#the disaster family

[amusingmusie]

Hello! Hope you're having a nice day/night!

I've had this question that's been on my mind lately, and that is whether You've ever thought about how Alastor would react upon seeing Nel and/or Evie (for the first time) in Hell!

I would imagine that he wouldn't be too surprised to see Nel down there; maybe he'd even be happy to finally see his favourite harpy all and well, or as much as one can be either of those things down in Hell. And even though I know Evie isn't technically "canon" (for the lack of a better word) to Your story, I think seeing Alastor short circuit upon first laying eyes on Evie, because who is that young woman and why does she resemble him so much and why does Nel seem to know her and why does that lady know Nel, would be quite funny. That is, of course, if Nel didn't tell him about Evie and her existence much sooner!

Hiiiiii!

This question is juicy yummy yummy yummy >:)

I don't wanna get tooooooo into what Alastor would think of seeing his favorite chain smoking ginger in Hell since that may be spoiler territory. I do also say with that though to keep in mind that Nel's fate is meant to be a mystery so this does not mean that she's falling right down to Hell in his arms....but he does fully expect for that to happen eventually. Alastor deadass is team "for lifeeeeeeeeers" with Nel. I'm writing him as someone who doesn't really stop to think about his own mortality since he believes he is always the smartest and most powerful person in the room, but if he stopped to think, he would definitely assume that he's going downstairs (if it exists) and he's taking her with him. A promise ring is a promise of eternity, after all!

But Evie? Oh man. Knowing her she would somehow reverse summon herself into Hell just to prove she could do it. So she wouldn't even be dead, just popping in for a visit to see what the big stink about eternal hellfire is. I think if she and Alastor saw each other it would just be that math lady gif.

Like huh. Wha. Oh you look a little like me? But your haircut is stupid. Your clothes are hideous. You're very annoying. They're both a little dumb sometimes so I think it would take someone else mathing the math for them to even compute that they're related and Evie immediately is unimpressed with her sperm donor.

When she gets home she asks Nel why him of all people to which the redhead just lights up 80 cigarettes.

[consul-valerius]

Tell Me How it Felt (it felt the same for me, too)

In which mama and son share a joint and the same, morbid story, starting with the simple question: Can you remember how you died?

Rating: T for a good ol smoke sesh and discussions of death & dying

Characters involved/mentioned: Donna & Damien; mentions of Valerius, Valdemar, and a brief discussion of Lucio

Words count: ~2760

Content warnings for: casual drug use, descriptions of insects and body horror (in the context of the plague), implied abuse, discussions of sickness/the plague, discussions of death, general references to past kidnapping (this is Damien’s go-to warning lol)

A/N: I apparently had this finished for AGES and just never posted ? LMAOO but some good old morbid family bonding times lmao or when Damien realizes that time is a circle, and Valdemar may not be all they seek to be lol very dialog heavy and more of a character study

Damien held his breath, swallowing down a gasp. No matter how often it happened, his mama always surprised him at these late hours. He was always so sure that if he waited just enough, his late-night walks would go unnoticed. But no, no matter how late the evening grew, he was sure to find his mama sitting out on the veranda, a joint wilting away in their small hand.

The first time had been awkward; Damien hadn’t known what it was, the smell foreign and nauseating. Donna had fumbled to explain themself, to justify that it wasn’t tobacco, that it was better than that if he could believe it. He knew how much his father hated cigarettes—which never stopped Damien from smoking them, but the idea of his mama smoking them was initially alarming. Damien's logical conclusion was to ask for a hit if it was so much better, his curiosity buzzing inside his gut.

It was difficult for Donna to tell him no—standing before them was a young man, older than they had been when they had started smoking. He wasn’t their baby boy any longer; how could they say no? There was plenty to share, like that could ever be an excuse. Better he does it with them and not one of those snotty rich kids. They would probably give him something laced, the sickos.

That was the beginning of it; be it morning or night, they would pass a joint back and forth, mostly sitting in silence or humming or weaving stories together. Some real, some fantasy, most a mixture of the two.

“You got enough for a second person?”

“For you, mi vida? Always.”

Donna was always prepared; once Damien finished the rest of what Donna was smoking, they were already beginning to roll another. They had tried countless times to teach Damien. Every time ended the same: they suggested he marry someone who could roll for him whenever he wanted. Still, he watched them closely, his eyes wide as they worked. They didn’t mind this; by now, they were used to his staring. It was a new habit, one that typically put off others. But never Donna.

“Does father ever do it?”

“Do what? Roll? Gods no. He can’t even pack me a bowl!” Donna snorted, their laughter a bit wheezy. It made Damien smile. “He prefers edibles anyway. He can make a mean pot brownie—you can barely taste it.”

“Gods, it’s been so long since I’ve had papa’s desserts…”

“We’ll make some tomorrow! It’ll make him happy if you ask him. Did I ever tell you the story?”

“Of how he won over Titi Dominique by making her flan?”

“Yes! We thought he’d win her over with sangria, but it was the flan that did it. She said it was almost as good as my abuelo’s. Almost. I’d never tasted it, but can you picture that? Your old man beating out someone who grew up making it?”

“No wonder he liked making it. Must have given him a big head.”

“Huge. But he earned it.”

“That time anyway.”

The two giggled at that as Donna passed Damien the joint. Damien raised his eyebrows, frowning.

“You rolled it, mama.”

“I smoked more than you. Go, it’s for you.”

Damien smiled, his chest swelling. I love you. He had never realized how much his mama said without saying it. And so clearly too; nothing ever felt like a secret. Most times he had to consult some higher power to figure out what his father was saying sometimes, what he actually meant. But, and Damien could admit this, he was almost the exact same way. Glancing up at Donna, he summoned a flame to his fingertips. They smiled and shut their eyes, reclining into the padded bench.

Are you my mother? Am I really yours?

“Mama?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you remember how you died?”

Damien almost immediately regretted the question. He winced as if he was hurt, his hands shooting up to pull the roots of his hair. Donna’s eyes were wide open, though their lips were a tight line. In the low light of the moon, Damien could see the raised scars along their mouth and cheek. Three gashes. One more trailed to their neck. He had grown up looking at them, it was never out of place. But he knew his father had known them before it. Had seen their face before they were his mama. Before everything.

“I… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, it’s late I—“

“It’s only a little morbid.” Donna tried to laugh as they ran their hand over their face. “But I think we’re both a little morbid. You gotta be, I think. In this family anyway.”

“You really don’t need to answer. I was just talking. I’ll be quiet!”

“No, no, no,” Donna sighed, bending forward to place their arms on their knees. “You’re your father’s son. You can talk to me, Damien. And you can ask me things.”

“I don’t have to ask everything.”

“Do you remember what your Titi Dominique said when you were little? Of course, you probably don’t. That’s okay, I can’t remember half of the things she said to me when I was little.”

Damien held his breath as Donna softly grabbed both of his hands. He was pulling his hair. Hard, he finally registered. They guided his hands to begin twiddling the ends of his hair instead. He repeated the motion without thinking as he focused his gaze on his lap. He didn’t need to see it to know his mama was smiling. They did this with him ever since he was little—that he remembered.

Remembered clearly.

“Well, anyway, the point is she was always saying how much she loved your questions. All the time, she would have the whole inn roaring in laughter as she listed off all the things you asked her that day.”

“They were laughing at me?”

“Oh, they loved you! They thought you were the smartest little guy around! They loved how brutal you were. So to the point. They thought you were the best kid—and they were right, you know.”

Damien sat in silence, a small smile tugging on his lips. Donna smirked before reclining back into their seat.

“All of that to say that you can ask me things. Anything. Even the gross stuff. Like what’s the best lube to use for anal.”

“Mama!“

“But I can’t really remember what it felt like to die, no. Or how exactly it happened,” they finally continued, silencing Damien swiftly. “I don’t have a lot of memories of the plague. Might be the magic, might just be… it sucks to die. Especially like that. But that entire time was just… death, death, death. Everyone felt like they were dying—if not now, then soon.”

“Papa said there wasn’t enough room for the bodies. Is that… is that true?”

“It is. I remember how much we tried to make up for it. But nothing was the same, nothing would ever be good enough. The lazaret was the last choice, but we had to. You’ve talked to your father about this?”

“Only… only one time. He got a little… a little wonky.”

“It was a dark time for him. For all of us, but… but especially him.”

“He lost you. That’s when he got wonky… talking about you.”

“He lost more than just me,” Donna inhaled sharply, shutting their eyes again. Damien reached out and held their hand. They ran their thumb over his the charred top of his hand; they didn't react at all to the rough texture. “Your father… loves this city. In some ways it’s like his first child—shit, that is totally not something I should be saying to you—"

“No, no, like… I know. Comes with being the former consul’s son and all.”

“So you understand! Even before he lost me, he was losing his people. No one knew when the plague would end—if it would ever end. Entire families were dying together. A whole generation gone. Just here one day, gone another. And your father could do nothing—even Nadia, if you can imagine it, could do nothing.”

“It’s hard to picture that… that she couldn’t just like… will the plague to end with her sheer mental fortitude.”

“I think she hates that too—that she couldn’t do the impossible. And it was impossible. It didn’t matter what we did—the plague wouldn’t stop, even if we moved people to better, safer places. Even if we put a physician in every home. It wouldn’t have ended. Not with… him there.”

Damien took a long drag from the joint next. He refused to acknowledge the chill running up his spine, so much like a finger tickling him. He felt eyes burning into him, somewhere hidden, far away. Always far away.

“You don’t… you weren’t there when it happened, right?”

“What?”

“The masquerade… when… you know—“

“No. I had died before that. It’s funny, in some ways the masquerade feels like some fucked up fairy tale I was told as a kid. But it wasn’t that. And I wasn’t a kid either.”

“It’s more like a scary story for me. Like a… what’s the word? Like it’s teaching you a less—“

“Cautionary tale! Like a cautionary tale.”

“Yes! Any time you guys mention… the old count, you get that way. He’s like the bogeyman.”

“He was the bogeyman. Or he wanted people to think so anyway. Really he was a massive loser, but he was a loser with a body count. So that makes him dangerous.”

Damien swallowed, ignoring what he thought sounded like stomping feet. Like a child having a tantrum. He could only stare at the scars on his mama’s face.

“But… shit, where were we?”

“Dying…?”

“Dying! Yes. I… I really don’t remember much of it. I vaguely remember getting sick. Or at least what made me sick—this is a bit graphic. Are you sure you want to hear?”

“Yes. If I don’t I’ll… I’ll interrupt you.”

“Perfect.” Donna took another deep breath, grounding themself. Damien leaned closer, dread and excitement eating away at him. “I’ve told you already I was the head physician's assistant. We had worked together before in the palace—they were the quaestor proper, but medicine was really where their interests were.” Damien felt his blood run cold; he couldn’t read Donna’s face, their eyes far away. He suddenly felt jittery and itchy. “Or maybe not medicine. I thought it was medicine, but really it was just…” They paused, swallowing. Damien could have sworn he heard a giggle—a real giggle—and had to stop himself from gasping. “Dying. They were very interested in people dying. How it happened, what it looked like, all that shit. That meant they were very hands-on with the patients—I’ll spare you those details. Just know that I was always at their side, recording anything and everything they told me to.

It started out with just writing down their weird little rambling, then it got more… hands-on. Helping them jar specimens. Helping them prepare a body. I never questioned any of it, not after the first week. I was just so… so lost.”

I know how you feel—I felt like that with them too.

“I was still reeling from being banished—my face hadn’t even healed properly. And it was a lot of dying people all the time—it never stopped. You just… grew numb to it. That’s what makes me the most upset, I think. That I didn’t remain upset by everything, that it no longer scared me. I just… let things happen to me.”

Donna paused to rub Damien’s shoulder; he had started to tremble. He clung to their hand.

“I should stop—“

“No! No… please, you’re the only one who talks to me like… like a person. Like I’m an adult.”

Donna frowned at that; it was clear they wanted to address it, wanted to refute it. Instead, they took another long hit before continuing.

“That’s why I don’t even remember when I got sick. It just was a thing that happened to me after a lot of things had already happened to me. I remember we were examining a blister or something like that—it was ginormous and weird and… I think one of the beetles had kind of… burrowed into their skin? Something gross like that. And then. Well. That was it. It was on me and it must have bit me. The rest is truly a blur: I was okay, and then I wasn’t, and then I was taken to the lazaret and—“

“You were still alive? When you went to… when they took you? I thought just the bodies went. So they could be taken care of. Not real people...”

“I would have gotten people sick, Dami. They… they couldn’t keep me there—“

“But all the other patients stayed? Why send you then when you were alive?”

Donna’s brows knit together; it felt like Damien was shouting at someone, someone else entirely. Accusing a person who wasn’t there. Was there?

“I don’t… I don’t know. That’s just how it happened. I was so sick, I didn’t… I don’t remember anything of the island just the boat ride and then… I died there.”

“But dad? You must have been able to say goodbye. He must have… they must have—“

“No. He… I would have made him sick, Damien. Valdemar, they…”

Donna’s voice broke, finally. It was just like speaking with his father: everything was factual, to the point, until either one had to speak of the other. It was too painful for the couple to think of, to think of one without the other, to think of never being able to say goodbye. But it had happened, the memory like a scar deep inside one another. Unseen but felt.

I know. That’s how I felt too when they made me leave without saying goodbye.

“We can stop, mama. That’s… we can stop. I'm sorry I got upset--”

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t as cool of an answer as I thought it would be. I can make one up? Or you make one up?”

“You’re asking your only child to make up a story about how you died?”

“That’s… terrible when you say it out loud, yeah. I guess my maternal skills are… lacking.”

And then they were laughing. They both had the same, wheezy cackle that could shake the leaves off of trees; tears stung their eyes as both took turns hacking into their arms. Naturally, Donna’s hand landed on Damien’s back. He leaned closer to them, resting his head on their shoulder as he giggled. Donna sighed, snuggling closer to him.

“That’s… all over now, though. I mean, look! I’m here! Flesh and all! Lots of flesh. Maybe too much.”

“Flesh, flesh, flesh…” Damien murmured, a sleepy smile on his face. Donna smiled and shook their head.

“Let’s get you to bed. It’s double not a good thing to get my only son high out of his mind when we have work to do tomorrow.”

“Nah, I think that part’s fine. Every parent should do this.

“Let’s go, mi Vida. I’ll walk you.”

Linking pinkies, Donna led the pair back to Damien’s chambers. They continued whispering on the walk back, both cracking harmless jokes at one another. Once they made it to Damien’s room, he stopped them, holding both of Donna’s hands in his. They had finally registered that he was without his gloves; his charred skin rubbed against theirs, the blacks of his hands clashing with their skin.

“Are you mad, mama?”

“Not at all, my darling boy. When I say you can ask me anything, I mean it.”

Damien held their hands tighter, looking down at their feet. He looked so much like he did as a child, with the same pout and the same puffed cheeks. Despite everything, despite the years and space and grief, he was still their son.

He was still theirs.

“I… I’m glad you’re my mom. And I’m glad you’re here.” Damien swallowed, refusing to look at them. He didn’t need to see that tears were welling in Donna’s eyes, didn’t need to hear this was something they had craved hearing from him. “I love you. Good night.”

“I… I love you, too, vida,” Donna whispered before placing a flurry of kisses on Damien’s head. He snorted, finally grinning. “I’m glad you’re my son. And words can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here—that we can both be here.”

They didn’t need to see the tears welling in Damien’s eyes as he bolted to his room. Didn’t need him to say it to know he had been craving those words from them for some time. Perhaps ever since he came home.

Mother and son, both dead and rising from the grave, wishing one another good night, promising that they would see each other in the morning.

[bottomvalerius]

gets Valerius a commission of his ponysona

LDNDJSOSOIS it’s so funny because @featherwurm has totally convinced me of Damien being a brony, so he definitely would paint Val’s ponysona for him and leave it on his desk multiple times fbdjdkkdjd

@drustvar look at the lore you’ve helped to make 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻

[renarots]

The ability to evacuate is a privilege and I’m sick of people applying Florida logic to the Appalachians right now. Yes it is horrible for those who couldn’t in Florida but the people in the Appalachian’s had no warning. People still have “dial up” there, 55.9% of the population is under the poverty line. “I’ve been seeing warnings for a week” no you haven’t the warnings were for Florida and Georgia, even then it wasn’t supposed to hit the apps like this at most flooding but they would recover. When hurricane helene took that turn it was too late to even warn others before dams broke. The infrastructure is not meant to take this beating especially given the storm they had the week before causing all of the waterways to be full already. Towns are wiped out, towns that relied on tourism and coal mining to bring in revenue are gone. My great aunt and uncle lived in a trailer off a plot of land and were so happy they finally got a clean running water system hooked up two years ago. They have one tiny little old android that they have to travel about an hour in town to use so they can call us up. They lived off a fixed income because any sort of job was two hours away at least and they’re getting older they can’t just travel that much anymore. My great uncle can’t walk without his cane and my great aunt is getting there too. They always joked about taking me home with them and I would always say when I got older they would come live with me because I knew how rough it was for them but they couldn’t just leave. I haven’t been able to contact them in over 48 hours and the highways leading out after the one hour evacuation notice was given was shut down. Most places are air rescues only because there is no other way for them to be rescued. To add on as well that they deployed FEMA in many of the places affected but yet there is barely any coverage and radio silence from our government. No national guards are here to rescue them they are left to fend for themselves. People are drowning, being electrocuted, some didn’t even stand a chance. These are human beings who have been prayed on for generations the least you can do is show some fucking sympathy. I don’t care what you have to say family’s are being devastated. I wouldn’t wish anything like this to happen to anyone so if you find yourself in your bed at night I hope you know that out there, there are families who are grieving all they have lost and you are cozy at home with running water, electricity and a warm bed and you feel an ounce of guilt for even thinking that.

A link to ways that you can help. Keep Appalachia in your minds do not look away.

[san-fics]

Dick: What do you do when you're bored? Jason: I text Bruce “hi” Jason: Then wait for him to answer Jason: And then type and erase the text again and again to make him wait…

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce: *wears dark gray*

Alfred: I see you’re breaking out the spring colors.

[dyingroses]

[chloesimaginationthings]

I don't know why, but, I kind of see your game Vanny as a disaster bisexual

VANNY IS THE QUEEN OF DISASTER..

[131-vr]

NEXT

This took way too long, I'm kinda embarrassed posting this. School and life got in the way. This is going to be in 3 parts I guess, stay tune.

[hairmetal666]

After the Russians, Steve learns three important things about himself:

Robin is the best friend he's ever had; the uncontested other half of his heart. His soulmate, the platonic love of his life, his missing puzzle piece.

He's not in love with Nancy anymore. It's really saying something that hearing those words come out of his mouth is the shock of his life. Once the drugs wear off, though, he realizes they were absolutely true. A surprising win for the Russian truth serum

Her bathroom confession...he sits with it for days. Not--not because she's a lesbian, of course not, but because. Well, Robin knows herself in a way he's never allowed himself to. And he thinks that maybe maybe he likes boys in the same way. That he always has, but never let himself acknowledge it, the way his eyes wanted to catch in the locker room, the drunken, fumbling touches between him and Tommy.

The last one...he's not sure, is the thing. How can he be sure? Like, in his mind, his imagination, he's very into it, but what if it's different in real life? And how can he even find out? He tells, Robin, of course he does, and they go to Indy, right, to a bookstore and she throws a few zines at him and he sneaks some porn (he's definitely into the porn), but that's not--it's not practical experience. And he's not ready to go to one of the bars, for sure, so he doesn't--like what's he supposed to do?

It's around this time in his bisexual spiral that the kids start hanging out with Eddie Munson, that he starts thinking about Eddie Munson. He always noticed the long, dark curls and the bright, brown eyes; the slender cut of his waist; the wry slant of his mouth as he shouted insults at the jocks; the glinting silver of the rings on his fingers--fingers that were long and callused, fingers that could grip around Steve's--

Nope, he's not going there. Even though, a little voice in his head says, he cares for Steve's kids and maybe he's not good at school but he's smart and he's also so pretty, with his pale skin and his big eyes--

No. He doesn't have a crush on Eddie Munson. Absolutely not.

And when he picks up the kids from their little dnd club and sees Munson standing against his van, he doesn't feel an electric zing in his chest, the first stirring of butterflies in his stomach; that would be crazy. They hardly know each other. It goes like this every time, and he's almost able to believe he doesn't care.

Until Eddie trips over the threshold of Family Video, stumbling on an untied bootlace and gangling his way through the front doors. The clatter catches both Robin and Steve's attention.

"Welcome to Family Video," Robin says. Steve stares.

"Uhh." Eddie's eyes flit between them, his face getting redder by the second.

Fuck, he's so cute and Steve's saying--without thinking about it, he's saying--"let me help you find a movie, man."

"Yea--sure, yeah." Eddie's hands are stuffed in the tight pocket of his jeans.

Steve takes a few steps down the closest aisle. "So, what--uh, what are you looking for?"

"Horror? Nothing in particular."

They make their way to the horror section, and it's like some insane, deeply horny demon takes over. He starts grabbing movies off the shelf, no rhyme or reason, doesn't even know what most of them are.

Eddie's staring at him with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow, and Steve just keeps grabbing tapes, is sort of doing a running commentary on titles and tag lines, and he can't stop, why can't he stop? it's like smoke is coming out of his ears. Robin is watching him from the counter with her mouth hanging open, gummy worm dangling down her chin.

"You know," Eddie grabs something from the shelf, "I think I'll just do Friday the 13th again. Can't go wrong."

And he leaves Steve standing there with half the horror section collected in his arms. He stays there while Eddie pays, face burning. It's been--well, a really long time since he's struck out so hard, and he wasn't even really trying.

As Eddie's walking out the door, his sad pile of movies shifts, then tumbles to the floor.

"You have a crush on Eddie Munson." Robin accuses.

"No!" He ducks down to collect the tapes, hoping to hide the crimson of his face.

"You do." She points an accusatory finger in his direction. "I haven't seen you this pathetic since Scoops."

"It's nothing."

"You know," she crouches down with him, "you could just, like. Try to hang out with him."

"After that? Are you kidding? I'm surprised you don't already have a new You Rule/You Suck board going."

"Oh, I do, it's up front." She jumps to her feet. "But still. You should try. And you have an easy in with the kids."

He glares at her in response, starts re-shelving all the dumb movies, and then they get busy, so the topic is dropped. He thinks about it thought. He thinks about it and he--

Instead of waiting in the car for the kids to get done at Hellfire the next time, he goes in.

[jade-bright]

Big brother Stiles (+Derek) with little Malia and Jackson

Stiles: Okay puppies, there are 206 bones in the human body, but! I’m gonna teach you how to dislocated someone’s body in 230 ways-

Derek: Stiles, they're kids!

Malia & Jackson:

Stiles: Oh yeah! You’re right.

*turns around for a few moments before turning back with puppets over his hands*

Stiles, in somewhat a kermit voice: Hi kids! We're going to show you how to dislocate someone's body! Let's start with the Clavicle region. Do you know where that is?

Derek: Oh my god

———*after a while*———

Peter: Wait what did you teach them?

Stiles: There are 206 bones in the human body...

Peter: Mischief! They're CHILDREN! *turns to the kids*

Peter: If you are fighting an opponent your age pups, there may be up to 270 bones in the human body. Children's bones ares still fusing together. Here is how you can use that....

[consul-valerius]

Hold My Hand & Tell Me I Did Good (1/2)

She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying. It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies [...] She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time.  

Rating: T+

W/C: 3390

Characters present: Damien, Donna, Imee (wow! what an intro for her this is!), Valerius & Nadia (with some references to Sam too lol)

Content warnings: references to abuse/childhood kidnapping; negative self-talk; general disturbing narration/ discussions of trauma + memory loss associated with the trauma; really shit psychology + depictions of hypnosis lol; Damien is Not Nice to Nadia

A/N: long time no fic lmfaoo I had the urge to explore more of when Damien initially first came home, and it's been a sec since I've written anything in the first person so thus.... this was born lol This chapter is is primarily exposition + usual family drama w/ more of Damien's personal insight/paranoia lmao

Mama and Papa have something planned for me. No, that’s not right. Countess Nadia has something planned for me, and she has convinced my parents into doing it. That’s all she’s done since I’ve gotten home: trick them into tricking me into doing some shoddy attempt at an interrogation. She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying. 

It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies. 

It’s annoying that she sees right through me, though. Is she not human? How could her first reaction to me being alive be to rule out if I somehow had something to do with my own disappearance? She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time. 

“This won’t be long,” Papa lies, his attention focused out the window. He hates this as much as I hate it, but he isn’t allowed to show it. He’s never allowed to show that he disagrees with Nadia—not since the last time. Mama is holding my hand, their knee rubbing against Papa’s. Comforting both of her boys; it’s overwhelming how much they extend themself to calm us down. They deserve better than the two of us, and yet they’re stuck with us. It makes me so damn sad all the time. “We can have tea when we’re finished up here. Or perhaps you’d like to go to the Heart District?” Papa continues, his voice hopeful. 

“The last time we did this, I couldn’t speak for three whole days.”

I’m being cruel, and I cannot stop myself. Mama’s hand tightens around mine.

“We won’t let it get that bad,” they say, their tone soft yet resolute. I can almost believe them—they are much better at lying than Papa. They believe their lies. “The moment you want out, we leave.”

“Is… Naima there?”

The last time she was there, I wanted to die. I still want to die just thinking of it. 

“No. She’s with Julian at the clinic,” Papa interjects quickly, happy to give me some sort of good news. Mama smiles at him and then at me, hoping I return it. I don’t; I slump further into my seat. 

“It’ll just be us and the Countess then?”

“Well… one more person will be there,” Mama finally admits; I knew they were hiding something. They’ve been on edge all day. “A family friend. You definitely don’t remember her—she only saw you at your baek-il.”

“Oh her! Of course, I remember her!” I finally smile, and I can feel the relief ooze off of them both. Mama nudges my side as I catch Papa rolling his eyes, still looking out the window with a smile on his face. 

“So fresh,” Mama teases; I keep their hand on my lap, clinging to it and playing with their fingers. “Her name is Imelda. I’ve known her forever; she’s very doting.”

That isn’t that comforting. I don’t really like Mama’s friends. Or Papa’s either, for that matter. They’re all creeps. 

“Why bring in someone new?” I ask, my tone still scathing even though I don’t want it to be. I’m so tired of making my parents sad, and yet that’s all I can really do these days. “I don’t have anything else to say. I’m not lying.”

“No one said you are lying, Damien.”

Papa sounds hurt saying it, and I want to cry. I didn’t say he thought I was lying.

“Then why are we doing this again?”

“Dia wants to ensure that—”

“The Countess has gotten all the information she will get from me!” I cut Mama off before they can defend that woman. Always defending her—it makes me so mad, I could spit. They have no idea how she looks at me, how she’s always looked at me. When they talk, I hear her voice. It drives me mad. “I don’t have any more to give her! Why won’t you just accept that what happened… is over? No one is coming back for me. I’ve taken care of it.”

I feel bitter, hot tears pooling already and I want to die even more now. Ever since I’ve come home, all I do is cry. It’s like I’m making up for the lost time. Papa makes a noise involuntarily—he’s an angry crier too. Mama is the only one managing to keep a brave face. This is life now, I guess. Her two boys stomping their feet and sobbing and pulling their hair out and spilling wine everywhere while Mama takes in deep, meditative breaths to calm themself down. 

“Damien, I know how hard it is to not know the full picture,” they say as they gently coax me to at least look at their hands. They never make me look in their eyes—they never did, even when I was a child and everyone would scream at me to look at them properly. Mama and Papa never did though. I look at Mama’s hands and relax my shoulders and jaw. “I know that you don’t want them right now. I know that you think you don’t need them. But believe me, mijo, you will want them. Even if it’s scary and painful—you will want them. And it gets harder and harder to get them back the longer you wait.”

Gods damn them. How dare they pull the “I was dead and now I’m not” card on me. They are just as manipulative as Papa and Nadia combined. I love them so much, it makes me sick. 

“But… I really don’t remember—”

“I know, mi vida, I know. But this will help you—it’s different than the last time. We’re going to try something new and a little wonky. You may hate it at first. I certainly hated it at first—”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Yes. With Tita Imelda, too. But it’s helpful—I think she can really help you.”

At this, I have no rebuttal. How can I refuse when they’ve done it already? A master manipulator. I flinch as Papa places a hand on my shoulder. Once I recognize his hand, I lean closer to him until he is resting his head on mine. 

“You’re so brave, Damien,” he whispers, his tone wet. He’s crying a lot now. I realize I’m also crying. What a bunch of babies we are. “And after today, you won’t have to be this brave anymore.”

“It’s exhausting… I hate having to do this. I just… Want to be a family.”

Neither of them has anything else to say other than, “I know.”

I want to slap Nadia as soon as I see her. Mama and Papa have more or less gathered themselves; Papa’s eyes are less puffy, but it’s obvious Nadia can tell we’ve all been crying already. She is obviously sad to see this, but I can see that she is also annoyed at us too. Weak. We are a weak family, not like hers. 

She instantly embraces Mama first—it’s clear who her favorite of the bunch is. 

“Thank you all for coming,” she says in that stupid, relaxed, in-control voice. She embraces my father next; it is shorter than when she embraced my mother. “I have tea set up in the drawing room.”

She moves closer as if to hug me next, but when I only glare at her, she backs off. Instead, she places her hand between my shoulders and gently leads the way. I can smell lavender, jasmine, and honey on her. I hate that she always smells so good. I hate how comforting she can be. 

“Thank you for having us,” I say very politely. “What experiment are you doing on me today?”

At this, she laughs because I didn’t use my mean voice, I used my sarcastic voice, and I know she likes it. It reminds her of my father, and most people enjoy that. They like it when we are sassy but not mean, cruel and petty to others but not to them. 

“Not an experiment, no,” she replies as Mama and Papa trail behind us. They always get so quiet during these interrogations; neither wants to speak out against Nadia, but I can tell they want to. “I will allow our guest to explain our plans for the day.”

I am introduced to an ancient woman. Okay, not ancient, but she’s old, older than Nadia by at least ten years. Her skin is a dark sandy color, her nose is wide, and she has thick, pin-straight black hair. She has very kind eyes, though she also looks a bit wicked depending on how she angles her face. She reminds me a bit of my grandma—Papa’s eomma—though she looks a bit more fun than her. 

“Look at that!” Her voice is very wheezy—a smoker. A lifetime smoker at that. My eyes are glued to the leather collar around her throat; it has pearl embellishments and lace on it, and dangling below her throat is definitely a vial of blood. 

All of Mama’s friends are creeps. 

“Please don’t say I look just like my father.” I say it without thinking, and I can tell without looking at him that Papa is mortified. Tita Imelda—I mean, this has to be her—only laughs at me. I didn’t think I was being funny, but it’s better that she laughs and does not get upset.

“And you sound like him too,” she sighs, moving with her walker to get closer to me. She has massive, cat-eye glasses on, her dark brown eyes cartoonish with them on. I hate that I am instantly endeared to this woman. I blame my grandmother. Old people make me cry—I want them to like me so damn bad. “Stars, you were a little potato the last time I saw you.”

“I’m a much bigger potato now.”

“Bigger than your mother, anyway.”

“Hey! Only a little bigger, you hag!” Mama finally steps in, though their voice is playful and full of love. Oh. Imelda is one of those friends. The two embrace and I can tell that Imelda is trying to will some sort of magic, old woman strength into Mama. I could use some of that, too. 

“I take it your parents have told you who I am, then?”

“Tita Imelda?”

“Pssh, call me Imee!” Imee pinches my Mama’s hip, and Papa laughs at that. “So formal. Imelda. Bah!”

We all get situated at a table as a servant pours us all tea. It’s some sort of lavender tea—something to soothe my nerves, most likely. Nadia thinks of everything. The adults dictate the conversation for a little while. No one wants to start a bad conversation just yet. They want to enjoy each other’s company and ignore the severely damaged adult-sized child in the room. I can gather from the conversation that Imee is tied to Old Man Sam—judging by that collar, I assume he owns her or something. Thankfully that old fuck isn’t here for this. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was here. Creep. Imelda is much better than him. Still a creep, but a better creep. 

“I suppose it’s time I begin my speech now, though.”

I am so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t catch that the conversation has turned back to me. Damn it. Imee is looking at me very pointedly, and I gulp more tea. 

“Yes?” I prod, tilting my head towards her. Maybe if I’m mean enough, she will want to go home. “On with it then.”

She only laughs, though. She is used to this behavior. Old people are great at dealing with my behavior. 

“I’m not going to make any assumptions about what you know and don’t know about me,” she continues, knitting her hands together. Man, she has pretty hands for an old lady. “What I do know is that you’ve had it rough, kid. And when horrible things happen to someone, their body protects them.”

Why do I feel like crying?

“That’s what your head is doing—it’s protecting you. But you need help remembering—that’s why I’m here. You don’t need to protect yourself anymore. You’re safe with me—”

“Don’t spin this to make it seem like you’re helping me,” I bite back at her. Mama looks upset already; Papa looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. Nadia is stoic; she knows this verbal attack is meant for her. “You all want information so you can “catch the bad guys” who did this to me, so you can be the heroes of Vesuvia all over again.”

Imee only smiles sadly at me.

“That’s part of it, yes.” Thank the gods she isn’t lying to me. I would have walked out if she lied to me.  “But I have no real business in the affairs of this little city—I can care less about the things that go bump in the night here. What I care about is helping you feel whole. Do you want that, Damien?”

Damn it. This old broad is good. No wonder Old Man Sam owns her. My tongue is getting heavy; I think I’m about to cry.

“No one… asks me if I want this. How the hell should I know what I want?”

“Well, I am.”

Don’t talk to me like it’s only us in the room. They can all hear me; they’re all watching me. Always. 

“Why won’t anyone believe me?” I’m reaching a breaking point; I need to calm down. I am finally addressing Nadia properly. Her eyebrows twitch; she doesn’t like it when I confront her directly. “I told you that it’s taken care of. Do you want the bloody fucking details? Will that make you feel better if I tell you every little thing I did to get home?”

“Damien—!” I can’t tell what’s upset Papa more; the implication of my words, or the use of the word ��fucking.” 

“No, let him speak,” Nadia interjects, standing. That’s right. Come over here and face me. 

“I don’t have any of those to give! I’m home! I fought my way home! There’s no way in hell those people will come back! I’ve taken care of it! I don’t need you, I saved myself!”

I know that Mama and Papa are crying. They can never hold it in when we talk about this. I know I’m being ugly right now, that the idea is ugly. They are probably picturing their sweet, precious little boy covered in blood, flesh and entrails dripping from his bared teeth. 

“Damien, we cannot be so sure unless we have the entire picture.”

Nadia is so cruel. I know she has always been cruel, but I see it so clearly now. I really hate her now. I hate her so much. 

“What if there is a detail you are missing? What if there are others out there who may want to come back?” She clamps her hand down on my shoulder before sinking down to get at eye level with me. Fuck you. Don’t fucking look at me. “Damien, I need to ensure your and my city’s safety. Do you understand that?”

“But I… I don’t have any missing details—”

“You say you cannot remember most of how you got home—”

“I don’t—”

“Those are missing details—” “That’s enough, Nadia!” 

I am stunned to hear my Mama’s voice. By the looks of it, Nadia is too. 

They are standing, their hair now a deep green color. Papa is staring off as if he is willing himself out of existence. I wish I could do the same. 

“Damien needs to be relaxed for this to work,” they continue, their tone still so harsh. “It doesn’t matter the reasoning as to why Damien wants his memories back! He deserves to have the full picture when he is ready.”

“Donatello is right,” Imee adds, her tone calm. She gives Mama a look; Mama sits immediately. I can tell that Nadia has grown cold over the entire exchange. She squeezes my shoulder one final time before taking her seat again, not looking at anyone. “This will only work if Damien wishes to do it. Lofty ideas like the ‘greater good’ will get us nowhere.”

Nadia’s jaw is tense now, her teeth gnashed together. Good. Stay quiet. I look back to Imee, my heart pounding. 

“What is this then? Why are you all talking in riddles?”

Imee sighs, rolling her shoulders. I hear a faint pop when she does. 

“Hypnosis has many uses,” she finally explains, keeping my attention only on her. Her deep, husky voice is captivating. Must be a damn good hypnotist. Gods, I hate this all so much. Mama was right. “Some can be fun. Some can be serious. It all depends on the people and why they are doing it.”

“This sounds like bull shit.”

“It is a little bull shit, I need to admit,” Imee laughs, waving Papa’s worries away. I am being so rude and it is killing him. “But it also helps. Tell me, Damien, have you ever been so engrossed in something that time seems to just… slip away? All that you can focus on is what you’re doing and getting it done?”

“I… yeah. Sure.”

“That’s a little taste of hypnosis. We’re going to get you relaxed and your mind open so you can only focus on one specific memory. That’s all. We don’t even need to focus on the day you came home—it can be any memory.”

I know that pissed Nadia off. She doesn’t want any memory, she wants her answers her way. 

“Is it… a spell?”

“The way that I practice, we use just a little bit of magic to help really open up your mind. Others don’t need it, they can just use an object and their words. But I’m clearly more special than other people.”

At this, I can’t help but giggle. Fuck her. 

“So… what? You put me in some sort of trance and I just… talk?”

“Yes, exactly!”

The idea that I may speak without thinking fills me with an ice-cold fear. That doesn’t sound good at all. I feel a shiver run up my spine; I swipe at the back of my neck, feeling as if some sort of bug is crawling on my skin. When I look down at my gloved hand, nothing is there.

“Damien?”

“I… Will I have any control?”

“You always have control, yes,” Imee leans closer to me, offering her hands. I only look at them as I hold her. Her hands are so soft and so smooth. “Think of me as a guide. I will keep you grounded here during the session, and the moment you don’t want to do this anymore, I will pull you back.”

“How will I know? Like… Do I just say it and it ends?”

“Yes, exactly right. It will be a lot of talking, a lot of meditating, and a lot of focusing. The moment you’re done, we finish. You go home. You live your life. If you think it’s helpful, we can try it again. If you think, ‘To hell with this crazy broad!’ then that’s that!”

I smile at that, too. Is she a mind reader and a hypnotist? 

“Believe me, you aren’t the only one to say that either.” She winks at me before giving my hands one final squeeze. She leans back in her seat, looking at me expectantly. I realize that everyone is looking at me, waiting for an answer. 

Swallowing, I clench my fists. This can go so wrong so quickly. One wrong move, one simple misspoken word, and everything I have ever worked for will collapse right under my feet. More than that, I will upset them. I think I may faint just at the thought. I can already feel my skin peeling at the thought of failing them—what good is a doll if it is broken? If it doesn’t make its owner happy?

“Fine. I will do this just to be done with this.”

But I know that Nadia will not back down. If I don’t do this, she’ll think of some other inane idea to get me to talk. This is a test. This is a test, and I will pass this test. Like I always do.

[zee-rambles]

[legobenkenobi]

i think it would be really funny if Rex and Cody never reconnected after Order 66 but Cody did go to Tatooine and live with Obi-Wan because it means the way Rex finds out Cody survived would be through Luke

Luke meeting Rex and being like “woah you look like Cody!!” and Rex is SO fucking flabbergasted. “YOU KNOW CODY??!”

and then Luke goes onto explain that, yeah, he knows Cody!! he babysat him when Cody’s husband went out of town. and that is how Rex finds out Obi-Wan and Cody got together after the war

[san-fics]

Jason: Adult life is cruel.

Jason: You eat well, and no one even praises you for it.

Jason: And when you drink well, they even scold you...

[metukika]

i just think that