At how much he wanted her to be that happy (happy with him).

Maybe Batman wasn’t coming.

Maybe he’d have to make the first step.

Slowly he sat up and looked down at his armour. There was an equivalent of a hardware store inside his arm guards and chest plate. If he could just get to some form of computer and send a signal – it would be enough. Escaping would be great, distress signal would also be great.

Keeping up the photo of he and Steph, Tim set to work.

He would come home to her soon, one way or another. He begged her to wait just a little longer.

[popculturebuffet]

The Legion of Super Heroes Reviews: The Legion of Substitute Heroes or Unsung Heroes

Happy 29th Birthday to Me! Yes it’s my birthday which means it’s time for reflection, griping about getting older and cake. And after an exausting weekend of grappling with a growth, i’m not going to go into anymore detail, I can finally, relax celebrate and get back to reviewing. And since i’ts my big day, that means I decided to dedicate today’s reviews to things that mean a hell of a lot to me and in one way or another shaped me as a person. A self indulgant way to reflect on my past, look to the future and show y’all some stuff I really like. So with that out of the way let’s talk about the Legion of Super Heroes.. and their oddball sub team I love dearly. 

This is also my first chance to talk about DC Comics on my blog. I’m honestly shocked that in the year i’ve been reviewing stuff regularly, the other half of the big two superhero comic publishers hasn’t come up. While I do tend to lean towards marvel, in part because Marvel is simply better at collecting their stuff and putting it on sale more often, it’s still the home of some of my faviorite properties: Justice League International, The Green Lanterns (Minus Hal), Teen Titans, Wonder Woman, Oracle, Batgirl (All of them, particularly Steph and Cass), Young Justice, Supergirl, my personal boy The Martian Manhunter.. the list dosen’t go on by much but it indeed goes on. I”ve been reading dc comics since I was in middle school, and I haven’t stopped since and don’t intend to stop now and maybe in the next year I can get around to tackling some of their awesome cartoons and comics more eh? But yeah among these titans, including the actual titans, are the Legion, one of the most unique and awesome super team concepts in my humble opinon and , even for DC, one of the teams with the most tangled up histories. 

First created in the Silver Age by writer Otto Binder and Artist Al Plastino, The Legion of Superheroes is DC”s first successful teen superhero team, predating the titans by a few years, though I dearly love both wildly diffrent teams. The Legion is defined by their high concept: A thousand years into the future, three super teens from diffrent worlds who happened to be on the same ship with billionare RJ Brande, saved Brande from some goons hired by his crooked buisness partner. 

And exposed him. Inspirired by their courage, heart and skill, Brande latter called the three together to form them into a super team, one inspiried by the legends of teen hero Superboy. 

No not Conner though it was nice to get to show off my poster of him. While he was part of the second continuities legion, we’ll get to that, he’s not the superboy we’re looking for. He is damn great though and it’s good to have you back bud. 

Not Jon either, though I do miss this kid’s pre-bendis version and he was the inspiration.. for another version of the legion. (SIGH). Try. AGAIN IMAGE SEARCH. 

...... 

No not the cool bad boy turned troubled good boy, not the child who was inexpciably aged up by that bald smeghead, and not the great idea turned into a editiorial mouthpiece. I”m talking about THIS superboy. 

This is where the name came from: From the silver age till crisis on infinite earths, Clark Kent was active as a kid in smallville, and thus was Superboy, superman when he was a boy. He dealt with similar stories just with Lana replacing Lois, and Luthor as a ginger teenager. And it was these deeds as a teen hero on his own, one of the first honestly, that inspiried the legion and brande and forged the team. 

And it was naturally a super boy story where they were first introduced as the legion’s founders went back to recruit Superboy after putting him through some trials, and were intended as just one of many silver age one off concepts.. but caught on with the readers so much they were brought back, and had their ranks expanded and eventually not only added supergirl, yes the one your thinking of this time, to their ranks, and yes sometimes she and superboy were in the same place at the same time, Clark willingly had founding member and telepath Saturn Girl put a mental block in his head for any info he’s not supposed to know yet so it’s cool . But yeah not only that but they eventually became their own feature in Adventure Comics, where Superboy’s stories were published, but overtook him in popularity with time.  Over time a number of distinct aspects were established: The roster eventually got as large as 20 plus legionarres, almost all from diffrent worlds, and they eventually set up bilaws. Some are silly and dated such as “Legionarres marrying means they retire” which was eventually done away with in the 70′s, but others were simple logic: each member must have a unique power, no using weapons and such which rather than be super power snobbery is so said tech dosen’t fail and the legion later fully allowed Karate Kid, a martial artist, to join, no killing.. just common sense stuff that adds to it. And one of those is the centerpiece to today’s story, which we’ll get to in a moment.  Obviously given they’ve been around since 1958, there is a LOT more to the Legion’s history I will dig into at a later date: The short version is that Crisis on Infinite Earths, Dc’s first big reboot, fucked the team up badly by retconning superboy out of existance and dc editorial made it worse by shooting down EVERY solution the team came up with to fix the issue. So eventually things got so messy they nuked the whole thing during the event Zero Hour and rebooted fresh with Mark Waid taking the helm and updating the concept for the 90′s and being a more lighthearted, if still not without weight, comic in the sea of 90′s edge. Waid would reboot the team again due to sagging sales, a far weaker reason this time, with a more rebllion slant, the original team would be reinstated, and then ended for a while before recently being rebooted by Brian Micheal Bendis... who sadly is long past his creative prime from books like Ultimate Spider-man and alias and is instead stewing in his own toilet dinner these days and thus it’s not pretty.. well okay art wise i’ts VERY pretty, it’s just story wise it sucks dirty ass in thunder storms. There was also an awesome cartoon that sadly lasted only two seasons that I will DEFINTELY be digging into, especially since unlike x-men evolution, it’s not you know 50 some episodes and me biting off way more than I can chew but a slim 26 that still has fans to this day. I”ll get into ALL OF THIS, some ohter time hopefullly and I mostly outlined it since some of you might be familiar with another version or “Sigh” the reboot and this helps clear things up.  So yeah with all that out of the way we’re going back to the silver age and the first story I ever read of hte team, how I met them with “The Legion of Substitute Heroes” and a later subs story I genuinely love. I first read this story in one dc’s old expensive archives collections I got from the library. Oh how I miss the library. Your probably wondering who the legion of susbstite heroes are.. but since the first story covers that we can jump right in after the break!

So we open with a teen in a parka uniform disembarking from a spaceship from another planet, which a passerby notes is just like the airplanes people used to ride from country to country. 

But we meet our hero, Polar Boy, whose in a winter themed outfit and has come to try out. This is the tradition I was saving for now: The Legion Tryouts. Like a club or sports team would, but I like it because it makes sense: The Legion NEEDS to be as big as it is because while their headquartered on earth, their mission scope is anywhere in the united planets which spans GALAXIES. They could be called on any time and need their full force or need to have severa l members on a smaller mission and frequently having members away on a mission was cleverly used to reduce the cast to whoever was needed for the story. 

So it only makes sense to frequently look for new membbers to help strengthen their ranks... but given their teens and are recurting teens they need to be careful and need a logical way to reduce crowd flow. I mean you saw how many people used to line up for american idol before that died a justified death, people will do anything to be famous and they need to weed out those whose powers and skill just aren’t up to snuff yet, or those who are just dicks as, unsuprisingly, several stories have been built on assholes who applied and were rejected turning evil and attacking.. even though the Legion wasn’t even paticuarlly harsh. They also are more than fair as applicants CAN try again or if they prove themselves in other ways can be let in, as Bouncing Boy, my favoirite legionarre, was intially rejected for his power of .. well...

Yeah.. on paper inflating like a ball and bouncing around is kind of silly. In practice he can ricochet off enemies, walls, and obstacles and is fairly durable in that state. It’s why I don’t really brook mocking the guys power: yes it’s goofy.. but say that again when he hands you his ass. It’s the same with matter eater lad who yes is an actual character: While being able to eat anything is gloriously goofy.. it means he can chew through ANY substance and digest ANYTHING. Hell in the cartoon episode intorducing the subs they used both of these guys to great efffect: Bouncing Boy, who in the cartoon had to try out multiple times in his backstory, encouraged the future subs while Matter Eater Lad got in by EATING A FUCKING BOMB. He also had shades which I dind’t know he was missing but now I do. My point is the process is fair and well thought out and leads to some really fun scenes. 

But yeah joining the legion is naturally Polar Boy’s dream, as he walks down the avenue of heroes, basically a series of statues honoring the legion and hopes all his hard work paid off. We then cut to the auditions, where he apparently waited all night. What I like about this story is that unusually for the silver age legion where it was mostly a sea of powers attached to a bunch of cardboard, really the dc silver age in a nutshell and why marvel broke out so much for having more dynamic and realistic characters, Polar Boy has more of a personality. It’s not MUCH but he’s a dedicated, hard working kid who just wants to join his heroes and seems really in awe of htem, a feeling we can all relate to. We’ve all had people we’ve looked up to, admired, and we’ve all had groups we wanted to join as kids, teens or what have you. And of course.. we all know what it’s like to be rejected by someone or something you badly wanted to be a part of.  And that’s what happens to poor polar boy, who comes from a world with an intense sun thus his people developed super cold powers.. but he can’t control them well so while their impressive, they also freeze the legion. HIs powers are good... but due to their strength and radius he’s also a liablility. They give him an consolation anti-gravity belt.. they had these before eventually compressing them into the much cooler flight rings.. which I still desperatly want one of. I have the flash’s costume ring and a green lantern corps ring, but still no legion ring. 

Naturally this devistates the poor boy and he wonders around dispondent till nightfall, convinced he’ll never be one of them. He soon meets Night Girl, a fellow reject with super strength given to her by her dad’s formula.. but only in darkness as she’s from a world without sunlight. She also faces a “hopeless future” but it’s then Polar Boy’s true strength reveals itself: he decides screw giving up on their dream and if they can’t be in the legion they’ll start their own Legion. 

Though not to compete but to serve as a subtistute, in case the legion is ever incapacitated. So Night Girl gathers the other rejects the next morning. Cleverly one of them, Chlorophyll Kid was seen with Night Girl herslef at the tryouts behind Polar Boy. We soon learn about them and each of their origins: Stone Boy can turn himself into an immobile stone statue, as his world has half a year long nights and thus his people hybernate, Fire Lad who can spit hot fire literally and set anything combustable on fire and Chlorphyll Kid who can make plants grow rapidly. Each were rejected for resonable powers: Stone Boys powers too static, Fire Lad’s is too dangerous and Chorlpyl Kids toos pecific. But upon seeing all of this Polar Boy says they STILL have fantastic powers and still can help people and the legion. 

Thus the Legion of Substittue Heroes is born. And I love them as much as the originals. As a bit of a misfit myself I relate to these guys: They have strange specific powers, got rejected by the big team.. while that trope is nothing new at the time it was unique and even now it’s a nice and inspiring message. Instead of giving up they form their OWN team to do what htey can anyway. They might not be the best like the legion but they can still help and still do what’s right even if not on their scale. It’s a great concept and really makes them endearing. Again I have a thing for the underdogs but I still really like these guys. It’s why it annoys me they got kind of spat on with time: While I love Keith Giffen and Paul Levitz run on the legion, and feel it’s the best of that contnuinty it’s not without fault and the two basically spent a full issue mocking the team and split polar boy off from them before making their own subs with only ONE of the originals. It just felt.. disrspectful. And so far no continuity has used them again until the recent bendis run, which has them announced for the Future Slate special. It took BENDIS, who dosen’t get how to use the team properly and is up his own ass, to bring them back in a new continuity and I find that obnoxious. The subs are a great concept and deserve to be honored as such and as such are one of my favorite superhero teams. 

But their careers don’t start well as they doubt themslves, except for Polar Boy who boisters them along, and constnatly just end up going to missions the legion already has covered and when the legion go to fight some robot ships, they refuse the subs help.. which is fair though, as Brainy puts it they can’t risk putting untrained volunteers in harms way. Their about to just quit, in a really sad moment.. when CK, because I can’t spell cholophill and hate having to use spell check notices some odd seeds spread about.. and when he grows one a horrifying tree man shows up. They struggle with it till the setting son finishes it’s job, meaning Night Girl is at full power and whollops it and the subs spend the night destroying the seeds.  They  find out the next day the seeds came from the same planet as the robot ships, meaning the ships are a distraction for whoevers doing this and since they can’t just call earth, as the full force of the legion is needed with the robots and all it’d do is cause a panic, it’s down to them. Night Girl however is scared.. and I like that. It shows that while their regaining their confidence.. it’s sitll risky. Their a bunch of barely trained fanboys, and girl, going up against an alien invasion, with it down to them. They CAN save the world but it’s alright to be entirely terrified when your thrust into it this fast. 

They make their way to the planet, having built a ship earlier and lie low, finding out what’s going on: The plant men are fully intellegent, and grow themselves..though how they know to attack and go to the bathrom and what not out of the seed I don’t know but I assume it’s a genetic thing or they might be some form of hive mind. point is the seed plan is to grow troops all over the world via rockets for an invasion, and it’s a brilliant concept for one too. Aliens who simply GROW the troops right into battle, born with the knowledge to do so, and right where they can ambush them. It’s down to our heroes and Stone Boy, whose been the most pesemistic, valiantly dives in to provide a distraction so they can destroy the factory and the seeds. Turns out he is useful as the most the treeple have is a space lead pipe.. yes really. I love the silver age. But they’ll bring ray guns soon, so Stone BOy knows it’s a suicide mission and now our heroes have a timer. But luckily.. our heroes are stronger than they think. Night Girl punches a way in till Night passes, while Polar Boy and Flame Lad use their powers in concert to make an opneing.. but with time running out Polar Boy finishes things by having CK grow all the seeds now they have acess.. thus exploding the planets population, destroying several cities from the number of bodies, and thu discourguing the treeple from trying again. Stone boy is able to flee with the rest of our heroes and the day is saved. 

The heroes opt not to tell the public, as to take away glory for the Legion. It’s a noble gesture.. they do DESERVE credit, but they choose not to take it, preferring to let the legion get theres for stil lsaving the world from the robots. They stand firm, now confident they may someday make it to the big leagues.And it’s this that really makes me love them: Thier not the strongest or best, but they try anyway for the reasons a hero should: to help people, and not for the glory. THey remain unsung heroes and are fine with that.  Eventually the Legion WOULD find out about them, but naturally instead of being dickheads about it, fully accepted them, even offering them some contests for membership, but that’s a story for another day. THey’d remain stalwart allies and valuable backup in crisis situations for years to come until the bollocks outlined above. But they’d never leave my heart and thanks to them.. the legion never left either. 

Final Thoughts:  While I do love the story for it’s personal signifigance to me, It’s stilll a really good story for the time. A bit stilted as was the style, but still good, well paced and with an endaring cast of underdogs who prove themselves in the end. It’s something diffrent from the usual clean cut ahead in life wasps these stories usually followed at the time. While the team’s still all white and all that, their outcasts and misfits who just want to help and have trouble beliving in themselves. Their a good standard to live up to.. and a good inspiration for me and my constnatly self hating self doutbing self. And I hope you enjoyed htem too.  If you’d like to comission your own review, just dm me. It’s 5 bucks for individual issues. Later days. 

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

2020 IN WRITING

tagged by: @indestinatus​

tagging: no one, because I am unable to think straight. But whoever is interested in doing this: I’m interested in reading it. <3 

Wow, okay, I’m getting real in this little questionnaire... read at your own risk, friends.

1. List of works published this year:

I genuinely can’t write them all out here... there are too many of them! (I’ve done so little besides writing this year!) But I keep a running list of all my projects here. I’m sorry for cheating on this one, haha. 

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

This question comes up a lot on these things, and I always put the same answer: That We May Forgive. It’s has emotional moments, silly moments, heartfelt moments where the warmth made me cry as I wrote. It was written in one sitting, and it’s the story where I felt most connected to the characters I love so much. It sums up the joy I feel knowing that these (fictional) friends of mine have finally reached peace after too many years of trauma and hardship. I began the story with a single line in mind, after which the characters took over and told the story for me:

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

You Stumble, You Soar, which was written for one of my dearest friends in the world, @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee​. I wanted to do so much better by her, but as I ran out of time to complete the story by the end of her birthday, I rushed the writing and I think the story suffered for it. It made her happy, though, and that’s the most important thing. She deserves all the happiness, all the time—but especially on her birthday. 

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I can’t think of a favorite excerpt of my writing, because I’ve written so much that I can’t think back!

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

“Wow. Let me just tell you that I am absolutely in love with this story. I wake up everyday and, as I log into fanfiction, my only hope is that you've uploaded a new chapter because DAMN. The characters are so well written, the story is beautifully constructed and this last chapter just broke my heart into tiny little pieces. What a remarkable job you've done. Please, don't ever stop writing NCIS/Tiva fanfiction- specially this one story: it's one of my all time favorites. Thank you :)”

An incredibly kind and inspiring comment by a reader named Alexandra on my longest (WIP) fic, We Are an Ocean.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I’ve had two periods of NCIS hiatus this year—and actually, I’m still in the midst of the second one right now. These have periods of turmoil in my own life. When I’m upset, feeling sick, feeling sorry for myself and I’m depressed and aching... that’s when I write the best, because writing is my safety blanket. When I’m feeling numb, though, or lost... the characters are lost to me, too, and so are the words I use to wrap them (and myself) in comfort.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I’m going to deviate here from NCIS, which is—I’m well aware—why most of my followers have chosen to follow me. But in the last month, I’ve written a single fic for Criminal Minds—it’s called In Possibility, it’s unpublished, and it’s now over 100,00 words. It’s centered on Spencer Reid, who was intimidating to me when I started writing the fic. He’s far more intelligent than I am, requiring me to do a lot of research to give him realistic lines, he’s a deep and complicated character with complicated motivations and a tangled, traumatic past. He also has a sweet, really good heart that’s been scarred by years of difficult work and an emotionally taxing personal life. 

I thought he’d be difficult to write; to my surprise, he comes as naturally to me as any of my other favorite characters ever have. He gave me my first nanowrimo win! To be frank, he’s gotten me through a lot of shit this year. That was the best surprise.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

To be honest, I wasn’t much of a writer before this year. I enjoyed writing, especially in a roleplay setting with fandom friends... but I deeply struggled with trying to write alone. I didn’t do much of it.

Then, this year, well... the concept of writing exploded into the most important distraction, escape, and joy I could imagine. 

I didn’t grow as a writer this year. I became a writer this year.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

My most recent project—the one that, as I’ve said, is (and will remain) unpublished—has given me a new perspective. It’s written for an audience of me and only me... so I’ve given myself permission to engage in the most ridiculously self-indulgent writing I’ve ever embraced and thrown myself into. 

And it has been the greatest joy I could imagine in a time of great pain.* 

Next year, I want to throw myself into every project I work on with as much reckless abandon as I’ve done in this last project. I want to stop worrying so much about what people will think and pursue the words that are bursting out of the fingers on my laptop keyboard. I want to have confidence in my ability to draw out emotions—if from no one else, at least from myself.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” —Emily Dickinson

And it’s alright if that one heart is mine.

That’s what I want to accomplish in my writing next year, and what a growth that would be!

* I’ve mentioned this in my last post, but I’m recovering from brain surgery, I also have the COVID-19 virus, and I’m working on passing a kidney stone that may be too big to pass. I’m writing 10,000 words a day to get through it—and it’s working. Distraction is everything to me right now.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Like Sof, I have to tag three people here, because I really couldn’t choose just one. My three best friends in the world all influenced my writing in their own ways! <3 (Sorry for deviating a little from the writing thing in some of the following lines, oops. I just have emotions that are all over the place this week!)

@indestinatus — One of a few best friends who has had my back every day for so long now. She listens when I need to talk things out—whether or not I’m talking about writing. She really gets me when I need to be silly, or I need to be serious, or I just really, really need a friend. Also, she inspired me to start learning Portuguese this year, and I’m actually practicing by writing a fic in Portuguese, lol. It’s slow going... but Sof encourages me (and corrects me, haha) whenever I work on it, just as she does with absolutely anything else I work on. Truly, I’ve had few friends in my life that are so special to me, and I love her. I really do. 

@why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee — Is there a better cheerleader on this earth? Is there a better friend? Doubtful on both counts. She thinks I’m a disaster—and, by the way, she’s absolutely right—and she sometimes has to remind me to eat and sleep, but she’s totally cool with being my internet mom. Doesn’t matter that she’s nearly a decade younger than I am, lol. All of these things have bolstered me when the writer inside of me has faltered, and she has carried my burdens as I wrote them out. Anyway, she reads everything I write, and she has requested to gain access to all of my unfinished chapters and unpublished works in the event that I die—I completely trust her with that nonsense. I’ve written it into my will. Really. Like with Sof, I genuinely love Tiz, and I’d do anything for her. 

@honeybadgerdocare — Best friend of 20 years. She doesn’t watch the same shows that I do, and my endless ranting makes very little sense to her... but she listens. She’s my sounding board for everything I write, everything I read, everything I watch, and everything that gives me big feelings. I genuinely can’t describe how much she has helped me with my writing every single day, so I’ll leave it at this: I could not do it without her. I’d drown in my own struggles and I’d stop creating the art that sustains me. She’s my soulmate—sorry to her fiancé. All of my love goes to her!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

HAHAHAHAHA it’s cute how you think my writing is anything other than a re-organized and fictionalized version of my life and my feelings. Real life shows up in my writing, and my writing shows up in my real life. It gets crazy and obsessive, but like... I had a trip to Israel booked this year (obviously canceled due to the pandemic, but still) because Ziva comes from Israel. (Also because of my Jewish adoration for the spiritual homeland, but the thought of going and the trip planning all started with Ziva.) I went to Baltimore so I could run down an alley yelling “YOU CAN’T OUTRUN ME, I’M WEARING TUBE SOCKS!” to encourage my inner Tony DiNozzo. I nearly froze to death in Washington, D.C. and called my mom every time I saw a little red mini coop that looked like Ziva’s, or came across a place that was featured in an NCIS scene.

And to answer the actual question here, because I obviously flipped it around like the moron I am... when the pandemic canceled things I was desperately looking forward to, I wrote a fic where Tali’s excitedly anticipated dance recital got canceled because of the pandemic. I lost my appendix (last year, but the fic was written this year — does that count?) and wrote a fic where Tali loses hers, too. (I swear, I don’t always write things that torture Tali, lol, these are just my best examples!) When I lost a couple of loved ones this year, I wrote a funeral scene where Tony and Tali remembered Ziva. Writing is definitely free therapy, y’all.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Write for yourself—write what you love, and you’ll love what you write. That’s all. That’s it. That’s my advice, something I’ve learned this year.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’ve been working on We Are an Ocean for roughly a year now, and 2021 needs to see it finished. I’ve got a number of lovely, dedicated readers who deserve to see the story play out as it’s intended to be played out. 

Also, my greatest love right now, In Possibility, will probably write itself to an end in 2021. Or... who knows? Maybe it will worm its way into 2022, too. :-)

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

Since I already went into detail about my favorite fic of mine from this year (That We May Forgive), I’ll recommend a different one: The Stars Always Make Me Laugh. It has some of the darkest moments I’ve ever written, but it also has some of the lightest moments I’ve ever written. It was an answer to two different challenges, and if I can say this without sounding arrogant, I think I met the challenges beautifully. It gave me comfort, catharsis, and closure for a few things in my own life... and I hope it comforts my readers, too. 

15. Year word count: 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT (excuse my French). I just added up my AO3 word count + my current unpublished project, and... my word count is:

428,557.

FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN WORDS

I nearly just fell out of my chair. Goodbye, friends. I am deceased.

[streetsofsecretswegone]

@pcplarstreet​   said   :   Benny & Cass

Under the cut because long.

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Cassandra's frustration with Benny can be activated at the drop of a HAT. And not only is she raising her voice, she is gesturing with her hands in fury.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Benny does and Cass is like, "do you think you’re IRREPLACEABLE?” 

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Benny will go ghost for awhile. Buuut, early in their relationship - Cass isn't afraid to leave either.

Who trashes the house? Cassandra doesn't trash houses, her mother raised her properly. The most she'll do is slam a door, slam a cabinet if she's cooking while simultaneously fussing and that's it. Benny is a gentleman and goes to the junkyard to relieve his frustration.

Do either of them get physical? When they were teens, Cassandra use to smack his cheeks, squeeze his cheeks or smack him upside the head. It was always after he did something corny or dumb.

How often do they argue/disagree? Not regularly, but it's not uncommon. It just varies on topic just as it can vary in severity.

Who is the first to apologize? Benny, with grand gestures to boot! Cassandra lowkey adores getting gifts from him, they go on her station at work.

Sex:

Who is on top? It varies.

Who is on the bottom? I said it varies, damn. Though, if Cassandra could have Benny bottom like....60% of the time, it would be great.

Who has the strangest desires? Define your definition of strange. But Cassandra is more kinky than Benny, while Benny is down for trying anything.

Any kinks? Edging. Pegging. A mommy kink exists. Choking. Cassandra also likes having her toes sucked.😔

Who’s dominant in bed? Let Cass have a little power and she goes nuts with it.

Is head ever in the equation? Yes.

If so, who is better at performing it? Cassandra.

Ever had sex in public? Yes.

Who moans the most? Cassandra.

Who leaves the most marks? I want to say technically Cassandra because it’s not just her taking a little bite of Benny. It’s her leaving scratch mark on his back with her nails. 

Who screams the loudest? Cassandra, on a good night.

Who is the more experienced of the two? They're both very experienced!

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Both.

Rough or soft? Depends on the mood. Depends on if they had a bad argument, too. Make-up sex is a thing with them.

How long do they usually last? This is highly dependent on whether Cassandra allows him to have an orgasm.

Is protection used? Typically.

Does it ever get boring? Honestly, I think it’s Cassandra who keeps it from being boring. Like she will have vanilla sex with her partner for so long until she’s like, “hey, can we try _?” 

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? At a Christmas Party taking place at her mother’s building. 😰 The sexual tension lingering between them was real. And it was pretty quick 15 minutes.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Cassandra has been fine with the idea of having three to four kids. She already had little Mario when she and Benny began dating, and she and Benny’s first kid together is an accident. But after that, Cass wouldn’t mind a few more. If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Cass thinks she could have about four, personally. But right now they just have Mario - who is more like Benny's step son. Who is the favorite parent? Benny! Who is the authoritative parent? Cass. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Benny, because Cassandra wouldn’t stand for it!  Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Benny, because again Cassandra doesn’t want Mario bouncing off the walls, no.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Cassandra - but to be honest the whole Scozzari family does.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Both, Cassandra feels like it provides a good image of how they are as a family unit. Her parents both showed up to parent teacher interviews, and granted her dad was ‘ghetto’ about the whole thing, but. She trusts Benny to be better than her dad.

Who changes the diapers? Cassandra.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Cassandra - but she will make Benny do it sometimes if she really does not want to leave the bed.

Who spends the most time with the children? I feel like they invest an almost equal amount of time, but Cassandra is there just a bit more due to the differences of she and Benny’s occupation. Who packs their lunch boxes? Cassandra, she’s very prompt about it. Usually shopping for something that Mario can eat by the time she’s on break at work. Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Cassandra does not trust Benny to do it. She’s worried about him using weird phrases, then Mario repeats it on the playground and...no, Cass ain’t having it. Who cleans up after the kids? Cassandra. Who worries the most? Cassandra worries visibly and considerably more than Benny, who is more quiet about his concerns yet takes it in stride. Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Cassandra. Whether it be from her uttering, fuck in annoyance after getting off the phone, accidentally cutting herself in the kitchen, or losing her other sock/shoe. 

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? If Benny’s audio dialogue is anything to go by...I’mma say him.

Who is the little spoon? “Hold me would ya? You wore me out.” - Benny Gecko, moments before death.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? They are both to blame here.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Both. 

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? About twenty minutes for Cassandra. That, and she knows there’s shit to do in some form or fashion.

Who gives the most kisses? Cassandra because she believes that they can be a good way to distract Benny.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity? Benny likes to cook for Cass on date nights! And Cassandra likes to see entertainment at The Tops with him.

Where is their favorite place to cuddle? Cassandra prefers the couch.

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Cass has an addiction to playfully groping/slapping Benny’s ass when the kids cannot be seen.

How often do they get time to themselves? It's when Cassandra has a set babysitter for Mario, or if Mario's with her parents. Otherwise that little boy just LOVES to be in the presence of both of them.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Benny.

If both do, who snores the loudest? Benny.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Share a bed.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? It varies. Cass doesn't mind being held by Benny in her sleep, but if she gets overheated she needs her space. This is why she can’t cuddle for hours upon hours. Who talks in their sleep? Sometimes its Cass. Sometimes if you wake her up while she’s sleeping she’ll say nonsensical things for a few minutes.

What do they wear to bed? Their nightwear. Duh. 🙄🙄🙄 Are either of your muses insomniacs? No.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? I would say that’s a maybe for Benny. Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Both, it’s time dependent. Cassandra's leg may cross over Benny's. Who wakes up with bed hair? Benny, Cassandra has her hair in a protective state. Who wakes up first? Benny, usually. Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? ...yeah, no. It has to be Benny's birthday or something. What is their favorite sleeping position? Benny likes to be the little spoon. Fallout New Vegas said so. I’m just saying the truth, don’t shoot the messenger. And Cassandra really does like wrapping her arms around things while in bed, but usually it’s her pillow she is cuddling with. Human skin gets too hot. Who hogs the sheets? Cassandra will sometimes remove sheets. Do they set an alarm each night? Yes. Can a television be found in their bedroom? No. Who has nightmares? Cassandra is prone to some vivid nightmares. Who has ridiculous dreams? Benny. Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Mario if he's crawled into the bed! Which is not uncommon for the kid to do, at all. Who makes the bed? Cassandra. What time is bed time? Not too early, but not too late either.  Any routines/rituals before bed? Shower, brush their teeth, Cassandra tends to her hair before bed, washes off her make up...makes sure Mario is also brushing his teeth and is tucked into bed comfortably. Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Cass.

Work:

Who is the busiest? Benny on default, though weekends can be hell for Cass with the amount of clients she has coming into the beauty shop. Who rakes in the highest income? Benny. Are any of your muses unemployed? Nope. Who takes the most sick days? Benny can afford to do so, while if Cassandra does that she is missing out on money. That and Cassandra hates being off of work sick, she has nothing to do! Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Bennnnnnnny? But he's so important it doesn’t even matter like that, or have real consequences. Who sucks up to their boss? Benny's his own boss and Cassandra tries to be cordial with hers which doesn’t always work because the guy is kind of a shithead. What are their jobs? Benny is a casino owner and Cassandra is a hair stylist. Who stresses the most? In regards to work - neither. Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? They enjoy them. Are your muses financially stable? Very.

Home:

Who does the washing? Cassandra, she doesn’t trust Benny to know what he’s doing like that.

Who takes out the trash? Benny or Mario.

Who does the ironing? Cassandra.

Who does the cooking? It switches between Cassandra and Benny doing that for one another.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Neither! They know what they’re doing.

Who is messier? They’re both clean people.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? I feel like Benny has done that in a moment of carelessness. 

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Cassandra will cuss his ass out for that glmbgfvbg so really it’s Mario who does it because he’s still a lil baby.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Mario.

Who is the prankster around the house? Mario and Benny collaborate on pranks sometimes.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Cassandra has overlooked her car keys on multiple occasions.

Who mows the lawn? Benny, or - Benny pays someone to do that shit. Really, I just can’t imagine him mowing the lawn.

Who answers the telephone? Either.

Who does the vacuuming? Cassandra.

Who does the groceries? Cassandra, just because she’s prone to making quick grocery runs in-between clients if there’s enough of a spacious gap between them.

Who takes the longest to shower? Both if they’re fucking in there.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Cassandra hands down. 

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Benny is a gangster, Cassandra can really make bank in a week from doing hair. Together? Money is never a problem.

How many cars do they own? I’m sure Benny has more than one car, but Cassandra has two cars of her own before she was even dating Benny. One was a fucking truck while the other is a more smaller, more decent car.

Do they own their home or do they rent? Own.

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Now personally, I imagine that they live in the city considering Benny's occupation and Cass is very accustomed to that life as well. However, she would not object to them getting a vacation home in the countryside.

Do they live in the city or in the country? ^^

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Of course!

What’s their song? In Benny's perspective it's Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe and in Cassandra's perspective it's A Dozen Roses by Monica.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Benny does his...Benny-related things. He works, he works out, he murders couriers. Cassandra does hair, she mothers Mario, she hangs out with her friends.

Where did they first meet? At a Gecko/Scozzari family dinner hosted by Sal’s then-living aunt, the two of them were very young at the time.

How did they first meet? They were all seated at the table, Cassandra was across from Benny. She didn't pay attention to him. Afterwards her dad kept hanging out with Benny and Cass h a t e d seeing his little white ass on her stoop.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Benny because he has to floss and feel good about his life. Cassandra isn't just going to use Benny's cash for her own purposes, she has her own!

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Both. Cassandra learned about the art of flashing from her parents.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Cassandra, depending on the context of the fall.

Any mental issues? No. Who’s terrified of bugs? Baby spiders to medium sized ones? Cassandra can deal with. Large spiders  and centipedes? She hates them. Who kills the spiders around the house? Benny, sometimes Cass. Their favorite place? Countryside! Who pays the bills? Benny handles it! Do they have any fears for their future? Cassandra worries about Benny getting shot, their kids getting kidnapped or killed, or assassination attempts on her life. But, that’s just mob shit, she guesses. They’re constant fears, but they also become numb because this has been her life forever. Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Benny! Who uses up all of the hot water? Cassandra, she needs to have relaxing baths sometimes to get her thoughts in order. Who’s the tallest? Benny!! Cassandra is short like her mom, standing at 5'4. Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Cassandra. Who wanders around in their underwear? They have to set an example for Mario! They just can't be roaming around in their underwear! Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Cassandra gets into it, especially if its a song she grew up with. If Benny tries - she tells him to stop because some songs look kind of weird coming from a middle aged white man. What do they tease each other about? Cassandra teases Benny for trying to look like Dean Martin and other classic Italian singers in the present day. Benny teases Cassandra for speaking with her hands and fingers just like how Sal does. Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? I think both their fashion senses can be a bit on the strong side. Do they have mutual friends? Cassandra gets along with Swank, knows Tommy on a deep level from when they were kids. Leah has no interest in getting to know Benny. Who crushed first? Benny. Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nope. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Benny if they had a bad argument. Who swears the most? Cassandra. She's been cursing since she was a year old - it's a hard habit to break.

[buns-with-a-book]

Deflowered

A sequel to Flowers of White, completely spicy. So much spice. Includes SDT spice. 

There’s two poems in this fic. The second one was written by furyeclipse

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC/Vergil, Dante  Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary:  Vergil despises the scent of another man, of Draco, on the person he considers his. The scent infuriates him, enough to make him act on more base desires.

Days after they crashed her ‘wedding’, he can still smell him on her.

His demonic blood gave him heightened senses, hearing and smell and speed. It usually was a blessing but, in this moment, it was a curse. He can smell that scum, the scent of silver and sage and too-expensive cologne, still lingering around her. A part of him, a deep base beast that he sometimes wishes would just quiet down, snarls every time she passed by him before promptly filling him with shame for snarling at her when the whole affair was no fault of her own.  

How dare Draco, a pathetic excuse of a man who had shown nothing but disapproval and dismissal, believe himself worthy of Cassandra? Cassandra was nothing short of extraordinary, the blood of a warrior-saint in her veins. A part of him was always in awe of how she maneuvered herself on the battlefield, brave and bold and unafraid of the demons they faced. That fool would never know the joy that burned in those deep green eyes of hers when they got paid for exterminating demons, the determination when they clashed in the training room, the way they sparkled with amusement at whatever foolery Dante got into. Draco would never know that and he was certain he didn’t care.

Cassandra was far more than just her ancestor, far more than just the daughter of a warrior-saint. She was a queen. A queen that Draco would never respect, would never appreciate, never be worthy of. (And, if he was honest with himself, he wondered if he himself was worthy of her as well).

“Verge? Earth to Verge?”

Vergil blinked, seeing Dante’s hand waving in front of his face. He was sitting on the couch in Devil May Cry, the setting sun casting long shadows across the shop. Dante was hovering next to him, a curious but playful smile on his face.

“Dante, I’m right here.” Vergil slapped his brother’s hand away from his face.

“Yeah, sure you were.” He smiled and sat down, the couch dipping as he settled next to his twin. “I know that look of yours when you’re thinking really hard. What’s stewin?”

“The best way to get rid of you.” Vergil replied dryly, a spectral sword appearing by his will and pointed at Dante. Dante laughed, of course he would laugh.

“Nah, I feel like trying my luck.”

“Your very horrible luck, you mean.” Vergil raised an eyebrow. Despite his mild irritation, it wasn’t enough to skewer him yet. “I believe even Lady can attest to how rotten it can be.”  

“I can be lucky every once in a while!”

“Like a broken clock can be right twice a day.” Vergil snapped his book shut, finally admitting defeat. “I’m...afraid my mind still wanders back to the day we crashed Draco’s wedding. I can still smell him and it infuriates me, like an unwelcome stench that refuses to leave.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Dante hummed. “You two should go on a date.” Vergil could feel heat rising in his cheeks.

“A...date?”

“Yeah! Get your mind off the whole wedding shit.” Dante waved his hand. Vergil closed his eyes in thought.

“Perhaps star-gazing. It’s nice and relaxing, a reprieve we need from...that event.” Even mentioning it left a foul taste in his mouth, Vergil thought with a scowl. Dante let out a soft chuckle, seemingly unaware of Vergil’s inner turmoil...but Vergil noticed the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.  

“Well, there’s this nice forest outside of Red Grave. You can hike to the top and maybe get some ac- OOF!” Vergil promptly whacked him upside the head. “OW! Jeez, I’m trying to help...”

“Your idea of help is not actually help.”

“Look, I know what’s going on with you. You’re pissy another dude touched Cass when that’s your job. God Verge, you’re so easy to read when you’re angry.” Dante crossed his arms. Vergil just stared at him, not sure what to say. On one hand, Dante wasn’t wrong: the thought of Draco touching Cassandra in any capacity infuriated him to no end. On the other hand...did he have to say it so brazenly?! It always infuriated him that Dante had no shame. While Cassandra was more than willing to encourage him in his shamelessness (because she found it hilarious when that very shamelessness got him in trouble), Vergil had to draw the line somewhere.

“...if she consents.” Vergil said, standing up stiffly. “I will ask about...a date.”

“If you don’t run away from being awk-” And that was when the sword slammed down into the floor, barely missing Dante’s knee. “Hey!” Vergil ignored his exclamation as he made his way into the kitchen, where he saw Cassandra enter. Sliding his book into his jacket, he entered the kitchen to see Cassandra hard at work. A savory scent wafted through the kitchen as Cassandra stirred up waffle batter for baking. Aside her stirring bowl was cheese, tomato sauce, and herbs. He smirked, knowing that tonight’s dinner was pizza waffles.

“Hi Vergil.” Cassandra said quickly. “What do you need? As long as it’s not pestering me to finish up din-”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Vergil shook his head, earning a confused noise from her. “I would like to know if you would like to go on a date with me.”

“You sound like you’re trying to ask me out for the first time.” Cassandra said with a soft chuckle. Before he could object, she continued. “I’d love to go on a date. A nice simple date, maybe we can go stargazing on the roof.”

“On the roof of Devil May Cry?” He asked.

“Not in the mood to go anywhere for a bit. If we can stay home, I’d go for it.” A part of him, that hungry beast inside him, purred appreciatively at the idea. He watched her work on dinner.

“As you wish.” A faint smile crept on his face as he watched her work. It seemed like that little affair was nothing more than a bad memory, a memory that was rapidly fading. As she poured the finished batter into the waffle-maker, Vergil’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against the doorframe. The sound of her making dinner was...surprisingly soothing. The fact that he could indulge in domestic scenarios like this was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He could only barely remember the last time he was this peaceful, the feeling of contentment with his life being foreign to him. If he had to recall, it would be back in his childhood, before the attack that changed his fate forever. But now, he had that...peace in his life. Reunited with his brother, slowly bonding over the son he only recently found out existed, and with a woman who cared about Nero just as much as he did (but more openly. Vergil being open with his emotions remained a struggle that he tried hard to work through), he was just...happy.  

He opened his eyes, watching as Cassandra finished with the waffles. She drizzled tomato sauce, cheese, and basil all over them. Setting the plate on the table, she walked past him. His nose caught her scent, of herbs and morning mist and too-expensive colog-

No. That was Draco. The beast roiled at the scent. He flinched, thankful that Cassandra wasn’t nearby to notice it.

“Dante! Dinner!” She called before slipping back into the kitchen, followed by Dante padding his way after her call. He rounded around Vergil, pausing next to his brother.

“Did you ask her out?” He asked, ice blue eyes glimmering mischievously.

“Yes.”

“Did she say yes?”

“Of course I did Dante.” Cassandra huffed. “We’re gonna go stargazing on the roof of Devil May Cry in the future.”

“How romantic.” Dante hummed. “I mean, aside from the whole ‘sitting on the roof’-”

“I’m sure it’ll be romantic somehow. Vergil’s very good at reciting poetry.” Cassandra said as she prepared a second plate of pizza waffles. She ignored the sound of Dante gagging. “Yeah yeah, you keep gagging all you want mister ‘has rotten luck with the ladies’.”

“Ow!” Dante whined. “That huuurts.”

“It hurts because it’s true.” Vergil added.

“Beating up on your own brother…” He sighed in mock defeat. “You two are mean.”

“That’s our job.” Cassandra winked at Dante before handing Vergil the plate of pizza waffles. Vergil took the plate and the fork Cassandra offered before sitting down next to Dante. Cassandra made one last plate of pizza waffles for herself, humming softly as the waffle-maker did it’s work. Vergil closed his eyes, quietly eating what she had served. He remembered the first time she made this meal, and how quickly he made his distaste known until he actually tried it. It was this very dish that made him only occasionally question what Cassandra made (most of the time, as he had come to understand it, some of her more stranger options was just to get Dante to eat more than just pizza and sundaes).

His mind moved away from that memory, to that promised date. If the devil within decided to behave, perhaps it would be just a gentle and loving affair, as she deserved after such tribulation. But it all hinged on if the devil inside him behaved. And if even the slightest hint of that scum’s scent sent it into a huffy rage…

He wasn’t too sure how he would deal with that.

---

The skies of Red Grave City were clear, the summer stars shining brightly above them. As most of Red Grave had been ripped apart, the light pollution was not as strong as it used to be, providing one with a clear view of the stars above. Normally, every reminder of the destruction of the city stung Vergil’s heart with guilt, even if he wasn’t in the right mind when he did stab himself with Yamato.

It was here, on the roof of Devil May Cry, that Vergil found Cassandra. In his hand were three books of poetry, one of Shakespearean Sonnets, his prized book of Blake, and a small notebook he kept in his coat pocket. Cassandra had given it to him on his birthday (a day he usually forgot). He had taken that notebook and tried his own hand at poetry. It’s quality was...questionable but, according to Nero, it was passable. Cassandra was busy smoothing out a large plush blanket on the floor of the roof. Not too far away was a basket, full of sweet and savory snacks to pass the time. Very faintly, in the far distance, he swore he heard a piano playing. Returning his gaze to Cassandra, her attire was a simple deep blue dress, the thin linen fluttering with her movements.

He was right, he thought with a soft smirk. Blue did look good on her.  

“Vergil, I can feel you staring.” Her words, accented with a tease, made his heart jump. He hid his brief surprise as he strode to her, sitting down on the blanket next to her. She smiled to him, laying herself down on the soft blanket. Vergil shed his coat, setting it next to the blasket of food. He set the books down on his coat. She laid down on the blanket, Vergil settling himself next to her as he took out his book of Shakespearean sonnets.

“Shakespear?” She asked, staring at the beautifully decorated book curiously.

“Why not?” He asked in turn. Cassandra laughed.

“You got me there, Mr. Poetry.” She pecked his cheek before laying down. Vergil settled down next to her and opened the book, flipping through the sonnets until he found an acceptable one. With that, he began to read.

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,    Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

Cassandra hummed thoughtfully as he finished reading. “That’s not 18, is it?”

“No. Too overdone. This one is his fortieth sonnet.” Vergil explained.

“Hm. 18 is a classic for a reason.” She hummed.

“Every man woos their lover with 18.” He countered. “But you are no ordinary woman, Cassandra.”

“I’m the only one that’s knocked you on your ass.” She said proudly, earning a chuckle from him.

“I believe that was because you pulled a cheap tactic on me.”

“That was one time Vergil!” Cassandra playfully whacked his shoulder. Vergil sat up, placing the book of Shakespere away. His hand took his small notebook, to which Cassandra raised an eyebrow at. “What’s that for?”

“...I’ve been practicing poetry myself.” He admitted, flipping through the pages. “It’s a hobby I’ve been working on when I am not busy.”

“Aww…” She smiled, retaking her place at his side. She rest her head on his shoulder. “Which one are you going to read?”

“Reclaim. My 78th poem.”

“78!? You either have a lot of downtime or you have a lot of ideas to immortalize in poetic form.”

“A little of both.” He smiled at her surprise. “Shall I begin?”

“Yes, please.” She rested a hand on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting on her back, and began to read.

The rightful queen came home today. She came back with her head high, Proudly bringing the slain man's head for all to see. The dress of white was gifted to the winds and carried away. It's shameful imitation of fabric no longer touched her. Now she's taken back her rightful crown, The light basked in her glory as she came to her knight.

She tilted her head, just a little, and suddenly that scent came back to him. Caught off guard, he let go of the book. It landed on his face rather ungracefully, earning a surprised gasp from Cassandra.

“Vergil?”

“I...I’m fine.” He grumbled.

“I doubt it. You’ve been...stiff ever since we came back from Rothes.” She sat up a little. “What’s going on?” Vergil lifted the notebook off his face, meeting her dark green eyes. They were searching him, trying to find out the answer to his state. He let out a sigh, setting the notebook back with his books. He sat up, helping her into a sitting up position, and turned to her.

“That man...Draco, his stench clings to you. It infuriates the devil inside me. It is of no fault of your own. You did what you had to do to save Nero and I am grateful for your bravery.” He paused, taking in a breath. “It still does not change the fact that Draco dared to touch you, dared to be in your presence when he is not worthy of it…”

“You’re jealous.” And there it was, that simple succinct phrase. “Does that mean your devil considers me a mate or something?”

“Along that line, yes.” He sighed.

“So…” Cassandra’s eyes were closed, the spellblade warrior deep in thought. “Your devil considers me as a mate and Draco’s shit caused them to get jealous and see Draco as competition. Does that sound right?” She opened her eyes, seeing Vergil’s confirmation. He nodded. “Ok, so, how do we deal with this problem?” There was a quiet that fell between them, Vergil’s eyes fluttering closed to think. He could feel Cassandra’s gaze on him, intense and searching for an answer to the predicament. Vergil knew the answer but his pride refused to let him say it. “Is it sex.”

“What?” He blinked.    

“If it wasn’t something like that, then you would’ve said it by now.” Vergil looked away, a blush on his face. “What? I’m not wrong. You never mince words about what needs to be done to solve a problem unless it’s salacious.” And indeed, she wasn’t wrong. Vergil let out a sigh.

“You are...correct. Specifically, it involves scenting.” He could feel his face burn as he spoke. “It’s...messy.”

“We have a bath. And we paid the water bill for the month.” Cassandra said. “Are you afraid I won’t like it? Or I won’t like what will happen.”

“No. It is the fact that all this was born out of a desire to possess you. And you deserve more than someone who refuses to let go.” Cassandra mulled over his words.

“Earthmother help me, you’re such a gentleman deep down.” She said with a smile. She gently took Vergil’s chin, guiding him to face her. “If you’re worried about me consenting, then don’t worry. Of course I’d consent. I know you know your strength and I trust you to not break me too much.” Her hand moved down to take his hands. “You wield Yamato so skillfully, after all. I’m sure you can control yourself or drive me mad with pleasure.” She glanced up and gave him a wink. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re insatiable.” He breathed.    

“I know.” With that, she leaned forward to kiss him. Her hand rested on his hip, the other threading through his silvery-white hair. She gently nipped at his lips, earning a soft surprised gasp. She slid her tongue inside quickly, taking advantage of his surprise to establish her dominance. He chuckled into the kiss, slowly tipping her back onto the blanket. The hand on his hip moved to rub his groin, earning a low groan from the half-devil above her. He pulled back, earning a soft gasp from her. He leaned back, pulling the dress off her. She aided him in the effort, pulling the soft fabric off her. He leaned back, carefully pulling off his vest. He could see the hunger and appreciation in her eyes, she didn’t even try to hide it. Placing the vest next to her dress, he worked on sliding his pants off. His eyes flicked to Cassandra, who was reaching back to undo her bra. He took in a soft breath, watching as it fell away. He pulled off his pants, noticing how Cassandra’s gaze flicked down to his groin and thighs.

“Yes?”

“Lace underwear, huh?” Cassandra asked, quite obviously amused. He tensed for a moment.

“The other options chafe. It’s distracting.”

“I like it.” She leaned forward, pulling the waistband of his underwear and pulling it back and down, exposing his cock. “And it makes your dick look that much more appetizing.” She smirked at his blushing face, pulling him out of his underwear. “And those thighs? To die for.”

“Are you going to spend the rest of the night showering me with compliments?”

“I might.” She winked. “But I’m not wrong.” She reached down, stroking Vergil’s cock. He let out a grunt, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s a look…” She murmured.

“You drive me mad.” She felt his hand grab her hair. “You insatiable harlot.” She grinned at him, meeting his smirk. Before she could reply, he forced her down onto her back. He presented his cock to her. Quickly getting the hint, she took the tip into her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around the slit. He let out a grunt, his hand gripping just a little tighter on her hair. He remained still, groaning softly as she leaned forward, bobbing her head on his cock. Vergil groaned as she worked, her hands moving up to massage his thighs, the very part of him she praised to high heavens.

Well, not that hers were lacking in any manner. But that was neither here nor there. His more immediate focus was on Cassandra, his ice blue eyes meeting her dark green. That half-lidded sultry look made him shiver, a look that shot down his spine and made his cock throb. That deep base beast rumbled with approval at the sight...and it wanted more.  Despite his attempts to stay in control, the beast within refused. He could feel his body shift and change, slowly as his control loosened. He growled as his load poured down her throat. With the last of his control, he moved back. In moments, he transformed with a burst of demonic energy.

Cassandra stared at the now transformed devil hovering over her, wings flared out behind him. The chill of the oncoming night was gone, replaced by the warmth that radiated from the very devil she was admiring. The devil let out a slow exhale, blue meeting green. She looked up and down the devil’s armored body, the deep blue that pulsated like a glowing heart from his chest to his flared wings. She could hear his tail swaying slowly behind him, faintly seeing the sharpened tip from behind his wings. He shifted back a little, as if he was worried that he had startled her.

“Wow...hot.” Cassandra said, earning an amused rumble from the devil hovering above her. Cassandra sat up, her hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. The devil leaned into her hand, warm against her skin. She smiled at the sight. “What? You thought I would be running for my life at the sight of you?”

“...a little.” He rumbled, voice warped from the demonic energy. “From the shock of my transformation.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” She took his hand and gave the warm palm a kiss. With a pleased rumble, he slowly moved his way down to her thighs. He pushed her thighs apart, noticing Cassandra shiver at the claws that pressed into her skin. Vergil leaned forward, his tongue rubbing slowly against her cunt. It rubbed up and down her slick folds, occasionally rolling around her clit, before moving down to push inside her. She gasped out, her hand reaching down to grab his horn. She pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel more of his tongue against her. Her body shook as he gave her more of what she wanted, his tongue lapping up her juices. Cassandra began to grind her hips against his mouth, shivering at the sensations.

He pulled back, letting out a pleased rumble. Cassandra lifted herself up a little by her elbows, looking down to Vergil’s groin. The carapace protecting his cock had split open, revealing a girthy slick blue cock. The bulbous head was slightly larger than the ridged shaft and, at what she presumed was at the base of his sac, was a knot. The scent that reached her made her shiver, a wave of arousal washing over her.

“Shit…” She panted. What was it about the heady scent that just seemed to make her wetter? She was certain Vergil could tell she was more than aroused, more than ready for him, but he restrained himself. “Veergill…” She whined.

“Yes, my love?”

“Nnn...please, just fuck me.” She panted. She could barely think, the heat at her core was almost overwhelming.  She faintly heard a soft but warm hum before the tip of his cock rubbed at her entrance. Her body burned with unbridled lust at the contact, a cry of pleasure ripped from her. The devil pushed the tip into her, earning breathy moans from his writhing mate. With the tip inside her, he paused and looked at her. Even with only the tip inside, he could sense her trying to pull him in. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. She reached up, holding tight onto his scaled body. She let out a whine as he pushed forward, sinking more of his cock into her. He could feel her walls squeeze and ripple around him, a sensation that made it difficult to not start thrusting right then and there. The devil let out a slow exhale, trying to not thrust with wild abandon, not yet.

Until she pulled him close, pressing her lips against his fangs. It did him in.

With an aroused growl, the devil began to thrust hard. He felt her legs hoist around his armored midsection. In the back of his mind, he knew she would come out of this scratched up. He would take care of that later, his mind too focused on the unbridled lust that was spurred on by her moans and cries of pleasure. His wings dug into the blanket below, growling as he thrust into her shaking form. The warmth that surrounded them felt as if it was pooling in his core, his thrusts devolving into short harsh movements. He panted as the knot at the base of his cock began to swell and with it, the oncoming orgasm.

“Vergil! I-I’m close!” He heard Cassandra pant. He could feel it, it was so close. With a final thrust, he pushed the knot into her and roared, warm seed pouring into her. With him, he heard her cry out and tense up around his knot, body shaking as her orgasm finally hit her. After a few tense moments, he felt her body go lax. He looked down, seeing her breathing heavily underneath him. His gaze moved down her body to her stomach, slightly swollen from the seed that he poured into her. If he was capable of blushing, he would be doing it. He stayed there for what felt like hours, the knot slowly deswelling. He pulled out, letting out a soft groan. Settling himself next to her, the devil disappeared with a flash of blue, revealing an exhausted flushed Vergil. She turned to him, reaching out to pull him into a brief kiss.

“Cassandra…” Vergil murmured. “I apologize-”

“Don’t.” She smiled at him. “That was...phew, that was something.”

“I could have hurt you.”

“Not much more than sore hips and some scratches, which isn’t a bad thing.” Cassandra slowly sat up, letting out a hiss. “Oof...can you go run a bath? I think I’ll be here for a bit…”

“And leave you alone? Never.” He swiftly picked her up, earning a hiss from her.

“Yowch! Jeez, rail my brains out and all that gentleman behavior goes out the window.”

“You were all for it.” He pointed out. She noticed the hint of a playful smile on his lips.

“Yeah yeah…” Cassandra waved her hand as he slipped back into the shop. Stepping into the bathroom, he laid her in the bathtub. He turned on the water, letting cool water pour from the faucet into the tub. “So, uh…” Vergil glanced at her. “Do I still smell of Draco?”

“No, thankfully.” Vergil sighed.

“Good. I’d rather smell of you than of an old bully.” Vergil wondered if she knew the implication of her words. He turned off the faucet. “I’ll be ok here, you should go get everything up on the roof.”

“Are you sure? It would be remiss if I left you her-”

“Vergil. I’ll be fine. I can bathe myself. You should get that basket of snacks and put it next to our bed so we can munch on those before dozing off.” Cassandra told him firmly. Vergil sighed and stood.

“As you wish.” He left the room. Cassandra went to work on bathing herself, humming softly. She swore she heard swift footsteps, perhaps Vergil pulling on some unknown demon ability. Super speed or something, she didn’t worry herself with it. She continued to wash her body.

“It’s done.” Cassandra jumped and looked up, seeing Vergil back by her side in pants. She stared at him, still shocked at his sudden appearance.

“...fucking hell.” She ran her hand through her damp hair. “I love you Vergil but there’s just some things that surprise me about you.” He chuckled at her mild frustration. Cassandra finished bathing and stepped out of the tub, right into a towel Vergil had for her. She leaned into his strong arms as he dried her body, relaxing. When her body was dry, she leaned against the wall as he drained the tub. As the tub drained, he picked her up bridal style and carried her to their bedroom.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He asked, setting her down on their shared bed.

“Of course.” She smiled at him. “But I’d like to hear some of your works.” Vergil blinked at her before nodding, sliding into bed next to her. He pulled out the notebook and allowed her to cuddle up against his side.

“As you wish, my wild rose.”

[impeccablebackside]

is there a specific foursome you could imagine to happen?

Thanks for the ask anon. I am particularly excited for a threesome between two queens girls plus me (which I suppose is an innate male fantasy of sorts), but a foursome is clearly a tantalizing step up from that. If threesomes have nearly unlimited potential in my opinion, a foursome would be that taken to an exponential next level.

As I have mentioned before when asked, I think it simply becomes too many moving parts. Specifically when it is (obviously) four characters involved and two of them might be partners, one is potentially an infrequent partner of one / both, and one (or two) may be there just to round it out. An anon had floated a potential foursome not too long ago, but I personally could not envision it happening (not in a negative sense to clarify). In my opinion, it could / would get awkward when there is no pre-existing basis for a something like that aside from strict lust (which is a good enough reason on its own do not get me wrong).

I have mulled it over a few times now, and still have a hard time figuring out how / where a foursomes would develop from any of the existing couples mentioned on this blog, and an even harder time where it could manifest from the odd multi-cat meeting. Ones that actually could / would reasonably happen are far more compelling (hot) for me, as pairing up others who likely would not end up together naturally just ruins the fun and ruins the chemistry. There is something special to me about two people having intimacy and a connection without other distractions, so a third (or fourth) has to be very much appropriate for the situation.

More justification / information related to my subjective thought patterns and perspectives on pairings are mentioned in this ask as well, so kindly read that over. I am really trying not to quash any enthusiasm anon, just that I am far too analytical with everything if that is not beyond immediately obvious by my answers.

I can imagine plenty of threesomes, but it is always that fourth person that makes the whole scenario impractical because they would not fit in / or mesh with one of the other three. I suppose that they do not need to have chemistry with everyone else for a foursome to work though. They could merely be there only for one (or two) in the meeting. That makes for much more potential anon.

Anyway, to actaully address your ask, I would say the caveat (or possibly, solution) to imagining a foursome would be when two sets of partners come together. I do realize I expressed that I have doubts about that to a degree, but no matter.

In my opinion, Cass / Alonzo and Deme / Munk could work out fairly well. Deme (if one headcanons it) has a past with Alonzo, and he is on the lists of sexual partners Deme and Munk both have. Either of them would be into fucking / being fucked by the other tom. In terms of Cass, it may not be as straightforward, but I do think that Munk and her have fucked in the past, and that offer is still open if he wanted.

I am admittedly unsure about how exactly Cass and Deme would get along, but I can see it happening. Deme considers both aspects of Casslonzo to be hot as hell. Perhaps after a slower start between them in the foursome, where they do not have the other's attention as readily, they would come together. Either from the toms focusing on one another, or where Deme is getting involved with one of the toms and Cass slips in. That would embolden both queens to push past apprehensions and rock the other's world. When everyone settles and becomes comfortable, it would be a hell of a good time I think.

Otherwise, a foursome between Jenny, Jelly, AGus, and Skimble would work too. In fact, I think that is already a likely thing that happens relatively often. It would be a mutually agree upon fuckfest where everyone is fully indulging themselves with the other three.

Anon, please let me know who you have in mind. I think the more I discuss and think about foursomes, the more I am starting to piece some together. Even if it is to a smaller extent.

[whumpiary]

shout out to that anon who sent the ask about Cass’ weird relationship with being high. this is low-key for you!

[content warning: drugs and drugging, victim blaming/self-blaming, betrayal of trust, implied noncon, emeto]

-

Cass is shaking so hard that his teeth are clattering together and his t-shirt is stuck to his back with the wet paper cling that comes with a cold sweat. Every few minutes his stomach lurches and either he spits up bile or he doesn't but either way his body convulses like it's trying to purge his whole fucking soul. 

"The fuck did you do to me?"

Tucker is leaning up against the wall, texting somebody or playing fucking Tiny Towers or some shit. Cass wouldn't have a clue. His minder glances up briefly and smirks. 

"You did this to yourself," he says, attention back on his screen.

Cass can’t even argue because he’s curling around the bucket again, throat burning, body shuddering.

“You gav-” he can’t even keep his fucking throughts straight he’s shaking so bad “You gave me something”

A chime goes off on Tucker’s phone, equal parts bright and mechanical. The sound makes something like rage flare in Cass’ head numbly, and he wants to slam it through the wall but honestly he can barely lift his hand to wipe his mouth.

“No, Ace, you took something,” Tucker says as he passes him a glass of something orange “I’m just here to get you clean. Now drink up”

---

Cassius raises his hand, his arm feeling heavy and not there until he sees it in front of him, trying to reach for the older man's face. His depth perception isn't quite right. Nothing's quite right. He can't seem to touch anything even as he tries.

He's swimming. Floating. Dreaming. Everything's a haze of soft and delicious and it would be so wonderful if his heart wasn't jack-rabbiting in a fear he can't place.

"Don't… i'dont feel right'" and his voice is thick and fumbling. Rubber marbles over a cotton tongue. He can’t reach Christopher's face until the man leaves forward to kiss his fingertips. That's nice of him. So nice of him. So beautiful. So wonderful, being here. He frowns as the memory of a half formed thought tugs at him "Why…?"

"You don't remember?"

The older man's voice is soft and warm. Like his hand is on Cassius' cheek, along his back, through his hair. He was asked a question and he doesn't know what. He shakes his head.

A low hum. Christopher does that when he's thinking. A low hum in his throat like he can speak without words. Cassius tries it out, feeling the vibrations along his own throat, against Christopher's hand, resting there.

"Would you like another chocolate?"

Cassius tilts his head back, parts his lips. Of course he does. Of course. The chocolates make him feel so, so good.

---

He crunches down on the little pellet without thinking and the taste is bitter and familiar and not at all what he’d been expecting. A smarter person would maybe spit it out but Cass just swallows it, stops in his tracks and waits for Tucker to turn around.

“Okay, so that wasn’t a fucking mint,” he says “What did you just give me?”

“A Skittle”

“That’s hilarious, you should go to the open mic down the road”

Tucker laughs like a jackal but doesn’t offer up any more info.

“At least tell me what the fuck it’s gonna do to me,” Cass says, trying for anger and irritation in the hope that it’ll cover the way his throat’s gotten tight with fear.

“New compound. Won’t know until it’s happening”

It’s probably a lie. Probably some kind of fucked up game that Cass isn’t privy to knowing he’s playing. Definitely, actually, considering they’re partially in public, out of town like this.

“When did I get demoted to guinea pig?”

Tucker shrugs, looking equal parts bored and very, very pleased with himself. It’s an expression he wears almost professionally these days. “When I realised how easy you are to test”

And Cass has a thousand responses, all lined up and ready to go, but he can’t seem to shoot any of them off.  Because normal people don’t swallow down poison once they know what it is.

Nah. That’s just him.

---

"Isn't this the little firecracker you had last time?"

"Hm?” Christopher says, barely even glancing up at his guest, fingers still stroking absently through his boy's hair. “Oh, yes. Probably"

Definitely, actually, but his guest doesn’t need to know that for certain. No need to make it obvious that Christopher’s developing a certain attachment.

"Couldn't even get the little bastard to shut up last time,” his guest says, amusement on his tongue. “What did you do? Lobotomize him?”

"Oh God, no. Nothing quite so permanent,” Christopher says, almost offended at the thought he’d blunt such a beautiful thing. “It'll wear off in an hour or so. But for now…"

He brings his fingers to Cassius’ lips, indulging in the way the boy sucks them into his mouth, the way his tongue curls around them, the way the happy hum vibrates against his fingers.

It’s not always that Christopher wants him like this. He usually quite prefers the eyes glinting like knives, the attitude of a serpent ready to strike, matched with a body so wanting that cusses turn to keens with a touch. But just occasionally he wants to see him just like this. Lascivious and soaring.

And, God, when he does— 

“So perfect, darling boy”

Dark eyes look up at him. Long gorgeous lashes. Flushed cheeks. A slow blink. Christopher pulls his fingers back. Cassius kisses the tips with a sigh, “You gonna hurt me now?”

Christopher smiles softly. There’s no fear there, no fury. Just the question, loose and curious, almost forgotten as soon as it’s asked. He glances to his guest and then back to his charge, knuckles grazing the boy’s cheek.

“Maybe. Maybe my friend will instead,” he says. “Does it matter?”

“No,” the answer comes so quickly, so sweetly that Christopher nearly gathers him up in his arms and takes him to bed right there “Just prefer to know beforehand.”

His guest chuckles, clearly amused by the exchange. Christopher looks up at him just in time to watch him lick his lips. “Little masochist, huh?”

“No, he just loves me,” Christopher says, only a little bit sardonic.

“He loves ya when you lace his food, you mean”

“Oh, I don't have to lace anything,” the older man says. "He’d be like this all the time if I let him.”

Cassius keeps trying to swim to the surface but the surface doesn’t exist when everything is fog and mist.

“Sounds like masochism to me.”

He wants to protest or at least make a sound but his thoughts are silver glitter and he can’t catch them as they fall, especially with Christopher trailing his fingers down his rib cage like that, trails of sparks and broken glass laying in the wake of his touch.

Maybe he would be like this all the time if he could be. Maybe he loves this.

---

Cass’ head keeps lolling to the side without him meaning to. He keeps barely catching it before it hits the couch cushions, before he hits sleep. He’s been awake a long while, he knows, but he’ll be fucked if he lets himself drift off now, he’ll be fucked if he lets himself let his guard down while it’s still not safe, while he’s still not sure, while he’s still so... while he’s so...

His head is full of smoke and it’s making all of him heavy… and heavy… and heav-

This time as his head snaps up, his eyes catch his mug, focusing on the tag of the tea-bag, still hanging out of it. The tea-bag. The tea. Even through the fog he realises he knows what this feels like. He knows this weight behind his eyes, and the white noise in his veins.

They’d had dinner and he hadn’t eaten it. Lou suggested a movie and they’d put it on. He was cold and Josiah suggested tea and like an idiot he’d taken it. 

He doesn’t just feel heavy. He doesn’t just feel tired.

He feels dragged under.

“Oh my god,” he says and once the words leave his lips, he’s not even certain anymore if he’s actually spoken “You… you fuckin’-... oh my god”

Josiah and Lou share a look, but they don’t look at him. They don’t look at him at all. He knows he’s right.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“Oh my god,” he says. His voice isn’t his own. Nothing is his own. “What the fu…in my… in th’ tea. You were meant to be- you, you were mean’ta…”

“I’m so sorry, love,” Lou says, and her voice is too gentle for a viper. “I didn’t want to. We didn’t want to but... Cass, it’s been nearly four days. You need to sleep”

He pushes up from the couch and the world is tilting and his staticky limbs just barely keep him from falling to the ground, braced against the arm of the couch. He registers, too late, that Josiah’s at his elbow, holding him gently upright, and he shoves him away, not sure if his hands actually do the work that he wants them to or if the other man is just appeasing him by making distance.

“Don’ touch, don’ touch me,” but it’s weak and strained. He wants to sob. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. “You, you, you, you drugged me. You dru- oh my god. Oh my god”

He’s trying to move to the door but his legs aren’t responding and the world is falling down and so is he and oh my god, this was not supposed to happen, this was meant to be the place this didn’t happen. 

“This wasn’... You, you, you weren’t mean’to… oh m’god, …” and he’s fading and fading and fading and he can’t believe it’s happening again. He can’t believe it’s happening all over again. “You were meant to be safe”

[neonlaynes]

fic + writer appreciation post !!

 @ritahaeworth is /everything!!!/ any time she uploads/updates? the speed at which I drop everything to read her fic is incomprehensible. her work is evocative, raw, rips out your heart and I adore every second of it. lipgallagher on ao3.

@flippyspoon //The Buddy System 

I remember reading this back when I got into Harringrove in Feb 2018, Billy and Nancy friendship combo is something I never knew I needed but they are absolutely savage and a Menace!! love that for them. flippy is fantastic at serving up that sweet sweet fluff with a dash of angst!

@tracy7307 // Take Me with U

another fluff master; they go CAMPING!! tracy captures the tentative first few steps before a relationship so well for steve and billy; that slow burn is so rewarding!! imagining them under the stars, gazing into each others’ eyes...how blissful!

@granpappy-winchester // cherry 

full disclosure I do and I Will love everything sara does ... be it art or fic. cherry brings forth such a lovely imagery of a soft billy getting in touch with who he is and who he wants to be, and as always the interactions between him and steve are delightfully bantering!!

Little Beast by retoxification // the first few chapters broke my heart with how they wrote the tenuous relationship blossoming between steve and billy after how much billy hurt steve, and how billy navigates his guilt. lots of tender, raw moments.

@twobrokenwyngs // the only thing constant

the quintessential fic of “show, don’t tell”. they weave enough of an image of what billy and steve were like -- and leave just enough holes for you to fill in the gap, to wonder about their past. it’s what keeps you on the edge of your seat and waiting with bated breath. billy’s pining is so palpable, I just want that boy to be happy!!

@yolo-contendre​ // east of eden (and going west)

childhood friends AU.......and billy forever pining.......my god. it’s unhealthy af for him to be so over the moon on steve and dependent on him that he’s self-sabotaging in order to gain a scrap of steve’s attention....but I live for it. I’m anxious as to what will happen!! 

@pretendimstraight // i haven’t forgotten you yet

looks like I have an inclination for “lost love regained” relationships......ugh!! steve admitting billy was the best thing to ever happen to him ... billy’s rightful indignation at steve’s departure, them reconciling!! the dialogue is so well written!!

 @eternalgoldfish // tides will bring me back to you

I should Not spoil anything so basically: ghost billy. the interactions between characters and the characterization of everyone is just pure joy! so excited to see this fic update in my inbox, and I’m holding onto the hope that...it’ll all work out in the end. 

Yourself or Someone Like You (aka Steve and Billy are In Love) series by halfempty // currently 700k of slow, simmering tender love. I am so amazed at their dedication and the fact that when they update it’s usually 10k+ a chapter? so it’s always a treat to get comfortable and savor their writing!! I promise this series is well worth your time.

@highon85 // Kill me with your smile

this was so so sweet!! always love the secret admirer leaving gifts trope, and v did such a lovely job with billy’s pining -- my favorite kind of billy!! also, of course if you’re more comfortable with it -- I would LOVE to see more of your art too, your work is exquisite!!

@hoppnhorn​ + @the-copperkid // if you don’t like the company, let’s just do it you and me 

🔥🔥🔥 what a combo, what a duo. billy’s gross pining + steve indulging the man - chef’s kiss. both authors also have stellar portfolios of solo works, so please check them out!! some personal favs: rachel with her motogp AU, and the-copperkid with a modern missed connections AU!

@brawlite +  @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger // Wicked Game(s)

another dynamic duo!! I LOVE it when ABO tropes are subverted!! as always, they excel in crafting such a heady and sensual air whenever billy and steve interact in any capacity beyond being just friends. some personal favs: lane with and plenty of seeds in a lemon where billy pretends to be steve’s weed dealer and cass with Under the Covers which is Basically a classic now? and also there’s nothing wrong with me (loving you, baby) , which I only NOW discovered?? coworkers steve and billy is just so good!!

come on (you stranger, you legend, you martyr) and shine by buckyjbarnnes

post-s3 tender goodness -- billy’s got some powers! you feel as if you’re a present bystander during scenes - you can feel the train of thought running through both billy and steve’s heads -- and isn’t that something!

@hexlikesramennoodles // This Jelly

super hot and heavy, mysteriously attractive man turns up and is Practically a neighbor with how often he’s there for work anyway, and gradual falling in love? sign me up!! I also have to thank hex for the imagery of billy covered in beautiful tattoos as well...what a vision!!

@ihni // we stan a multitalented star...what can moa NOT do?? fic, art(both realistic/stylized/cartoon), poetry, sewing....wowow!! check out her art here and her writing here ; you can feel the love she puts into all her work!!

truly, this fandom has been so wonderful to share in!! there’s a plethora of amazing fics and writers that I simply cannot fit all my thoughts into one post -- I appreciate every single one of you. happy fic writer appreciation day!!