#he said that he used his own experience and love for his pre-teen/teen son to help inform all of it

[sisaloofafump]

Peter J. Tomasi (writer) single-handedly trying to retcon all of Bruce's abusive past (I'm so here for it)

[shwoo]

Grumpus Headcanons (1/3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I finished my big list of headcanons about the Bugsnax characters and their pre-game relationships, and it turned out super long! So instead of using a readmore like normal people, I'm going to post it in three parts over three days.

These aren't, like, analytical headcanons; they're mostly just me making stuff up that I think is plausible. I meant to do this a year ago, and even already expanded a little in a fanfic on the headcanon about Chandlo being a small kid (here). But I got it done eventually! The idea is one headcanon for one character or relationship.

Character Headcanons (Eggabell Batternugget - Gramble Gigglefunny)

Eggabell Batternugget I think she actively studied Bugsnax with Floofty, as well as volunteering as a test subject, but I also think that has some backing in the game, so it's not the headcanon I'm talking about here. The headcanon is what she was studying: the nutritional value of Bugsnax. This is how she's able to be so confident that they're a perfectly balanced source of nutrition in her DLC interview. She also tried to figure out what exactly made them feel so good to eat. Being an endocrinologist, she guessed that it was some hormone, and made some progress in figuring out whether that was true, but then the earthquake happened.

Clumby Clumbernut She wasn't interested in joining the Snackolytes, and said no once Jamfoot was done talking about recruitment bonuses, though she knew he was telling her, not asking. But she was the last survivor of her expedition, and Jamfoot told her that she probably wouldn't last long all alone. Based on what she'd seen so far, Clumby agreed, so she joined up with the intention of going back on it once they were back on the mainland. But the Snakolytes were a lot bigger and more influential than she'd thought. They're also the reason she's continuing to do a job she hates.

Cromdo Face Hiding his singing is a habit left over from childhood, when he'd get in trouble if he did something fun when there was still work to be done. He also didn't have a lot of privacy, making it hard to find a time and place to sing that didn't annoy anyone. When he got married later, his singing also annoyed his husband. The idea that crime was the best shortcut to living comfortably was his own, though.

Filbo Fiddlepie I've made up my mind. He grew up with Lizbert; he's Grumpus American-Australian. His family moved to… I'm going to say Grumpus Sydney when his dad was a preteen, and his dad returned to New Grump City after finishing year twelve, then moved back to a smaller town when Filbo was a toddler. Filbo speaks American English to please his family, particularly his dad. Also he definitely did not get his pen licence in primary school. I've seen his handwriting in-game. I came up with a lot of extra stuff about Filbo's dad, for a story that's still in editing, but I'd sum up his attitude as "I love my cringe fail son".

Floofty Fizzlebean They've always been interested in biology and experimentation, but their parents impressed the importance of consent on them early. As a result, they've been experimenting on themself since before they were in their teens. They accidentally poisoned themself when they were sixteen. Snorpy found them, and they spent a week in the hospital. Also, their hair used to be a more vivid purple, for reasons unrelated to ageing.

Snorpy Fizzlebean First, psychotic Snorpy. That's an obvious one. But not all the stuff he believes is a delusion. I don't know enough about psychosis to go into detail, but he is aware of it, and so is Chandlo, and they have strategies. Less so for the conspiracy stuff, since Snorpy is unwilling to talk to Chandlo about that. And being on Snaktooth definitely made things worse. But, he really is being monitored by the "Grumpinati" (actually the Snakolytes), even if he's wrong about some of the details. They were involved in the artificial limbs project, as well as some other things that Snorpy noticed but blamed on the Grumpinati. They could disappear him, but he's off the mark about so much, and they think nobody would believe him anyway, so they don't bother.

Chandlo Funkbun If he didn't work out all the time, he'd be skinny as well as short. His body doesn't build muscle mass easily. He got beaten up a lot as a kid, because his school had a bullying problem, and he kept trying to intervene, while also being tiny. He started strength training as soon as he could, and got stronger pretty fast, but he stayed skinny until after puberty.

Gramble Gigglefunny He grew up in a very rural area, and concluded that if he wanted to find a family, he needed to be around more people. So he moved to New Grump City, and waited for a family to come to him. Instead, he learned the ways you can also be lonely in a big city. His preference for animals over people didn't help. Lizbert's expedition was his third attempt at finding a new family, as he thought he might get along better with the kind of people who'd go on this kind of expedition than with the people in his home town.

[francispprice]

task dump 1: all about love

read more to learn about francis's love language, family, and identity! (tasks 4, 5, and 6)

Task 4: Love Language

Francis values both words of affirmation and physical touch. Words of affirmation have always been a big part of Francis’s days, both given and received. Similarly, physical touch impacts Francis in a huge way and has only grown more important to him as he’s grown, both to give and to receive.

When Francis realized his parents didn’t know that their words affected him so greatly while in middle school, he wrote a short story illustrating the point sufficiently. His dad, however, just said, “Words are cool, son. That’s how they roll.” Francis knew from this that his dad would try his best but probably not give him the affirmation he desired. This was all right with Francis, as his dad was big on hugs (Francis’s other love language). Francis’s mom loved the short story and to this day tells her son that his words speak to her. (His mom is unlike him in many ways. Something in these interactions, though, manages to qualify as Francis’s love language, so he’ll just take it.)

Francis’s physical interactions with others are very important to him. He’ll initiate conversations with a big hug and end them with a pat on the back, usually longer and more sincere. Francis loves hugs and pats on the back in return. He tells people so whenever it happens.

Francis will ensure that he gives his romantic partner the love language they most prefer. He knows that his ways of receiving love are straightforward, but his ways of giving love come across differently depending on who receives it. This is why he intends on learning more about his future wife early, wooing her the way she likes to experience love.

Task 5: Family

Francis has a large family. The Prices themselves are a five-person family with a solid background with one another. Francis’s parents, Bernard and Divina Price, each have four siblings, so Francis grew up meeting cousin after cousin at family get-togethers. (Bernard Price’s relations actually have the last name Nelson. This is because Bernard was adopted as a pre-teen into the Nelson family but retained the last name Price.) Francis’s mother has living grandparents, so Francis is familiar with the time-honored tradition of only seeing one’s grandparents during the winter holidays.

Francis dreams of someday beginning his own special family with that special someone. His ideal for the family would be he and his wife and their three children, all of whom would be adopted locally.

Francis likes to imagine what his future family will look like and act like. He has box after box of “treasures” that he intends on sharing with them when the time comes.

Francis would be totally devastated if he learned that having a family would not be possible because of his career. In that case, he would step down from whatever position he was filling and work in an advisory capacity, earning enough to support his family and giving himself enough time to spend growing that family.

Task 6: Pride

Francis identifies as a heterosexual and demisexual cis man. (Demisexuality entails sexual attraction to the person of a preferred gender only after a strong connection has been forged.) Francis additionally uses the pronouns he and they, though he describes himself using the pronoun he.

Francis loves the LGBT community. His heroes in industry and history identified fluidly. Francis wants to express his support as an ally and do what he can to further LGBT causes.

Francis used to think that he might be bisexual, but careful thought and experimentation revealed to him that he was straight after all. This time, however, remains one of Francis’s favorite periods of his life, and he is glad that he possessed the confidence to consider every possibility.

Francis enjoys creating visuals for LGBT organizations in his spare time. He uses a dedicated laptop for his contributions to these organizations and goes by the anonymous name “Kaleb Wittman.”

[odos-bucket]

In Which Each of Bruce’s Kids Come Out to Him

and then he comes out to them

Dick

They’re working on opposite sides of the coffee table in one of the manor’s more habitable sitting room’s. It’s become a regular part of their weekday routine: Bruce finishes up whatever office work he has to do, while Dick does his homework, and talks about his day. Usually there are snacks involved. A parenting book Bruce had read recommended trying to get their work done together. It’s a good way to keep connected with their increasingly busy schedules.

“So anyways…” Dick’s story is starting to slow down a little bit, and the shift in tone has Bruce glancing up from his paperwork. “I should probably tell you, since, well, everyone knows at school now.” His voice is still conversational, and relaxed, but a little distracted.

Bruce shifts him his full attention.

“See, what happened was Cameron Josephs in my third period biology class came to school with nail polish on today, which I noticed with my clever detective skills, and promptly dismissed as unimportant, and everyone else noticed with their nosy pre-teen skills, and promptly lost their shi- I mean, minds over. And that was Mrs. Horton’s class, and she has absolutely no control over her students, so it sort of became this whole big thing. Kids were making fun of him, and other kids were yelling at them to knock it off, and he was just trying to do his work, but the rest of the class got into a big fight. And then Brad Cormick- he’s on my basketball team- made a homophobic joke, and we were sitting at the same table, and I could tell that he wanted me to laugh at it. So I told him to shut up, and said that I was bisexual, not that any of it really had anything to do with anything else that was going on, but it did get him to shut up, which was good. Except that I think it may have been because I have more friends than Cameron does, which is totally unfair, and everyone should just be nice to everyone else no matter what, but also I guess not really the point… The point is, yeah, I’m bi. Oh, also frog dissection got moved to tomorrow because one kid threw up.”

Dick takes a deep breath (finally) and a long sip of his juice, before immediately returning to doodling athletic stick figures in the margins of his algebra homework.

Bruce studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of response is expected of him, what would be helpful for Dick to hear. He’s really not very good at this kind of thing.

He’s saved from the risk of putting his foot in his mouth when the science class story continues.

“Are frogs really that gross? I don’t think they are. But I guess our basement is filled with guano, so maybe my tolerance is heightened by regular exposure to the substance most frequently equated with insanity.”

Dick hadn’t seemed nervous before coming out, or relieved after. And if he’s not going to make it into a big deal then neither is Bruce, even if a part of him feels pleasantly warmed by the casual show of trust.

Jason

Bruce loves picking up his kids from school. It’s not something that his schedule allows him to do very often, and Jason- as Dick had been before him- always seems pleasantly surprised to see him. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme, but it’s just nice, normal. And he would never say it out loud- he’s not sure why, he knows he should- but he cherishes the little bit of extra time spent with his boys.

But today Jason isn’t happy to see him.

Bruce pulls up to the curb, and only has to scan the crowd of teenagers for a few seconds before spotting him. He’s on a bench with another student, their shoulders pressed together despite wide swaths of free space available on either side of them. Jason’s pointing out something in a textbook, while the other boy plays with his free hand.

Bruce pulls slightly to the side to let another car drive around him, figuring he’ll give Jason a few minutes to finish up, and notice that Bruce is there, rather than call out and risk embarrassing him.

It’s not even a full minute before they make eye contact across the lot, and immediately something in Jason’s expression changes. His eyes go wide and startled, his posture suddenly tightened. In one fast motion he shuts his book with both hands, muttering something to his friend as he practically throws himself off the bench.

Now feeling on high alert, Bruce sweeps an intense gaze over the school yard for anything that could have upset his son. He doesn’t manage to spot anything before Jason arrives at the car and pulls himself into the backseat (where he never sits, unless the front is already occupied). He starts talking before Bruce can ask what’s wrong.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

Bruce frowns, and looks over both Jason and the area in front of the school in an attempt to identify something that isn’t like how it looks.

“He just-“ Jason flinches, seemingly realizing something wrong with whatever he’d been about to say, and cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I mean-“

Feeling lost is by no means a new part of parenthood for Bruce, and he’s sure it’s something he’ll experience many more times going forward. But, god, he really hates not understanding what’s going on, not knowing what to do, and he doubts that he’ll ever get used to it.

“Jason,” he tries. “Slow down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason answers automatically. “Sorry.”

It’s been over a year since Jason’s called him ‘sir’ and the sudden reintroduction of the honorific sends a cold chill down Bruce’s spine. For a second they just stare at each other, with what Bruce is pretty sure are matching expressions of partially concealed horror.

“Jason,” he says more quietly.

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I’m sorry. Please-“ He stops himself, covering his mouth before he can finish the thought, and then just as quickly lowering the hand back to his lap.

Another silence follows, short but harrowing. Then finally Bruce makes a rare admission

“I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

Jason stares at him, and the wider his eyes get the younger he looks, and the more Bruce wants to scoop him up into his arms. But he just waits, and tries not to look too expectant.

“I-I was holding hands with Derek,” Jason breaths out.

“…Alright?” He’s heard that name before. Jason doesn’t have as many friends at school as Dick had, so they’re a little easier to keep track of, even if Bruce has only ever met any of them in passing. “Is this someone you’re worried I’ll embarrass you in front of?” He asks after a brief pause.

Jason keeps staring at him, expression crinkling as his breathing grows erratic.

Bruce finds himself automatically exaggerating his own inhales and exhales, resting the side of one hand against his sternum, to remind Jason of some of their breathing exercises.

“That’s it, chum,” he says as he sees it slowly begin to work. “Everything’s okay.” For all he knows- or doesn’t know- right now it might not even be true, but dammit for his kid he will make everything okay.

“Everything’s okay,” Jason obediently echoes.

Bruce takes his hand off his chest, and starts to reach towards him. But Jason flinches away from him, not as violently as he had back when they were still new to each others’ lives, but it’s enough to make Bruce feel sick. He can practically feel the wrongness of it squeezing his heart into shards as he slowly withdraws his arm back into the front seat. He had truly thought that they had gotten past this.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says softly, a small concession to the part of himself that wants to beg his son’s forgiveness for whatever he’s done to make him afraid. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s not looking at him anymore. His head is down, and his gaze is fixed on his knees.

Bruce hesitates.

“I’ll never hurt you.” It’s a reassurance he had thought they were past the point of needing, but if they aren’t he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Never.”

“Are you mad?”

“Is there something particular that I’m supposed to be mad about?” Bruce asks carefully.

“... That I was holding hands with a guy,” Jason elaborates, after a steadying breath.

Oh, Bruce is an idiot. What kind of detective is he if he can’t even- He cuts himself off, realizing he can’t wait too long to respond to that.

“Of course not. That’s what this is about?”

“I never meant for you to find out,” is the response he gets. And doesn’t that just hurt like hell to hear?

“That you like boys?” Bruce confirms.

“And girls, both. But I didn’t know what you’d think, so I figured if I couldn’t be sure it was better to keep it to myself.”

Bruce closes his eyes, taking a second to calm his own breathing.

“I never want you to feel like that,” he says. “About anything. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I love you, Jaylad, that isn’t contingent on anything.”

I wish I could have protected you from whatever it was that made you feel like this was something you had to hide. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is finally looking at him again, gaze thoughtful and careful. A long moment passes, before he surprises- and momentarily terrifies- Bruce by getting out of the car. But before he can react to that, Jason’s climbing into the passenger seat, and after a second of hesitation, leaning into Bruce’s side.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sounding a little choked up.

Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. The closeness is a balm after the pain of having his son flinch away from him.

Tim

Tim isn’t supposed to come over today. His parents are in town, and Bruce had made a point of hiding his reluctance when he’d given Robin the week off, chastising himself for the empty nest syndrome he has no right to be experiencing- at least in regards to this particular child.

So he’s surprised when he hears Alfred’s throat clear, and looks up to see both Alfred and Tim lingering in the doorway to his office. It would be odd to see him here at this time of day even if they had been planning to go on patrol; sunset is still a few hours off.

Bruce immediately has a bad feeling. He knows it’s commonplace for the Drakes to disappear unexpectedly partway through whatever length of time they were meant to be spending at home. As Batman it’s made his life easier numerous times. As a parent it’s beyond his comprehension. If he still had his boys at home- but he can’t think about that, not without breaking down, and if Tim’s just been abandoned that’s the last thing he needs.

As he approaches the door, Alfred’s pointed look, and Tim’s vacant expression confirm that he’s right to be concerned.

“Tim.” He keeps his voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

He picks up on Alfred’s glare a fraction of a second too late to realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” There’s something miserable in Tim’s voice, that makes Bruce want to bundle him up in a blanket. Before he can assure him that he has nothing to apologize for, Alfred cuts in.

“I told Master Tim that he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs.”

Bruce nods automatically, looking down at Tim, who’s glassy expression looks a million miles away.

“Tim,” he says gently, eventually drawing the boy’s gaze, but feeling disconcerted by how delayed the response is.

Alfred leaves with a comment about putting a kettle on for tea, closing the door firmly but softly behind him. The sound it makes as it pulls all the way shut still makes Tim twitch.

“Do you want to sit down?” Bruce offers.

Tim stumbles a bit on his way to the couch. He’s so out of it; He won’t be patrolling tonight, even if his schedule’s suddenly open for it. Bruce sits down on the other side.

“Are they gone again?” He asks, trusting fully that the vaguely worded question will be completely understood.

There’s a worrying delay before Tim shakes his head, giving Bruce ample time to wish for Alfred back before he can register the response enough to be surprised by it.

“So...“ he begins uncertainly, before being cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother, Tim.”

The- admittedly somewhat monotone- assurance just gets him a shrug.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He tries.

“Do I have to?” Tim asks after a long silence. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Bruce frowns.

“Of course you can stay here. But I think I really need to know what’s going on.”

Tim stares at him, eyes shining, mouth opening and closing several times before he speaks.

“Can I- Alfred says I can tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” Bruce says, thinking back on every time a robin has had something to tell him, but first wanted confirmation that he wouldn’t be angry.

Tim seems to shrink at his words, his breath catching audibly as he curls in on himself. Fuck, Bruce is bad at this.

“What do you have to tell me?” He asks.

“Well now I don’t know if I want to!” It almost comes out as a yell, strained by the sound of held back tears, and Bruce is a little taken aback.

“I’ll probably find out at some point,” he reasons.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tim chokes on something that sounds like a suppressed sob.

No, no, no no. This isn’t supposed to happen. Bruce reaches out for him in an awkward and hastily aborted movement.

“I can’t,” Tim says after a minutes, tears streaking over his pale cheeks. “If you don’t-“ His voice catches. “I need you to let me stay here.”

Bruce’s heart hurts as he scooches a little closer, reaching out to rest a hand- hopefully not too awkwardly- on Tim’s shoulder.

“Of course you can stay here,” he reiterates. “I told you you could stay here. Even if I’m mad at you you can stay here. If you-“ He searches for a moment. “-Took the batmobile out on a joyride, and drove it into the harbor, I’ll be mad at you, but you’ll still have a place here. One will never have anything to do with the other.”

Tim makes a noise that’s over too quickly for Bruce to be able to tell if it had been a laugh, or just more crying.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dick,” Bruce corrects.

This time Tim definitely snorts, which has Bruce smiling in spite of himself.

“Did you do something worse than that?” He asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but Tim makes an unhappy face at the question.

“I- no!” He says, defensive, but confident. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

“Then why would I be mad at you?”

The humor that had begun to make its way into Tim’s expression disappears again, and Bruce curses himself.

“Mom and Dad were mad,” he says quietly.

Bruce scowls. He tries pretty hard not to let his dislike of Jack and Janet show around Tim- though he’s long suspected the young detective can tell- but it’s harder to hide sometimes than others.

“You said they were still home,” he remembers. “Tim, did they kick you out?” He does his best to keep the anger out of his voice.

And then he finds himself doing his best to keep the anger off of his face when it takes Tim a moment to answer the question.

“I don’t think forever,” he says uncertainly. “Just- They said they needed time to think about it, to d-decide what to do.”

The slight stutter puts him over the age, and fury starts to trickle into Bruce’s voice.

“To think about what?” He demands. Hell, that place is more Tim’s home than it is theirs. They have absolutely no right to ask him to leave! And where the hell do they expect him to go? Bruce forces himself to clench his jaw, and take deep breaths.

“...I’m gay,” Tim finally says.

Bruce stares at him for the second that it takes for the words to register, and connect back to the rest of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

He’s wincing at himself before the question is all the way out of his mouth, immediately convinced that he’s said the wrong thing again. But then, to his immense relief, he realizes that Tim has started laughing. It isn’t deep, or sustained. His voice is still a little weak, and his eyes are still a little red. But he’s definitely laughing, and Bruce realizes vaguely that a robin laughing is still his favorite sound in the world.

“That’s it,” Tim confirms, on the tail end of his laugh.

“Oh, Tim.”

Bruce doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess the motion before he pulls the boy into a hug, satisfied that it was the right course of action when he feels Tim melt against him.

“Of course I’m not mad, of course I’m not mad,” he repeats like a mantra. “I’m sorry I let you think I would be. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass, and he realizes there’s a wet patch at his shoulder where Tim’s face is buried. Bruce freezes, totally unsure of what he’s done wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tim breaths out. “I- thank you. Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if- I- I don’t want to be alone!”

“Not alone,” Bruce promises. “You’re not alone. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim presses closer, and Bruce takes it as a cue to tighten his hold.

Alfred finds them like that a few minutes later, Tim curled up in his arms, while Bruce cycles through reassurances. The look they exchange is enough to confirm that they’re both thinking the same thing: this kid is ours.

Cass

One day Cass hangs a little pride flag up on her door. Later in the week when she catches Bruce glancing at it, she comes up to him, gives the flag a meaningful nod, before just saying, “Girls!” in a happy voice, giving him a hug, and disappearing down the hall.

Damian

Bruce can identify every member of his family by their knock, but Damian’s is particularly distinctive. Not just because it tends to come from a lower part of the door, but because Damian has cultivated a strong knock, the way businessmen cultivate a strong handshake. It’s a very confident and determined sound, that he often finds himself stifling a smile at, knowing that that isn’t at all the intended reaction.

“Come in,” he calls, and there’s no pause before Damian strides into his office, confident as ever. When he speaks however, the undercurrents of his voice tell a different story.

“Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” There are a few hesitations, that don’t quite manage to turn into stutters in his voice, ones it’s unlikely anyone outside of their family would notice.

Bruce doesn’t comment on them, just nods for Damian to sit down and continue.

His legs don’t fully reach the floor. Something else that Bruce has learned not to let himself smile at.

“Grayson says…” he begins confidently, before trailing off.

Bruce just raises an eyebrow for him to continue, not feeling like he has enough information to put anything together from at the moment.

“Richard says,” Damian continues more carefully. “He came out to you as bisexual when he was around my age?”

Bruce nods. He has a feeling that he knows where this is going this time.

“He did.”

“He said that you were okay with it?”

Bruce nods again.

“Dick is my son. My love for him isn’t conditional, certainly not on that. There’s nothing wrong with not being straight.”

Damian had broached the topic using Dick as a proxy, so Bruce had followed his lead and assumed that Damian would know to automatically apply the assurance to himself. But Damian’s face just falls into a puzzled frown.

“So why…” he begins, before changing track. “Richard isn’t your biological son.”

Bruce frowns back.

“Damian, you know that doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t love your siblings any less because they’re not-”

“I know,” Damian cuts in. “It isn’t about loving us differently.” He says it very matter of factly. “I have the ability to carry on your bloodline, whereas they do not.”

“That ability isn’t an obligation,” Bruce says, wondering why his kids never seem to be able to just worry about normal things. “And it’s certainly not something that you need to be thinking about at thirteen years old.”

Damian nods slowly, staring down at the desk with a look of intense concentration, before slowly raising his gaze to Bruce.

“Mother and Grandfather said that you wouldn’t like it, if I wasn’t interested in girls,” he says quietly.

Bruce sighs. of-fucking-course they did. He gets up from his chair, and moves around the desk to kneel in front of Damian.

“Well they’re wrong,” he says simply. “And they had no right to lead you to believe that it would make any difference to me. Just like I don’t love your siblings any less, my love for you is no more conditional. Understand?”

It takes a moment, but Damian nods.

“All right. In which case, I suppose... I’m gay.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Bruce says, before pulling his son into a hug.

Bruce

Bruce looks at his assembled family, and begins to feel a strange sense of trepidation tickling at the edge of his consciousness.

They’re all here. Trying to get the whole family together all at once is like pulling teeth. But he told them it was important, and they all came. There have been plenty of points over the course of the years when that wouldn’t have happened. And even though they’ve all been pretty settled with each other for a while now, he never wants to take for granted having his whole family together- not that he thinks the part of him that only seems to settle when he has all of his children within arm’s reach would let him.

The comfort of having them all be together is overwhelming, but the trepidation is still there, just like it probably always will be any time he manages to round up the courage for anything resembling feelings talk.

They’re all in one of the living rooms, sprawled in a comfortable half circle across various couches and chairs.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all,” Bruce starts to say.

“Are you dying?” Stephanie asks casually.

Beside her, Cass freezes, looking horrified.

“I’m not dying,” Bruce says quickly.

At the same time Steph rubs a hand up and down Cass’s arm and assures her she was kidding.

“Not like he’d tell us if he was,” Dick says.

He knows it’s meant to be a joke, just like Stephanie’s question had been, but it still sends a chill through him. Mostly because he can’t say for sure that Dick is totally wrong; it’s the kind of thing he easily could have kept to himself. But then he sees the uncertain frown that Damian is giving him, and Cass’s wide, anxious eyes, and decides that he has to be wrong.

“I’m not dying,” he repeats, reaching out for Tim who’s sitting closest to him, and who’s been staring very intently at the floor since the topic came up.

Tim leans into the touch without shifting his position.

“And I would tell you,” he adds seriously, feeling absolutely wracked with guilt over the fact that up until this moment he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to claim that with any certainty.

“I swear, if there’s anything wrong with me, all of you will know as soon as possible.” By the time it comes out of his mouth, he knows he means it with total certainty.

“I think we’re all pretty tuned into the fact that there’s something wrong with you,” Jason offers, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bruce smiles despite himself. That was agonizing. Compared to that getting on with the conversation he’d previously been so apprehensive to have will be a relief.

“What did you want to tell us?” Duke asks.

“It can be… difficult for me to articulate what it means to me whenever one of you trusts me enough to share something about yourself. I thought that I owed it to all of you to return the favor, and share a… recent discovery of mine.” He stumbles through it as awkwardly as he’d expected to.

“This is weird,” Stephanie stage whispers.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce admits.

“Bruce!” Dick says excitedly.

“Unacceptable,” Jason cuts in. “We already have enough of that nonsense in this house!”

Tim kicks him in the side.

“Well, seeing as it’s an option, I for one prefer the idea of you pursuing romantic entanglements that bear no risk of resulting in pregnancy.”

“Noted, Damian.”

“I’m happy for you, B,” Tim says. “It can be hard figuring yourself out.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Is that it?” Duke asks. “I mean, not that it’s not a big deal- and I’m happy for you too by the way- it’s just that most of our family meetings involve addressing some kind of crisis.”

“That’s it,” Bruce admits.

“Perhaps- seeing as we’re all here anyways- we could take this opportunity to have dinner together as a family for once,” Alfred offers.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[mistystar022100]

More Bleach x Tokyo Ghoul au

More Characters

Orihime

Orihime is a natural one-eyed ghoul with a Rinkaku kagune. Orihime in cannon has basically one offensive ability that is broken for a whole arc and then rarely used for the sake of defense and healing. Personally, I thought she could have done more so I’m fixing this myself. Her kagune has 2 tentacles that she can use for offensive. Her Shun Shun Rika will be for the healing and shield, the attacking fairy will not be used often unless she needs a long ranged attack.

The reason for her being a one-eyed ghoul is so she could still eat human food. Her weird food combinations are a part of her character and I thought it wouldn’t be right to take that from her. It also doesn’t hurt that Orihime constantly eating food is a good cover for when the ghoul group hangs out at school. The fact that her brother was a human makes for an interesting dynamic as well.

As a half ghoul she can eat human food as much as she wants. The genetic combination may have messed with her taste buds, resulting in the strange food. She can taste it but the human food gives her almost no nutritional value. She has to eat like a ghoul in order to sustain herself.

Her main ability is in her regeneration, which is high even for a Rinkaku. Even though her kagune is fairly weak and easy to cut off, they grow back very quickly. This also applies to any injuries she takes; for example getting completely flattened by a speeding car will only take her a few hours to completely regenerate from; as long as she’s feed.

Her father was a ghoul and her mother was a human. Her mother left Sora’s father, who was a human, for Orihime’s father, a ghoul. Sora and Orihime were half siblings. After her father was killed by the CCG and her mother became an alcoholic, Sora took her and moved to Karakura. Sora at first feed her dead homeless people who he would find until he was approached by Isshin and the other adult ghouls in town who took that responsibility out of his hands. After Sora’s death, Orihime became very close to the Ishida and Kurosaki families. The fathers would make sure she was feed and the kids would make sure she wasn’t lonely.

Uryu

Uryu is an Ukaku type ghoul. His kagune is used in tandem with his quincy arrows for more projectiles and the speed boast is helpful for him to avoid attacks. Since Ryuken is still unhelpful with training him as a quincy, he at least trains Uryu as a ghoul. They still have a horrible relationship but at least they see each other now.

Since all the ghouls in town are relatively close, he is well aware that he and the Kurosaki kids are basically cousins. (Are they really though cause the relations between Masaki and Ryuken have always confused me? No matter, cousins is close enough) Mostly Yuzu (Karin absolutely does not admit to helping), convinces Uryu to visit the Kurosaki household every once in a while. Yuzu calls him cousin, Karin does when she’s happy and Ichigo only calls him that when he needs Uryu to listen to him. Isshin tries to make Uryu call him Uncle but Uryu has picked up some things from Ichigo and smacks him around when he’s being annoying; he will call Isshin uncle on special occasions though.

Due to how tight knit the ghouls in town are, Uryu is friends with the Karakura teens long before the story begins. Him, Ichigo, Orihime, and Chad sit on the roof during lunch at school. He tolerates the presence of Tatsuki and Keigo but finds them both annoying.

Once Uryu learns how to sew, he becomes the mask maker in town. Considering the small ghoul population he doesn’t have to make or fix masks that often but he does get annoyed when someone tells him they broke the mask. (All the individual masks will be another post, mainly because some still haven’t been decided)

Ryuken

Like his son, Ryuken is an Ukaku type ghoul. He still despises being “the Last Quincy” but accepts that he is a ghoul. He makes sure Uryu is prepared for the hostile world against ghouls but otherwise is still distant. Later trains Yuzu in Quincy abilities but only because Masaki asked him to before her death. He later passes this on to Uryu because he is not the best teacher.

Since he works at the hospital he needed a way to keep his kakugan from activating. Through the efforts of both him and Isshin, they annoyed Urahara so much that he made them an oral medication that prevents the kakugan from activating for a time. This is why the fathers can both work in hospitals and smell blood without people suspecting them. After all no one is going to suspect a ghoul is working at a hospital.

He provides the ghouls main source of food. When a body is in the morgue of his hospital, he contacts Urahara who replaces it with a cheap inflatable Gigai. This Gigai lasts just long enough for the funeral so the stolen bodies are never discovered. He first makes sure Uryu is feed, then Orihime and then gives the rest to the Kurosaki’s. If not enough dead bodies come in for the month then Isshin leaves town and hunts while telling others he’s at a medical conference.

Ryuken’s ghoul identity is “Plague Doctor” due to his mask. He is the second ghoul being suspected of owning Karakura town. An A ranked ghoul due to his speed and projectile weapons, he is SS ranked when working with Isshin “Flame Oni”. He hates how in sync they are but tolerates it for the safely of the town.

Occasionally joins Uryu in visiting the Kurosaki’s. He only stays for a short while to talk to Isshin about whatever important things are going on, such as taking care of all the kids. Yuzu is happy her Uncle is visiting, Karin doesn’t really care and Ichigo likes to call him out on being an emotionally distant father. Uryu proceeds to tell him to shut up, sometimes leading to brawls in the living room.

Chad

Chad is a human with a Kokaku type quinque. It’s 2 gauntlets that connect through a long chain in the middle which goes over his arms and back. It makes his fullbring even stronger when using it. It was made from his abuelo’s greatest kill as a CCG Dove (a S ranked ghoul).

He carries the quinque case in a disguise bag for 2 reasons. The first is that owning a quinque outside the CCG is illegal and he won’t let anyone take his abuelo’s gift to him. The second reason is that the quinque makes his friends very uncomfortable so he disguises it out of respect for them. He uses a larger version of his high school bag to disguise it and carries it or uses the straps to wear it like a backpack.

When he moved to Karakura he saw Ichigo in the original thug beat down at the bridge. After that day, Chad was attacked by a passing ghoul who thought he looked tasty (Ichigo was preoccupied in a store). Chad got out his quinque despite never being thought how to use it but was loosing and had heavy wounds from his enemies kagune. Ichigo came back to the sounds of fighting and attacked the ghoul with his kagune. After the fight Ichigo only then realized Chad had a quinque and froze in place out of panic. Chad put the weapons away and limped over to Ichigo to help clean the blood off him. Chad really didn’t care that his friend was a ghoul, especially since said friend just saved his life.

Ichigo took Chad home and after getting patched up by Isshin, Chad became an honorary member of the ghouls. He joined them for monthly training considering he had no idea how to use his quinque and the adults would not have this rarely kind human die. He got a mask so he could use his quinque and not get recognized. He also has a costume that covers most of his body considering a half-Mexican and half-Japanese man is very easy to recognize, especially outside of a big city.

He is just the best ghoul ally. He is a very quiet individual but he will not stay silent when someone (mainly Tatsuki) is insulting ghouls in front of him or his friends. For a man of few words his words can sure pack a punch.

Tatsuki

Tatsuki is a human and doesn’t have the best image of ghouls. After Masaki’s death and Isshin being lost in his grief, a ghoul came into town and killed Tatsuki’s father. Ryuken “took care of” the offender and was the reason Isshin got off his ass.

Since beginning high school, Tatsuki has been in a CCG program over the weekends. She adds on to her pre-existing martial arts skills and is working her way up to learning quinque combat. Her quinque would be a bikaku that is a serrated edge sword and can stretch into a whip when needed. The whip is used to hold ghouls in place as the hooked spikes cause more damage when being taken out.

Tatsuki is still friends with Orihime and Ichigo. Orihime is her best friend and they share dinner quite often. When Tatsuki starts with the ghoul hate speech, Ichigo tells her to talk about something else or he’s leaving. Orihime kinds shuts down and starts doing something else to distract herself. Tatsuki is so caught up in her rage and grief that she normally doesn’t notice when Orihime does this. She gets frustrated with Ichigo but doesn’t stay mad at him.

Urahara

Urahara is a “human” with a vast knowledge of ghouls. He is the reason the CCG ignores Karakura for as long as it does. He hacks into the data base whenever something that might be important occurs (someone having to use their kagune and there’s a security camera nearby) and deletes the data. The CCG eventually figured out that someone is wiping the data and sends Doves to investigate the town. But that’s a whole other story arc.

Jinta and Ururu are failed half ghoul experiments that he may or may not have liberated from the CCG as kids. At first he took them to examine their DNA but he grew to love them. The weird genetics has taken a toll on the kid’s bodies; Jinta needs hearing aids and Ururu wears glasses. Urahara however does him best to keep the kids healthy.

As a man of science, he has taken the liberty of getting DNA samples of all the ghouls in town as the data on ghouls is limited to the CCG’s propaganda. He may or may not want to make his own half ghoul some day (or do it to himself); all in the name of science.

His shop sells all sorts of items that the ghouls may need. It is also the place where the ghouls have their monthly meetings. Most of the kids are suspicious of Urahara since he is clearly “human”. Ryuken and Isshin trust him though so that’s good enough for the kids, at least for now.

[novantinuum]

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

[daresplaining]

[ID: Excerpt from Zdarsky’s Daredevil run. Jack Murdock is boxing with late teens/young adult-ish Mike Murdock in a boxing ring in an empty gym. Both are wearing boxing gloves and drab, baggy clothing. Jack punches Mike in the side.] 

Jack: “Elbows in! This is your life, Mike! How’s it feel?! Lesson two is tomorrow. Now go hit the showers! You stink of booze and sweat and you know Matt--”

[ID: Mike punches Jack in the head, then walks away while un-velcroing his own boxing gloves with his teeth.]

Mike: “I’m not Matt! I never was! But at least I don’t take punches and falls for a living!”

Jack: “That’s not--”

[ID: Mike pokes Jack in the chest with his finger.]

Mike: “No more lies, Dad! You take falls for mobsters! You rough people up for them too! And you lied to Matt and me about our mom!”

Jack: “Son, I--”

Mike: “I may not be my law school brother-- but I sure as #$@% ain’t you! I’m not Matt, I’m not Battlin’ Jack, I’m just--”

Daredevil vol. 6 Annual #1 by Chip Zdarsky, Chris Mooneyham, Rachelle Rosenberg, et al.

    I’m not even sure where to begin analyzing this issue, because there’s so much going on and so much to pick apart, but this seems like as good a place as any because this scene wrecked me (in a good way).

    I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, and I think it’s extra important to say it now, given everything that’s happened: my fascination with Mike comes from a fascination with Matt. It was true when Matt was play-acting as his fake twin brother, and it’s still true now that Mike is real and has begun separating himself out from Matt and asserting his own personhood; that overlap, the way in which Mike reflects and comments on Matt’s life and experiences, is key to his character. In this issue, via Mike’s memories, we are given a brand-new perspective on Matt’s childhood. We don’t get that very often, and it’s part of what makes this issue, and the concept of Real Boy Mike himself, so compelling. 

    One of the recurring concepts in this issue is the idea of Mike as an outside observer-- someone who sees what Matt does not (I mean... well, you know what I mean). Mike lives Matt’s childhood alongside him, but his experience of it is very different, and is largely characterized by losses of innocence. Mike beats up the kids who make fun of Matt, even after he’s been told not to. Mike loves his father, but does not idolize him to the degree that Matt does, which leads him to recognize Jack’s human flaws. Mike secretly observes Maggie visiting Matt in the hospital, thus discovering that their mother is alive years before Matt does (I’m going to write a separate post about that, because holy moley.) Mike provides us with a new experience of familiar events and characters. We see Matt as he sees him: the smart goody-two-shoes to whom Mike, with all his cynicism and rascally-ness, cannot measure up. And we see a Jack who is suddenly confronted about things that Matt never discussed with him, embroiled in a new relationship dynamic with a troubled, angry son who did not exist before. In this issue, Zdarsky has chosen to lean into the concept of Mike invading a pre-existing space and bringing with him a new perspective on it and on the characters who already inhabit that space, and I love that. 

    What makes this even more fun is thinking about what Mike doesn’t know. Yes, Mike notices important things that his brother misses, but at the end of the day, we as Daredevil fans know what “good-two-shoes” Matt Murdock is actually up to throughout all of this, and for all of Mike’s awareness of the world around him, these flashbacks suggest that he has no idea how much stuff his twin is hiding. (Whether this is actually the case is a tantalizing question that could potentially be explored later...). We’re accustomed to being in Matt’s head, and so it’s fun to watch his childhood from someone else’s point-of-view; to see his secret-keeping in full operation, from the perspective of someone who seemingly doesn’t have a clue. It’s not something that’s directly pointed out in the narrative (it’s actually easy to not think about Matt at all in this issue), but it’s a fun aspect of the story, and there are a few little details stuck in to remind us that this is still Matt’s superhero origin. One is how freaking buff Matt is compared to Mike in the later flashbacks (more on that in a future post), and another is Jack’s great comment in this scene about how Matt won’t like that Mike smells bad. This ties into another of my favorite pet DD ideas: that people who spend a lot of time with Matt know about his powers, even if they don’t actually know about them. We see this a bit with Foggy: in the years before he learned about Matt’s double life, he would sometimes comment on weird things Matt would do, but without actually thinking about them too hard because he was so used to it. And it would make sense for the same to be true of Jack and, now, Mike. Obviously, “Matt is sensitive to smells” isn’t a direct awareness that Matt has superpowers, but it provides us a glimpse of the ways Matt’s powers manifest in his daily life in spite of his secret-keeping. 

    And finally...

[ID: The same panel from above, showing Mike angrily undoing his boxing glove with his teeth.]

Mike: “I’m not Matt! I never was!”

    It’s a small, silly thing, and it’s something that Mike would logically say in this scene, etc. but I love it. It’s thematic. It’s satisfying. It’s basically the tagline for the "Real Boy” Mike story arc, and it’s fun to have him say it-- not only the “I’m not Matt”, but the “I never was” which is really what this issue is all about. It drives home the wild, mindblowing thing has been done here: Mike, who was Matt, is now really, truly his own person-- and not only that, but he has made it so that maybe (again-- we’re still waiting on confirmation) he has always been his own person. He is not Matt, he is not his father, he is himself. And he has found the power (literally) to claim that autonomy for himself. 

[trillian-anders]

first blood

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  angst, general asshole-ness.

word count: 4.6k  

description: part 3 of 5. how did you become ransom’s glorified babysitter? and why the fuck are you keeping this job? who knows. you hate it, you hate him, but... the money. 

note: tumblr is being super shitty rn so I can only post on mobile, but I really wanted to get this off my desk! will add a read more and properly link later 💕

prequel to the assistant && four christmases, spoiler free loves. 

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You don’t think your eyes will ever feel normal again. They were dry and scratchy. There were no more tears to shed. You’d buried your Mom two months ago, but you didn’t know how it would ever feel okay. She did everything for you and Julia. Everything. She worked hard, made pretty good money, allowed you to have a part time job and just focus on school. Julia was in this really nice private school, she played the cello now for fucks sake. She had friends and was talking about maybe starting soccer soon, but after funeral costs and your sister’s tuition the life insurance money was running out.

You had to sell the house.

You’d moved the two of you into a small apartment right outside of Chinatown. Not the safest area, but not the most unsafe either. You’d be fine. You had each other, and she needed you to do this. You had to do this.

For her.

You sat uncomfortably in the cheap office chair, sitting across from a woman with too many papers on her desk, everything sloppily arranged around a couple of potted succulents and a framed picture of her and her three kids, no spouse.

“So your last job was in tutoring?” She asked you. You shifted nervously in your seat, nodding your head,

“Yeah, I tutored a high school student in English and Math.” You needed some water. The cheap pencil skirt and blouse you were wearing made your skin itch. She types into her computer some more.

“So why are you here?” She asked, “Why not continue tutoring?” A few more clicks and then more typing.

“The family I worked for paid me pretty well,” You admitted, “But she’s graduating this year and they didn’t need me anymore, I don’t really,” You cleared your throat, “I don’t really have much job experience outside of that and I need to start making money now… I’ve put out job applications but haven’t really gotten any luck.” Not with the income you needed anyway. The woman nodded. The plaque on her desk said her name is Stacy Chandler.

“Alright, here you are.” A printed page, address, date, and time. A job. Clerical work. Data entry. You have to do this...

-

“How was your last day of school?” Julia sat heavily at the kitchen table, backpack slumped on the floor next to her. She buried her face in her arms.

“I’m never going again.” Came muffled from her mouth. She lifted her head to look at you. The beginnings of puberty. You’d recently gone bra shopping for the first time. Real ones, no more training bras. You’d recently taken her to the dermatologist for her acne, but she’s not good at remembering to put on the expensive creams you bought. What a hard time. You don’t envy her.

“Luckily for you,” You smiled, placing a fudgy brownie in front of her, “You don’t have to go back for three whole months!” She rolled her eyes heavily, taking the brownie and disappearing into her room presumably to sit on her computer until dinner.

She was feeling the absence of your Mother just as you were. You weren’t sure what to do here. You loved your sister and you know she loves you too, but in the last few months it’s just been closed doors and a few parting sentences. Only because you had to work so much. Only because she spent a lot of time at friend’s houses where you’d think she would feel normal for a while. It would help ease the burden of being in your mid-twenties and suddenly feeling like a single mother. Of course you can sleep over at Mila’s house, her family is going to their cabin for the weekend of course you can go!

You didn’t know what to do other than keeping her in school and alive. You weren’t ready for this. But the only other option was your estranged aunt who reeked of mothballs and was constantly asking you if you were married, or dating, or ‘You’re Mother wouldn’t have wanted this’. No. It was very clear that your Mom wanted the two of you to stay together, and that’s how it’s going to be.

This summer she was going to spend with her friend Mila at their family’s lake house. Mila’s mother was a stay at home mom with six kids under the age of 12 and would be planning to spend the summer pintresting activities and projects with them while simultaneously getting out of her stuffy-old 10 bedroom, 8 bathroom mansion. Lucky her. Lucky Julia.

The apartment would be empty without the 12-year-old pre-teen for three months, but Julia has really been looking forward to it. Her bags were packed and ready by the door.

You hugged her tightly in front of Mila’s house, burying your face in her hair, partially not wanting her to go, but otherwise knowing that she’s going to have a better time than you could ever provide her. “Okay, you can let me go now.” She shifted in your arms, trying to pull away.

“Just another minute.” You mumbled, pulling her in tighter. “I’m gonna miss you.” She laughed,

“I’m gonna miss you too.” The two of you pulled apart and you tucked her hair behind her ears, cupping her sweet face.

“I love you,” You said very seriously, “If you ever want to come home just-”

“I’ll let you know.” She was getting impatient, the car Mila’s mom was taking to the lake house, a beautifully large black Range Rover sat packed next to you, they were waiting. “I love you too.” She slowly backed away towards the car.

“If she gets homesick, my husband still comes back every week for work so he can bring her home if need be,” Andrea was her name, Mila’s Mom. “She’ll be fine.” Andy was really nice. She made a lot of the food the two of you had eaten in the early days after your Mom’s death. Her gentle reassurance soothed you slightly. It made driving away a little easier, but it didn’t stop the tears that fell as you entered your apartment, alone. For the first time in a while. You didn’t have to hold it in anymore.

You sunk down against your front door, staring out into your living room, tears rolling down your cheeks in the silence of the home. Dirty shoes lined up against the wall, throw blanket hanging halfway off the couch, dirty dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and somewhere you’re sure under all of it was the will to pick yourself back up.

You just didn’t know if you were ready for that quite yet.

But you did it anyway.

More clerical work. More data entry. More bills going half paid and others being ignored all together. Student loans you didn’t even want to think about from a school where you hadn’t even graduated. Medical bills you didn’t even know where to begin paying back, itchy stockings, and uncomfortable shoes. With every day that passed you reexamined your life. How did you get here?

A new job, a new office. Temp assigned, but you knew who worked here. The building that housed it stood tall against the Boston skyline. Contemporary. You sat comfortably in a cushy office chair. The plaque on the desk read Linda Drysdale, CEO. And you waited.

You hadn’t seen the Thrombey’s, let alone the Drysdale branch of the family, for five months. Zero contact. Joni had talked to you last, thanking you for helping Meg, but also trying to sell you eye cream. “You really should invest in taking better care of yourself.” Which was her kind way of trying to tell you that you look old. Thanks.

You couldn’t imagine what Linda would want you for. You’d been doing some filing, they were transferring all of their documents to digital and hired extra help to do so, you were one of three hired from your particular temp agency, but yesterday she had called you personally and asked you to come in for an appointment today at 3 pm. And here you are.

Waiting.

There was a portrait of her family on the wall. Linda herself sitting in a high backed intricate chair, her husband Richard standing to her right, and to her left was her son, Hugh. He went by his middle name Ransom. They were stone faced, serious looking. This painting seemed ridiculous. If you didn’t know the Thrombey’s you’d think it was there to be ironic, as a joke, a play on what rich families were like.

But they were a rich family, and this is what they were like.

Linda was self-serving. She only ever talked to you when it suited her own interests and as soon as she was satisfied she would quickly direct her attention somewhere else, to someone more important. She used you to get what she wanted and when you served her purpose you were gone. She had no time for anyone, only her father. Anything for Harlan.

Richard was a predator. He was always making an uncomfortable comment about either your body or your face. He stood uncomfortably close at times and liked to settle a hand on the small of your back. He was a well kept man, throwing his wife’s money around like it was his own. He kept a money clip of hundreds in his pocket.

Ransom was a piece of shit. He was a self-centered egotistical asshole who was sure to make your life a living hell every time he saw you. There was always a comment, a jab at your clothes, your hair, the fact that you are poor. He once ‘accidentally’ threw your cardigan away because, “I thought it was one of those fucking rags you dust with, I didn’t want it touching my burberry.” He, like his father, felt predatory. Something about being a rich white man just really got them going, and the money clip with the hundreds… a learned habit.

“Alright,” Linda’s voice came from the doorway, you turned slightly in your seat. She was on the phone, “Well we will send Michael out to show them the properties instead, I’m sure we’ll find something they like.” She gave you a finger, hold on, even though you’d been sitting here patiently waiting for her for close to twenty minutes now. “Okay,” She continued, “Sounds good.” Sitting down in her chair, tapping a few keys to illuminate her computer screen. “Alright now, bye-bye.” She took her phone from her ear, looking down at the screen before placing it face down on the desk and smiling at you.

You knew that smile. She wanted something.

“So, Y/N right?” You nodded, “I see you’re looking for work.”

“Well, I’m with a temp agency right now but-”

“Would you like something a little more permanent?” A permanent job? The Thrombey’s had paid you very well to tutor Meg, better than you were making now. Granted you had only worked 15 hours a week when you were tutoring her, so $20 an hour didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but if they were looking for something, anything full time…

“Absolutely,” You smiled, shifting in your seat, “I’ve had trouble being hired because my-”

“Okay so you’re going to need Ransom’s number, and you’ll start tomorrow.” Your smile dropped.

“Ransom needs a tutor?” You asked skeptically. She laughed.

“No, he needs an assistant.” She gestured towards herself, “I can’t keep telling him when or where to be for family events and he has a fairly active social life so I’m gifting him an assistant for his birthday.” Oh.

“I uhm,” You really didn’t want to work for Ransom. You REALLY didn’t want to work for Ransom. “How much would it…?” You trailed off nervously.

“My father paid you $20 an hour to tutor Meg, yes?” She asked, typing something into her computer, no longer looking at you.

“Yes, he did.” You moved trying to see what she was typing without bringing too much attention to it. She was drafting an email.

“So I’ll pay you the same. Ransom will set hours for you and decide what days of the week he’ll need you and what else he wants you to do,” She waved her hand dismissively, “Cleaning, cooking, whatever.” She scribbled on a post-it before peeling and handing it to you. “Here’s his number and address, you can go over the particulars of your job tomorrow morning.” You opened your mouth to speak again, ask her the million and one questions you have but before you could say anything she dismissed you, “That is all.” She said. And she was done with you.

She got what she wanted. And now she wanted you to leave.

So you did.

“Well,” He grinned, “Linda really scooped you up from the bottom of the barrel, huh?” You stood on Ransom’s front porch. The only texts you sent and received last night were ‘What time do you need me to be there?’ and an hour later the reply of ‘11’. The scumbag was standing in the doorway, leant against the frame, looking down on you. In more than one way.

“Can I come in?” You asked. You really didn’t want to do this. But a $12 an hour temp job versus $20 hour stability… hard to beat. He smirked, pushing off the frame before looking you up and down, turning to disappear into the house.

“Take off your shoes.” What a fucking joke. His house was a mess. Clothes thrown haphazardly around, a pile of dishes not in the sink, but on the counter. Abandoned cups, tv was rolling on in the background, some political documentary. The house, while contemporary and clean, well kept on the outside. The inside looked like a frat house during rush week. You didn’t want to take off your shoes in fear that you’d step in vomit or something worse.

He grinned off to the side, “Had some people over last night.” He explained, drinking what looked like orange juice from a coffee mug. The vodka bottle that was capless on the counter led you to believe that orange juice wasn’t the only thing in the cup. “You can start by cleaning up.” He gestured around, sinking back down into the sofa. “I’m sure I’ll think of something else you can do when you’re done.” The fucking prick.

You shut the door a little heavier than intended, slipping your sneakers off and placing them by the door. “You’ve got a laundry room?” You asked, he didn’t look away from the television,

“Basement.” And he was done with you too. The tone was very, don’t talk to me. Which honestly you were grateful for.

You cleaned up his messes, the red solo cups that littered almost every surface in every room, laundry was running in the basement, dishwasher working hard to sanitize the first round of plates and cups that could fit, the others waiting patiently in the sink as you wipe counters and dusted picture frames, the thick film of unappreciation. He didn’t care about his house, his furniture, the art that cost more than your apartment that lined his walls. His clothes, while having an extensive closet, some were threadbare and with holes.

He didn’t care.

And it made you angry.

You thought of the furniture you were able to keep from your Mother’s house, well oiled and kept. No scratches. The fabrics of the couches and chairs carefully cleaned and maintained.

His sheets were stained and you were unsure when the last time he had washed them actually was. The dampness made you gag. It wasn’t long before you were cleaning under his feet. His ankles crossed and feet resting on the coffee table as you straightened the area around him. You felt his eyes on you, briefly, but ignored it.

“Do you have any real clothes?” He asked suddenly. He stood from the sofa, rounding it to pull the vodka bottle back out from the cabinet you’d placed it in, pouring heavily into the coffee mug before leaving the bottle and the orange juice carton he followed with next to it.

“These are real clothes.” You stated, coming behind him to put the items away. He scoffed,

“I’m important,” He claimed, “I go to parties, events.” He took a large mouthful of the screwdriver he’d just made, “You can’t wear clothes like that if you’re gonna be babysitting me the whole time.” You rolled your eyes,

“I don’t have to go. You set my hours, I don’t-”

“As much as I love the whole, ��I’m poor and don’t care what I look like’, thing you have going on,” Ransom laughed, “You’re gonna be around me, and as a reflection of me, you need to look presentable.” He gestured to the demin shorts a t-shirt you were currently wearing, mismatched socks on your feet. You felt your face flush. “And slap a little makeup on.” You rolled your eyes at that. Fucking dick. He smirked when you didn’t reply, turning back around to leave you and disappeared upstairs.

He didn’t come down for a while. In that time you’d finished cleaning the living area, the house looking a complete 180 from where it had been when you’d originally entered, it was nearing dinner time. Your stomach was growling and you’d realized you had been cleaning for five hours without stopping.

You didn’t get to enjoy the sense of accomplishment because Ransom came down the stairs not a moment later, dressed for his evening. If you didn’t hate him so much you’d drool. He looked good. Patterned slacks, chelsea boots, a lightweight white button down, blazer over one arm. “Let’s go.” He said, not stopping on his way towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” You felt gross, covered in grime from cleaning, sweat dried on your skin you knew you probably didn’t smell amazing, hair frizzed up in a bun. He didn’t answer you, continuing outside. You sighed heavily, throwing the pair of socks you’d just matched back into the laundry basket before slipping your shoes on and following him outside.

“C’mon!” He yelled from the front seat of his beamer, sunglasses on his nose, he was annoyed with you. Whatever. You sat heavily in his passenger seat, the dickwad not even giving you time to close the door before he was speeding down the driveway.

“Where are we going?” You asked again. One hand on the wheel, the other’s fingertips brushing against his lower lip he looked at you from behind his sunglasses.

“To dinner.” He smirked, looking back towards the road as you merged onto the interstate.

He was a fucking asshole. If you hadn’t thought he was before you definitely knew now. You were surprised the hostess even let you into this place. It was expensive, and you were very, very underdressed. Point taken Ransom. Thank you. Fucking prick.

He took glances at you ever so often, seated a few feet away from him at the long banquet style table that housed all of his ‘friends.’ Gorgeous women and equally as gorgeous men who had money to burn. You weren’t sure any of these people have ever worked a day in their life, much like Ransom himself. You’d met a few of them before, briefly, when Ransom would show up and ask Harlan for money before disappearing for a week, one or two of them would be in tow bragging about going on some guy’s yacht or flying out to some private island.

Regardless, they weren’t talking to you. You were a strange interloper, easily ignored, but only after a few poked fun at the stray dog at Ransom’s heels. It only stung a little bit when he laughed with them. You were wildly uncomfortable. You poked at your deconstructed salad, the little bits lined neatly up on the plate, a smear of salad dressing beside it. This menu was ridiculous. Why were you here again? You were so hungry and this was not your speed at all. Ransom’s booming laugh met your ears and you could feel the anger rising in your chest.

Fucking asshole. You hoped he would choke on one of the olives in his martini. His eyes met yours momentarily and he smirked. He fucking smirked, cheersing you with his martini before it met his lips again. You could kill him right now.

The money.

The money.

Technically you were still working. As the sun set behind the horizon. You’d been at work, technically, for about 10 hours. That’s $200. Okay, you can do this. You can do this.

You know he did this to embarass you. He made it clear when you’d pull up to the restaurant to give you a taunting look. Whether the dinner was already planned or he had planned it after the conversation about clothes and makeup earlier was anyone’s guess. You had the feeling it was the latter.

He’d paid the bill after all.

The entirety of it.

You’d wished you’d ordered more.

Afterward a giggling girl took your place in the front seat, you glared at the back of her head from the back seat,

“Ransom.” She whined, leaning over in her seat to press her lips to his neck, “I want you to fuck me.” Lips around his ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth. You shifted your gaze to the window, the city landscape passing your eyes as you’d pulled into another valet parking, a bar this time. A nice one.

Ransom and the bubbly girl from the car ride over slipped hastily into the bathroom, he’d sent you a dark look before leaving you to your own devices. Looking over the cocktail list while sitting uncomfortably on a bar stool while your boss was fucking a girl who’d laughed at you for being a ‘dog’ earlier in the bathroom of a bar that had a $20 old fashioned and their most expensive wine came with a thousand dollar price tag.

“You lost?” Another smirking asshole, sidled up next to you at the bar as you took a sip from the beautifully balanced old fashioned you’d tacked onto Ransom’s tab. He was handsome, the guy bothering you, almost everyone in this room was handsome. The lights low and romantic, candles on every table and across the bar, soft music played from the piano across the room where a man sat gently stroking the melodies to create the ambiance of the room. Close, cozy, romantic, and dark enough to forget yourself in.

“Oh c’mon honey.” The man slipped onto the barstool, thighs spread wide around you as you face away from him, his hand meeting your back. “I can help you find what you’re looking for.” His breath reeked of alcohol. You glanced over at him,

“I’m fine thank you.” Another sip, damn this drink was good. He chuckled, moving in closer, drifting a hand down to your thigh.

“Don’t be like that.” He laughed, “You obviously don’t belong here honey.” His hand traced your bare thigh, “You’ve gotta be wanting some company.”

Ransom had returned face flushed and you could almost see a tiny bit of white on his nose, but it was quickly rubbed away. He sat on the opposite end of the bar, the girl from earlier taking his lap. He looked down at you briefly, he had to have seen how uncomfortable you were, how this guy was breathing down your neck. He ignored it, ordering a drink from the bartender.

“I don’t want any company,” You shoved the man’s hand away, “Have a great night.” He leaned back in his seat, downing his drink before leaning back over to put his face in yours.

“Fucking ugly bitch.” He spat, standing from the stool, “Tryna give you a little charity here, you could've at least been grateful.” You wanted to leave. He shoved your shoulder slightly as he walked away from you, no doubt going to bother some other unsuspecting woman in his radius.

You needed some air, taking the last sip of your drink you’d scooted back from the bar, walking by Ransom to take your exit, walking out into the summer night. It was early summer. It was still only 60 at night. A chill went through you. You hadn’t expected to be out so late, the comfortable denim shorts and old ratty t shirt you’d chosen to wear had obviously been a mistake for this day. Ransom made sure to make you see that.

The bar was on the harbor, and it brought in a breeze that caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You checked your phone, the battery almost dead. Julia had been texting you periodically, but not as much as you would have liked. You scrolled through the most recent messages, you asking how her trip was going and what she was up to and her stilted replies. She was busy you supposed. She didn’t need you, but right now you really needed her.

This night has been a massive blow to your self-esteem. You’d never felt more ugly and unwanted in your life. You just wanted to go home, but Ransom wasn’t done yet. You looked at him from the window, his fingers were gone between that girl’s thighs, they were both drinking expensive cocktails, completely oblivious to you.

He’d watched you exit, not giving it much thought it seemed, because he hadn’t made any motion to bring the night to a close, but you weren’t really expecting him to. It was Ransom’s world and you were just living in it. You worked for him. And you wondered if this is how every day is going to be from here on out. You really don’t know if you could do this forever, but you knew you didn’t want to go back inside.

So you didn’t.

Thankfully Ransom stumbled out about thirty minutes later, girl from earlier on his arm. “Let’s go.” He said. Valet pulling the beamer around he threw you the keys, “Take me home.”

He sunk down in the back seat, high and drunk. His words almost incoherent. Her’s were no better. They sloppily attacked each other in the back seat, indecently. And you were pointedly looking anywhere but in the rearview. Soft grunts and moans made you uncomfortable for the fourth time that night. Your skin crawling in unease as the girl’s giggles turned into breathy moans. Your foot sunk against the gas pedal in hopes you’d get back to his home faster, tears welling up in your eyes. The cry on the way home was going to be so good. So cathartic.

The gravel crunching against the wheels of the car was a sweet relief, so was the haste in which you left the keys in the car, running and skipped to your own car. His eyes met yours through the darkness as he was leant up against his car door, slacks loose around his hips, the girl’s lips attached to his neck as her hand worked quickly between his thighs. He smirked, waving a sarcastic ‘good-bye’. You turned your eyes to the road, cranking up the radio as you began to cry.

You didn’t want to do this anymore.

A text came through right as you finally laid down in your own bed, snuggling into the covers, ready to forget the night.

See you at 9.

.

.

.

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[freddyfreebat]

Introducing the cast of Luca Guadagnino’s We Are Who We Are

arti­cle tak­en from The Face vol­ume 4 issue 004 

We Are Who We Are follows a group of kids growing up on an Italian army base. The début TV series by Call Me By Your Name director Luca Guadagnino is a show unlike any you’ve seen before: a teenage snapshot of fucking and fighting, with all the internal tugs of war that make us who we are. Meet the cast, before the whole world falls for them.

Around 2013, film director Luca Guadagnino met the actor Amy Adams to discuss working together on one of the dozens of projects the director had in the incubator. Adams happened to mention that she’d grown up on a US military base in Vicenza, Italy, which sowed the seed in his mind of telling the story of a micro-America – a petri dish of patriotism – hidden in plain sight in his native country. 

WRWWR is the result – a drone’s‑eye view of American culture which follows six kids and their families living and working on an army base. As their parents (two of whom are played by Chloë Sevigny and Kid Cudi) wade through their own problems, the kids are cut loose to grow up. They straddle a culture that isn’t their own, eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the mess hall while surrounded by some of the world’s best food. They fuck, they sing, they splash one another at the beach and in pools, edging ever closer to discovering who they truly are.

The concept of coming-of-age is one Guadagnino has explored in his films Call Me By Your Name and his remake of Suspiria, but he didn’t just want to tell a story about youth for youth’s sake. It made more sense to place his first HBO series against a backdrop of political turmoil, so he set it during the 2016 US presidential election, creating an eight-part experiment in jingoism.

This is what happens when you tell a European arthouse director to sift through American youth culture, to see a torrid landscape through the eyes of those who have not truly felt its ramifications – young outsiders who don’t even understand themselves yet. We are who we are, Guadagnino proposes simply in the show’s title, but who that is, is up for you to decide.

Jack Dylan Grazer

Age: 17

Character: Fraser is the newcomer on the army base. He loves to stare for much longer than appropriate and can entertain himself just as easily as he can be the class clown.

Sucking on a pregnant Chloë Sevigny’s fingers like they’re pork knuckles might not have been what Jack Dylan Grazer had in mind when he was cast as Fraser, the male lead in WRWWR. Yet it didn’t faze Sevigny at all, who plays his character’s mother. Pre-finger-suck, Grazer could think only of the 1979 Bernardo BertoluccI film La Luna, in which a mother masturbates her own son.

“We were preparing for that scene and it was all I could think about,” he tells me from his Los Angeles bedroom. Five seconds before the cameras started rolling, Guadagnino asked him if he had seen La Luna? ​“I was like, ​‘Oh my God, no way, I was just about to ask you that!’ I swear to God, it was so synchronistic.”

The relationship between Fraser and his mum is ​“beautifully disturbing and gross”, as Grazer puts it. He gets jealous when she dances with a male friend, and brutally slaps her when she doesn’t prepare his meal the way he likes. ​“I felt baaaaad!” Grazer jokes. ​“It was real – a practical slap. Luca was like, ​‘Chloë, do you want to make it a real slap like the Bertolucci movie, or do you want to play it fake?’ Chloë was like, ​‘Let’s do it for real.’”

After each take Grazer would ask, ​“Are you OK, Chloë? Do you want me to get you some ice?”, feeling bad for slapping one of cinema’s most iconic indie actresses. She responded, as you might guess, by shushing him.

When we first meet Fraser in WRWWR he has no friends but shoots lingering stares at a group of young teens who live on his same army base, a group headed up by Britney (Francesca Scorsese). He is ​“universally relatable… the embodiment of questioning who you are”, Grazer says. ​“I was really drawn to how blatant he was in regards to transitioning from childhood to adolescence.”

Grazer has previously been in the films IT and Beautiful Boy (where he played a younger Timothée Chalamet), but this is his best role to date. Fraser short-circuits with awkward energy and walks with a confident gait that suggests – as his new friend Britney says behind his back – ​“he’s got a big one”.

Grazer is, at age 17, the most experienced of the younger set on WRWWR, but he still had to fight to win his part. ​“I auditioned like everyone else. “I hated my audition, I thought it was the worst audition I’d ever done in my life. I walked out and I was like, ​‘Fuck!’ because I wanted to get it so bad. I was in Chicago, and Luca FaceTimed me like, ​‘If you want the part, you can have it.’ I was like, ​‘If I want it?! Yeah! I want it!’”

Part of that audition process required him to answer some personal questions for casting director Carmen Cuba. She asked if he’d ever questioned his sexuality. ​“I was like, ​‘Of course, as every human being should.’ She said, ​‘This show has a lot to do with teenage identity, so are you in touch with that side of yourself? Do you wanna explore it more?’” He did.

As Fraser, Grazer goes to great lengths to keep you hemmed to your seat, talking to real Italian strangers caught on camera, or sticking his fingers in a cake – not because it’s in the script (he did several things without Guadagnino asking), but because it’s who he believes his character is. ​“I don’t act for my fans,” Grazer admits. ​“I act in movies because I want people who don’t even know who I am to be like, ​‘Oh cool. Who’s this guy? He’s good.’”

Before WRWWR Grazer didn’t think much about fashion, but in the show his character loves Raf Simons. To make him more enthused Guadagnino connected him with an unlikely close friend: the streetwear influencer Mike the Ruler. ​“Before, I was like, ​‘Ew, fashion – fucking assholes always trying to show off.’ I talked to Mike and he was like, ​‘Fashion isn’t about showing off how much money I have. It’s the opposite, I’m dressing up for myself, it’s my own artform.’” Just the other day, Grazer says, he stepped out in a skirt, a ​“really obnoxious” yellow sweater, a corduroy vest and a neon sun hat. He likes the fact that people look at him funny.

Grazer loves being the grub twisting in Hollywood’s apple, but more than pleasing his millions of fans or aiming for top-billing, he is taking difficult roles to flex his muscles. ​“I just want to express myself, and if people like that, that’s awesome.”

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

MORE ABOUT MY NEXT GEN BABIES. 

Adelaide ‘Addy’ Maeve Coleman - daughter of Zara & Danny. 

- scars to your beautiful - alessia cara   - july 1st, cancer  - actress, studying at diamond bridge (LA) - bisexual with no preference, single  - esfp, hufflepuff  - raised in lilac heights in zara & danny’s home they live in now  - ditzy, naive, energetic but also sensitive and insecure. she has a tendency to let herself be walked all over by friends and lovers. she also lacks the confidence to really accept that she has talent and is capable of doing things.  - she was painfully desperate to be one of the popular girls in high school, to the point where she would let her “friends” treat her like dirt. even though she’s now in college, the effects of the underhand bullying stay with her and it makes her very reluctant to trust and open up to new people.

Allison ‘Ally’ Marie Cortes-Smith - daughter of Adrian & Holly. 

- seven - sleeping at last - august 13th, leo  - model & athletics (surfing, figure skating & dance), studying at gold coast (australia)  - heterosexual, dating brett jackson - entp, gryffindor  - raised in violet springs (?), in her family home with adrian and holly - energetic, outgoing, adventurous but also explosive and stubborn. ally is constantly looking for family-like connections away from holly, adrian and haley. she craves feeling like somebody’s first choice because - particularly with holly - she felt like the back-up plan until she got custody of haley. she has one song about her, whereas haley has enough for an EP of music with holly worshipping her and she’s just always felt that subtle favouritism in her household.  - from an early age, she’s sought out love in all of the wrong places but is currently in a good place with brett, who is definitely her safety net. she’d be lying if she said living in australia made her homesick. 

Aurora Faith Kingsley - daughter of Soraya & Julian.

- boss bitch - doja cat  - january 17th, capricorn  - fashion designer, studying at rosewell (paris)  - heterosexual, bisexual dating peter romano  - entj, slytherin  - raised in violet springs (?), in her family home with soraya and julian. she definitely has a dual-citizenship like soraya, though, and often spends summers in cuba with her grandparents.  - outspoken, confident, witty but also explosive, judgemental and harsh. aurora was definitely spoilt with love when being raised by her parents; both soraya and julian doted on her in different ways, and while she knows the value of materialistic things, she’s not entirely used to not getting her own way or not having people adore her. that being said, she’s a fiercely loyal friend and shows the love she was given when she was younger to people she thinks deserve it. - aurora’s expectations and standards are impressively high and she’ll always credit her parents, who always modelled a healthy and secure relationship to her. she doesn’t take it for granted & always strives to find people who treat her the same way julian treats soraya.

Belle Cynthia Carmichael - Daughter of Anastasia 

- donatella - lady gaga  - november 3rd, scorpio  - dancing & modelling, studying in west ivys (london)  - heterosexual, single  - esfp, slytherin  - raised partially in los angeles and also in lilac heights with anastasia and her father (divorced) as well as her older sister, darcy.  - aesthetic, good-humoured, magnetic but also irresponsible, self-indulgent and superficial. belle is the baby of the family and took a shine to the socialite los angles lifestyle from around 12 years old. she’s a big spender, loves the night life of any big city and is a BIG fan of the attention that being a rising star brings her. unlike her sister, who’s a lot more lowkey, belle demands attention and will do anything to get her own way in any situation. - everyone was expecting anastasia and ryder to split from their (what would have been) their fifteen year marriage. everybody except belle and darcy, anyway. the girls were caught off-guard and it wasn’t easy. belle had the most extreme reaction, becoming very emotional and self-indulgent. her way of dealing with it has been to do everything in her power to go against anything either of her parents ask of her; she’s definitely out of control.

Daisy Louise Romano, daughter of Florence & Dominic. (tw: cancer) 

- style - taylor swift  - may 22nd, gemini  - dance, studying at liberty (new york city)  - heterosexual, single   - isfp, gryffindor  - raised in violet springs (?) in dom and florence’s family home, but i imagine they have a family home in italy because of dominic’s roots too. florence and dom spend a lot of time in italy in general, so it’d make sense.  - creative, friendy, warmhearted but also over-protected, nervous and idealistic. daisy is the only daughter in her family and it definitely shows. on top of dominic, she also has carter and peter who have kept a close eye on her growing up and has definitely been protected from things other girls her age may have learnt to deal with themselves, or without as much back-up. rather than rebelling against it, she’s very comfortable & probably relies on her brothers - especially peter - for more than she should. she’s very rooted in family and while she’s a hopeless romantic and loves flirting, going on adventures and seeing the world, her heart is with her family. - daisy’s pre-teen years were snatched away by the fact that she was diagnosed with cancer. she spent three years of what would’ve been her high school life in hospital and was far too weak to dance or do anything she usually did. she was put into remission at 15 and was cancer free for three years before it made a return, now she’s nineteen (pushing 20), she’s once again in remission but her anxiety and trauma from the sickness are very much alive.

Darcy Briar Carmichael - daughter of Anastasia. 

- nothing breaks like a heart - miley cyrus  - february 27th, pisces  - modelling, studying at st judes (violet springs)  - bisexual, single - infp, ravenclaw - raised partially in los angeles and also in lilac heights with anastasia and her father (divorced) as well as her older sister, darcy. - patient, imaginative, loyal but also argumentative, guarded and defensive. darcy has always been wise beyond her years in the sense that she’s mature and has a responsible head on her shoulders. anastasia used to worry that she wouldn’t enjoy her early twenties/teen years in the same way everybody else seemed to, but it just never appealed to her - she preferred to lose herself in art, reading and individual activities rather than going out to huge parties and festivals like her sister. she’s quietly confident and is happy to be seen as the ‘boring’ one if it means not having to be forced to sit at social events she’d rather not be a part of.  - darcy’s confidence was knocked by her parent’s divorce. it actually ruined her application to blossom bell academy - where she wanted to go and do art and photography. she was unorganised and just a mess in general, so she knew she’d get rejected. st judes, her second choice, also rejected her art portfolio but because of her looks, offered her a modelling position. she figured it was better than nothing but it’s never been her passion. only now is she starting to feel inferior in comparison to her little sister.

Dixie Gisele Carmichael - daughter of Disney and Brody. 

- god is a woman - ariana grande  - october 1st, libra  - fashion design, studying at rosewell (paris) - heterosexual, single  - estj, slytherin  - raised in new york but spends the summers in france & christmas in violet springs to be close to grandparents  - confident, hard-working, charming but manipulative, calculated and jealous. dixie has grown up in the spotlight due to being the child of arguably the most famous couple to come out of st judes in her parents era. she’s very used to it and it’s something she’s numb too. however, unlike her sister, who seems to just get things a whole lot easier than dixie, she has clawed her way to the top of everything she has, not caring who she scratches on the way up; being the most popular, young socialite on the upper east side, her fashion career and everything else are things she’s had to fight for out of the threat of otherwise being branded as ‘fleur’s twin.’ she holds herself and others at a viciously high standard. she’s been on dates and enjoyed attention from guys but she hasn’t slept with anybody and has never had a boyfriend; it’s not something she hides either. her main goal right now is to become the best designer there is, and she’s proven that she’ll stop at nothing to get there. - while at gallagher high school, fleur was already booking modelling jobs and becoming the more successful of the twins. dixie resented it. she couldn’t stand feeling inferior or lesser than and wasn’t happy for her sister at all. quite the opposite. the two of them applied for rosewell but unfortunately for fleur, when their acceptance letters came through, she was out at new york fashion week, leaving dixie to reject her offer and forge a fake one telling her she’d been rejected....and she’d do it again.

Dylan Samuel Powell - son of Janey. 

- fine line - harry styles  - february 15th, aquarius  - photographer, studies at west ivys (london)  - heterosexual, dating lily  - infj, hufflepuff  - raised in sweden until he was thirteen, and then moved to violet springs to be closer to his family with janey.  - patient, practical and compassionate but over-protective, nervous and sensitive. dylan had a quiet childhood. when janey graduated from west ivy’s, she moved out to a rural part of sweden where she started a new. her life consisted of writing and exploring until she had dylan with a man who’s no longer in the picture. dylan fell into janey’s lifestyle too; quiet, peaceful and creative. he enjoyed it for the most part, but the trauma of janey’s experiences definitely became his too. he grew up seeing his mother have anxiety attacks in public or not want to leave the house if she had a feeling she was being watched. in many ways, dylan became the parent. he was the one who made his mother feel safe. he was the protector. he never really understood until he finally met his grandparents at 15 and was told exactly why janey was the way she was. this only brought out an even more protective side of him, after having his eyes opened to how disgusting the world can be. - dylan was reluctant to study anywhere too far away from janey, but she pushed him to branch out at least a little, because she has a lot of guilt about holding him back for al of these years. 

Emmett Charles Hamilton - son of Imogen & Nate. 

- go stupid - polo g  - april 12th, aries  - actor, studying at st judes (violet springs)  - heterosexual, single  - entp, slytherin  - raised in london (south kensington) with imogen and has always been a city boy. he’s your typical private school kid; his father has been out of the picture only for a few months but it hasn’t had much effect. his younger brother, ethan, chose to move in with nate while he stuck with imogen. - intelligent, intuitive, social but lazy, restless and unmotivated. out of emmett and ethan, emmett definitely takes the crown for the family disappointment. his brother’s childhood was full of sports trophies, A*’s on report cards and being at the top of the social hierachy. emmett, on the other hand, would’ve happily lived in his parent’s loft and never seen the light of the day if he could. he did pretty wel in school and had al of the potential, but a life of getting high and falling back on to his trust fund seemed way more appealing. imogen was more willing to let him coast through life (being from wealth herself), whereas nate was always pushing him to go out and make something of himself, meaning naturally he prefers his mother.  - emmett is in the process of burning through his trustfund. he’s impulsive and careless and without proper guidance, will soon find himself with nothing. he has no respect for his dad - who is the stricter parent - and thinks he’s invincible. 

Jay Alexander Hamilton -  son of Park. 

- tonight you’re perfect - new politics  - september 17th, virgo  - athlete, liberty academy  - heterosexual, seeing sylvia(?)  - enfj, ravenclaw   - raised partially in the canary islands with his dad, running their hotel, but also in violet springs with his grandparents.  - friendly, ambitious, a deep thinker but also impatient, overly-critical and a perfectionist. jay was brought up on the canary islands with his father after losing his mother when he was eight. constantly being at the beach, the hotel and new people, he’s a social person with an active imagination and is always on the go. he’s both book and street smart but can at times hold himself to impossible standards; he definitely gets his perfectionist streak from his aunt. the loss of his mum has hurt him, but he buries his feelings as much as possible to avoid talking about them. jay’s always fit in with popular crowds seamlessly and it’s exactly the same story for liberty academy. - jay has already shown huge potential at liberty academy and has been given attention that first years usually don’t get. he’s currently dealing with the end of a friendship with ethan, though, his best friend for many years. it’s lowkey weighing on him but he’d never show that it effects him.

Kai Arden Powell - son of Louis & Lexi. 

- fireflies, owl city  - march 3rd, pisces  -  writer and actor, studying at willow house (cardiff)  - heterosexual, dating sofia  - infj, ravenclaw  - raised in violet springs (?) with louis and lexi, close to his family with good connections to both sides.  - imaginative, selfless, creative but pessimistic, self-pitying and emotional. kai is the perfect example of a high achieving burn-out. all through his school life, he boasted great grades and came at the top of the class for most things, but as the years went on, he lost momentum and started to rest on his abilities. while everybody else levelled up and got better, he declined and started to slowly stop caring about his academic achievements. he was more concerned with the social side and fitting in with people who really didn’t care much about him. when it came to college admissions, he was already failing many classes and got rejected from everywhere besides willow house. he hates it and refuses to even try to enjoy it. - sofia is his lifeline, at the moment. she’s trying to get her dad, wesley, to negotiate with people at st judes to get him a space, but it isn’t necessarily going to work. especially if kai can’t get his grades up and apply himself to his writing and acting seriously. 

Charlotte ‘Lottie’ Bradford - daughter of Drew & Annabel.

- first man, camila cabello -  june 30th, cancer  - singer-songwriter & musician, studying liberty academy (new york)  - enfp, ravenclaw  - raised with drew & annabel as an only child  - romantic, loving, protective and sympathetic but touchy, defensive and an overthinker. lottie grew up with both of her parents and spent a lot of time on the road with drew when he was touring. she’s used to big crowds, music and moving around a lot but grew up very attached to her mother, annabel, she’s her favourite person in the entire world and everything she does is to make her proud.  - lottie ended up dropping out of high school to go to a stage school in london when drew stopped touring; she was around 14, but eventually got homesick and returned, spending her last few years at springs park high before she got accepted into liberty. she���s really set on making memories and doing her absolute best in music - but she’s prone to falling in love with people and getting extremely distracted.

Sullivan Rosini - son of Ruby.

- song undecided  -  14th may, taurus  - actor & singer (vc: frank ocean)  - esfj, gryffindor  - raised by ruby  - independent, humanitarian and sociable but also head-strong, stubborn and judgemental. sullivan was adopted by ruby when he was seven and settled very quickly into the family home. since around 12 years old, he’s been an activist and had a huge presence online for animal rights. he’s been arrested multiple time at different protests and it gives ruby the most anxiety but she’s also very proud of him. 

[hoboal87]

Elastic Heart Chapter One

Elastic Heart Chapter One

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, OFCs

Pairing(s): None

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N sees a familiar set of eyes in the crowd, and remembers the first time she saw them and how they changed her life.

Word Count: 4300+

Warnings: Show level violence, cursing, pre-Stanford era Winchesters

Notes: Series will be mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. Also, for purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

Please give a comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Chapter One - Senior Year

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N”

I don’t hear my name being called, I’m in my own world, looking out into the crowd for a set of familiar eyes. I spot them three rows back and smile. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them, and I miss the days where I would see those eyes nearly every day.

Life as a nursing student consists of going to class, lab work, interning at a hospital, and occasionally sleeping. I’ve spent the past two years doing nothing but that. I’ve always been one to do things early, but this was the one thing that, for once, I was on par with my peers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. From the first time I saw those eyes, they altered my life, sending me down a path that I never planned to be on. Taking longer than we had thought, but eventually, I got back on track.

Finish school and get my fresh start. That had been my goal for the past two years. Move on, with or without those eyes in my life. I wanted them, but I knew that logically, it couldn’t happen. Our lives were too different, especially now. I lost my chance of having them with me always; now, I could only cherish the holidays and long weekends that allowed us to be together.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” the announcer’s voice contains a bit of urgency this time, drawing my attention. I step across the stage, shaking my supervisor’s hand, and receive my metaphorical diploma. I look back out into the audience and connect with those eyes again, wide and filled with joy. I take my seat and think back to the first time I saw them and how they changed my life forever.

Fall, 2002

This was it, the first day of my senior year. This is the year I will prove to everyone that I am no longer a kid. This is the year, mom and dad will see that I can act like an adult and make ‘good choices’ but, I’m determined to have just a little fun.

For the last two years, mom and dad have insisted that I take extra courses and go to summer school to ensure I graduate not only with good grades but early. I’ll graduate in the spring and be off to college in the fall. All I really want is to wait, take a year or two, experience life outside of my parents’ house.

I make the point to do as many high school activities as I can. Activities that they discouraged me from doing for the last two years; choir, volleyball, anything that will get me out of the house but still considered a school activity. I joined the decorating committee, wanting to participate in homecoming as much as possible. I know as long as I do nothing life-altering, I’m gonna be free in May.

“Be mindful of your grades, Y/N,” dad said, reading over all the consent forms, “if they slip, you will need to cut these extracurricular activities.”

“They won’t slip, dad.” I roll my eyes. “It’s my last year, let me have a bit of fun, please?”

“Your average drops below an A, and I’m pulling you out of each one of these clubs, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I mull over telling him the other part of my plan. “I was… thinking about getting a job.” I look down, not wanting to make eye contact. “Something part-time?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Y/N,” mom enters the room, “You’re going to be so busy already, tell her Rob.”

“Your mother has a point, and if they accept you to all these clubs, when will you even have time?”

“I may not even end up in the choir or the volleyball team,” I argue, “and if I don’t I’ll have a free period every day, I can talk to the counselor about making it my last class and—it’s my Senior Year, please, don’t you guys think I deserve a little more credit than this? I should get to experience a little bit of independence, don’t you think? I’m gonna be away at college in a year, I’m probably gonna have some on-campus job, I need to learn how to balance between the two.” I catch my breath, hoping that they will agree.

“Fine,” dad sighs heavily, “the same deal goes. Your grades slip, no more working. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes!” I throw my arms around him, “Thank you!”

“Maybe you could get a job at the clinic,” mom chimes in, “get some experience in the field?”

“I don’t think anyone wants a sixteen-year-old working at the clinic, Sarah. Maybe at the drugstore, though?”

“Yeah,” I sit on the couch, “maybe.”

I discreetly start looking at apartments that could be for rent after graduation. I look on the outskirts of town and find a garage apartment that a very sweet older lady agrees to rent to me if it is still unoccupied over the summer. Finding a job gets put on the back burner as the school year moves into full swing. It turns out I can’t sing, and I suck at volleyball, but the coach offers me the position of manager, allowing me to still participate with the team at pep rallies and travel with them on away games. As the season comes to a close, and with Thanksgiving break around the corner, I decide it’s time to actively look for a job.

The trouble is finding someone willing to hire a 16-year-old high school student with no experience. I try some local retail stores, but I know that mom and dad will never go for the hours they want me to work. I walk into Joe’s Burgers, my favorite place to get some dinner and continue looking through the classifieds.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” I look over and wave to the man behind the counter.

“Hey, Dan, can I get a Bacon—"

“Your usual?” he cuts me off, smiling.

“Yes, please,” I look down sheepishly, handing him the exact amount of money without being told the total.

“Whatcha got there?” he nods towards the paper that’s now on the counter as he hands me my receipt.

“Oh, I’m just looking for a job,” I tuck the paper under my arms. “Need to earn some money so I can get outta this town after graduation.”

“What’s wrong with the town,” his face grows serious, “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Shit—I mean, n-nothing. Fuck."

“Y/N/N!” Dan bursts into laughter, “I’m just messing with you! You think you’re the first person who hates living here? We’re a small-ass town in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re such a jerk,” I say, relieved, “I’ll be in my spot, okay?” He tries to contain his laughter as I walk away, making my way to my usual table. I flip through the pages, seeing nothing that would really work for me.

“You know Joe has been talking about hiring another cashier,” Dan says, bringing my food over, “and you’re practically here all the time anyway, you may as well make some money while you’re at it. You want me to talk to him?”

“Really? Do you think he’d hire me? I can’t stay late on week-nights because of school, mom and dad would kill me.”

“Yeah, we need someone to work the register, Jana can’t do it all herself. Whaddya think?”

“Oh, my god Dan, that would be amazing!” I get up and throw my arms around him to give him a hug. I watch as Dan walks to the back of the restaurant, after a few minutes he returns, giving me the thumbs-up. Before I leave, he gives me paperwork to fill out and a uniform, telling me to return the next day for training.

For three days, I train, working with Jana on the register. She is a few years older than me, with absolutely no filter. She always has me hunched over, laughing at something she has said or done. The lunches are busier than usual with the break. On Friday, she decides it’s time to leave me on my own, ‘best way to learn,’ she quips.

I’ve never been a social butterfly, and the thought of having to deal with customers on my own genuinely terrifies me for a few moments. After giving myself a small pep talk, I turn around to see three large men waiting for me.

The shortest of the three looks at me, and leans over the counter, “I’m here, what are your other two wishes?” he asks, flashing me a wink.

“I’m sorry?” I can’t believe this guy is serious.

“My brother and I were wondering,” he gestures to the tallest of the three, “if it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“W-what?” I feel the heat pooling in my cheeks.

“Dean, knock it off, we’re here to work.” the older man behind him smacks him upside his head, and I have to stifle my laughter. He offers a sympathetic smile toward me.

“Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?” I shot back; it was the only thing I could think of, albeit an awful comeback.

“It’s okay, just blink if you want me,” I stare straight into those green eyes for a solid 10 seconds before turning away.

“Dean, leave the girl alone, how old are you doll?” he asks, turning to me.

“Sixteen,” I say, watching as he rolls his eyes at the other two.

“See, are you trying to go to jail, son?” he says, looking at me apologetically “I’m sorry my sons are two walking hormones.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” the tall one huffs. Green-eyes shrugs and rubs the back of his head.

“Don’t even Sam, I heard you when we walked in.” Their dad grabs them by the shirts and drags them both to stand in front of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, this man grabbing his two grown sons like they were pre-teens, “Now apologize to…” he looks at my name tag, “… Y/N.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to offend you,” Green-eyes says insincerely.

“That’s fine, it’s part of the job, learning to deal with frat boys who love to mess with townies,” I smile back curtly.

“What the fu—” green-eyes is clearly trying to contain his anger, but his dad chuckles at the remark, and his brother can hardly control himself.

“Yeah, frat boy, don’t mess with the townie,” the younger one laughs, pushing his shaggy brown hair away from his face, revealing gleaming hazel eyes flecked with hints of green and blue surrounded by dark full lashes.

“Listen, Y/N,” green-eyes looks at my name tag again, “we ain’t no frat boys, in fact, we’re here becau—”

“All right, Dean, that’s enough.” His dad gives him a stern look that is clearly a silent conversation. “Since we’re off to such a wonderful start, let’s start over, yeah?”

I nod politely. These guys are clearly passing through and will be gone in a matter of hours or days, but Joe wants us to make all people, even the ones we’ll probably never see again, feel welcome.

“I’m John, you already know Dean,” he reaches his hand out towards the tall one, “and this is Sam. We’re actually looking into the recent animal-related deaths,” he says, producing a Fish and Wildlife Badge. I study it for a moment before handing it back. “We’re interviewing some of the local business owners and residents in the area of the attacks. Have you heard or seen anything usual, smelled anything weird, anything that comes to mind?”

“Oh.” I look at the three men; here I was being a bitch to the people trying to help. “Um, I just started working here a few days ago, animal attacks?” I look back up to John, who nods. “The only animals around here are coyotes, but even they’re pretty rare. I haven’t heard anything, but I keep to myself. Joe might know something, he’s the owner and knows everything about everyone.” I offer a smile.

“Is Joe in today?” John asks. His grey eyes hold so much pain as he looks at me.

“Um… yeah. He may have a few minutes now that we’ve slowed down. I can see if he can come talk to you?”

“That’d be great, thanks, Y/N.”

“Please, Y/N/N,” I say, blushing, covering my nametag, “No one really calls me Y/N.”

“Y/N/N,” he repeats, “I’d really like to speak with Joe if it’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, shit. Let me go get him,” I say, walking towards the back. “Hey Jana, I’m gonna go get Joe. Watch the register?”

“I got it,” she hollers back.

“Dude! She’s 16!” I hear who I assume is Sam whispering loudly. “Shut up! How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Dean, she’s obviously not 18. Stick to girls your own age,” John responds. “Sammy—.”

I can no longer hear the men as I reach the door to Joe’s office. Jana and Dan had both told me that his door usually stayed open, today it was not only closed, but it was locked as well. I knock, waiting for him to answer. He looks a little frazzled when he opens the door, but smiles at me, “Hey, Y/N/N, what’s up?”

“There’s a guy from Fish and Wildlife; he’s looking into the recent animal attacks? He’s asking about strange occurrences or something? I don’t know, but I know you pay attention to that kind of stuff, so he wants to talk to you.”

“I—shit, yeah, let him know I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he straightens his shirt and closes the door behind him.

I nod and head back to the front of the building. I watch as the boys and their father seem to be in deep discussion. Turning away when I realize Dean has caught me staring. I gather their food, and as I walk towards their table, I can hear that for some reason, I am the current topic of discussion, specifically, my age.

“Actually, I’ll be 17 in a month,” I quip, dropping their food, unsure of why I am engaging with this odd group of men.

“Huh?” Dean looks at me curiously.

“Well, for some reason the two of you are overly concerned with my age, I’ll be 17 next month.”

“Still illegal, Dean,” Sam smirks.

“Yeah, but right up your alley, Sammy,” Dean winks at him.

“Boys, stop treating this girl like she’s a piece of meat,” their father doesn’t even look up from his plate.

I can’t help myself, I’m usually not this brazen, but something about these outsiders coming in, I have to say it, “Well, here in the Great State of Texas the age of consent is 17, it’s not technically illegal,” and before I can stop myself I wink at Dean.

“Oh, Y/N, you are killing me here,” he says, bringing his hand to his chest. “Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, but Sammy here,” Dean grabs Sam by the shoulders, “may be able to help you out.”

Sam blushes furiously; it’s actually adorable. I can feel the heat coming up in my own cheeks, and know if I stay any longer, they will see it very clearly.

“Joe’ll be out in a few minutes,” I say, turning to go back to the register. I walk away, adding a little sway in my hips as I know the younger men are watching. “Lemme know if there’s anything else I can get you,” I shoot another wink, this time in Sam’s direction.

“Thanks, Y/N/N.” John’s baritone voice carries through the restaurant.

I watch Joe take a seat with the three men, the younger boys listening and observing their father very carefully. I watch John grab something—a fork?— out of his pocket and discreetly place it in front of Joe. Why would he do such a thing? Joe and the men continue to speak for 10 minutes until the dinner rush starts, and Joe excuses himself.

The three men finish their burgers and leave the restaurant; concern etched on their faces as they have a heated conversation.

Throughout the dinner rush, I notice that Sam is stationed outside of the building. It looks as though he’s watching somebody. But every time I look up, his position has changed. After it grows dark, I can no longer see him outside; I realize I shouldn’t let him occupy my mind. Jana and I work furiously until a few hours later when we finally close.

“First day on your own,” Jana says, letting her hair down and hopping onto the counter. “You did good Y/N/N, only a couple mistakes.”

“Thanks, it’s not always gonna be like that, right?” I say, sighing, mimicking her actions with my own hair.

“Nah, I mean, the Friday and Saturdays will be, but unless it’s a school break, the nights are not usually too crazy,” she reassures me.

“Thank God,” I laugh, “what about the customers? Did you see those guys earlier? The ones talking to Joe?” I ask, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that I am blushing at the mention of the men.

“Oh, you mean the green-eyed one who was clearly hitting on you?” She smirks at me, “With the older guy and the really tall guy?”

“Yeah… you have an excellent memory…” I laugh, “he was so cheesy. ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” I mock him. “I mean, he can’t think girls really fall for that? Even the tall one knew it was a bad line.” I blushed a little, thinking about them.

“Oh my god, you like him, green-eyes.” She gasps, “You wanna jump his bones,” she sang mockingly at me, “you love him!”

“Shut up,” I threw my apron at her playfully, “I do not want to jump his bones. Besides, I’m jailbait. He’s at least 21 or so.” Jana raises her eyebrow at me. “He basically told me he couldn’t.”

“So… you’re saying you would if he was younger?” she giggles.

“Jana! No! He’s not my type. He’s way too cocky—he probably thinks he’s God’s Gift to Women,” I mock him again.

“What about the tall one? He was gorgeous,” she offers, “And the dad? He’s hot, like I will so call him Daddy. Let him just—."

“That’s way too much information, Jana. Anyway, if green-eyes is too old, how on earth is the dad not even more wrong?”

“That’s what makes it so hot… like, the wrongness of it…” she says mock fanning herself. “Okay, so clearly, the giant is the one you’re gonna have to do. You can just climb on top—" she says, moving her whole body onto the counter, “and take him for a ride.”

“Jesus, Jana.” I try to suppress my embarrassed laughter. But I blush furiously at the thought of Sam, especially with the image that Jana just planted in my head. I cover my face with my hands as I try to compose myself.

“Oh my god, you are so red!” Jana laughs, “It’s the giant! He’s the one you lo-ove!”

“I don’t even know him! They’re just passing through. You know the type, no one actually moves here. Not for real, at least. They’ll be gone in a week.”

“Y/N/N, that’s why it’s perfect. Hook up, get all that pent-up frustration out of your system, and then you’ll go your separate ways,” she offers. “Wham-bam-thank you-ma’am.”

“I’m really not into that one-night stand stuff,” I say, “I mean, what’s the point?”

“Come on, Y/N/N, that’s the point. Sometimes you just need a release. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with some guy you just met and hook-up with once. I mean, you’ve hooked up with guys before, right?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Oh, my God. Y/N/N, you’re not a virgin, are you?” she whispers so that Dan and Joe won’t hear. I nod, I didn’t have a problem with my own virginity, but other people did. I know I have plenty of time. And with how busy mom and dad keep me, I have no time for boys. “Oh, okay, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. Besides, mom and dad don’t even like the thought of me dating; they’d make the guy ask for permission. It’s not that I would ever have time for it anyway. Either way, it’ll happen whenever it happens, and it will probably not be great the first time,” I laugh, trying to break the serious look on Jana’s face. “I have very low expectations, especially if he’s never done anything either. Most boys my age don’t know what they’re doing anyway.”

“Not to be all romantic or whatever, but you know it doesn’t have to be like that. Your first time doesn’t have to suck. It can be really nice if you get the right person.”

“I figure it will either be awesome or okay,” I laugh, “hope it’s awesome, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Okay, I’m gonna have one more mom moment with you, and then we can leave, okay?” she grows slightly serious, and I nod my head. “Bring condoms.” I choke out a laugh. “I’m serious. Don’t count on the guy to do it. And don’t trust the ‘pull-out’ method. Dudes always think they can time it right, and half the time…” she makes a gesture I don’t quite understand, I look at her confused. “Inside. Or at least not all the way out. And I’m sure getting pregnant isn’t a part of your grand plan.” She smiles softly. “If you ever need someone to talk about this stuff with, you can come to me, okay?”

“Thank you, if and when the day ever comes, I’ll be sure to tell you.” She raises her eyebrow. “I swear. Don’t count on it being anytime soon, though.”

Jana finishes counting the tips, and I count the register. We grab our bags, say goodbye to Dan, who’s still closing down, and Joe, who’s in the office looking at receipts.

Jana and I live about a block away from each other, and close enough to the restaurant that neither of us bothered driving. Every week it’s getting colder, and I know by the first week of December it will be too cold to walk home at night. But until then, Jana and I walk together, her house off of the main road that leads to mine.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?” Jana asks as we reach her street.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll have to walk back by yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m prepared.” She pulls mace and a small knife that’s attached to her keychain out. “If someone or something tries to get me, stab stab.”

“Jesus, Jana,” I laugh out of shock. “No, I’ll be fine, how about tomorrow before work I get me one of those and then I’ll be prepared as well.”

“Fine, but call me when you get home,” she jots a number down and waves goodbye, “I’m serious Y/N/N, call me. If you don’t, I will call your parents.”

“I will,” I yell, turning back to head home.

I feel that I’m being followed. Paranoid, I know. I swear I can hear footsteps behind me, but every time I turn around, there’s nothing there. Freaking Jana, this is her fault. I’ve never had issues walking home at night before, but now I’m hearing things that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t put “I’m prepared,” in my head, now feeling like a taunt. I’m less than 5 minutes away from my house; what could possibly happen?

I hear a growling, something inhuman; it grows louder as I try to will myself to move faster. I turn the corner, and that’s when it happens, someone, something, jumps out of nowhere and starts running towards me. I try to run, but my legs won’t move, “fuck.”

I hear yelling, but I still can’t move, the creature is getting closer to me, and I get a good look at it. Claws, it has fucking claws. Its eyes are yellow, and its teeth are huge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a werewolf. But werewolves don’t exist. This must be the creature that John was looking for.

‘It’s some kind of rare species of bear,’ I tell myself, ‘a bear.’

It’s only about a foot away from me; it looks like something out of a horror movie. It’s on its hind legs, unnatural noises leave its body, and before I can even move, it's swiping at me. All I can do is close my eyes and pray it doesn't kill me. A loud bang forces my eyes open, I stand there, still unable to move. I look up to see a set of familiar eyes before me, ones I hadn’t expected to see ever again. Sam.

Chapter 2

[spooky-space-kook]

Goddammit. Okay. Things I am obsessed with from In The Flesh. (NOTE: I am a dumbass who knows jackall about anything I'm talking about. If I'm ever insensitive about a topic, please just tell me. I only do my best, ok?)

Amy is a gift and every moment she's on screen I fall in love that little bit more. This isn't a deep assessment I just fucking love Amy.

I could be completely off base, but each of our main "PDS Sufferers" feel as though they represent different ways mental illness is expressed. I know fuckall about most mental illnesses and so will leave it at that. I just think it's interesting.

I also like how they use characters to show the many different responses to oppression. Keiran's initial go-along-to-get-along becoming awareness and resentment. Freddy insisting he's not like the others. Simon finding purpose. Keiran's parent's blind ignorance and total faith in the system. Ken Burton becoming fervently anti-undead to hide the fact his wife is undead and returned home. Bill and Rick acting as though it isn't real, and crumbling the moment the thin veil is torn away. And Amy being the treasure she is and just leaning way the fuck in.

Everyone dressed in Amy's style at the end. Especially Sue and Shirley. Even more that Keiran's idea of "moregeous" is Old Man Hat.

The contrast between Rick and Simon's room. The former clearly hiding under so much masculine hooplah. Sexy half naked women, army crap. And at odds with the character we get glimpses of when in Keiren's presence. The latter's room is very much... well, gay. And young. Walls covered in boyband posters and race car drivers. I know the director said he left home as a teen, and honestly I'm surprised it wasn't earlier. The space is very much a pre-teen's. It says so much about Simon's character. That even if he left in his mid-teens, he must've started drifting away much earlier.

Simon's many, many layers and huge shirts. To me it ties strongly with what we learn in s2 ep5. It comes off as dressing to hide oneself.

The village's characters all interact like people who have known one another for years. Even the bad guys. When Keiran is in a very dire situation and being threatened by Gary in the last episode, he still talks to him like you would any schmuck you've known since elementary days. And all the interactions are this way. Personal and understanding in a way that's specific to a community where everyone has always known everyone. Fuck I love it so much.

I just appreciate the consistent characterization so much. It's so fucking good. Even when they started having to rush things along, they did it well. Characters grew without becoming totally different people.

S2 Ep5. Ignoring revoked consent. It was a very interesting moment to me. The whole episode made me re-evaluate a lot of aspects of the character, but this in particular stood out as impactful.

Even through it all, I sympathize with Jem and Gary and every other poor soul who lived through the Rising. I don't know if I'm supposed to, but I do. What they went through was awful. And traumatizing. They have every reason to be afraid. It is not an invalid fear. I love that they never showed us the human's experiences, because we've likely seen it enough times to understand and sympathize.

AND FURTHERMORE every PDS Sufferer is as much a victim! Because they really weren't in control, and had no way to be besides.

And along with that note, I love the moment when Jem makes The Big Mistake. Because I agreed with her. I thought she should go to the authorities. It was an accident, but the consequences were huge. And immediately after thinking this, I asked myself why I feel our PDS souls should get a pass due to trauma and lack of control, when Jem essentially had the same experience as a result of PTSD. I love that so much. The show constantly has me comparing and contrasting the experiences of the living and undead.

The very deliberate staging of Weston and Halperin. First working together, eventually split, and finally... no Weston at all. The moment where they are standing separate, Halperin with their benefactor on one side, Weston on the other, divided by a column, is very interesting. Halperin is friendly and welcoming to Weir, the representative of their funding source. Weston is clearly hostile. After that moment, we never see Weston again. So much said with so little! Ugh! So good! I want to know more about that divide. What it lead to. Why was Weston gone later?

I like Gary. There I said it. He's a horrible person but a damn good character. I simultaneously sympathize with him and want to slap the absolute shit out of him. We get glimpses into his total inability to cope (the story at lunch, coping with humor. Terrorizing people. Refusing to move on.) But it's interesting. When we see him with the living he seems like a fairlu nice, empathetic person. Were this the Walking Dead, Gary would be the Good Guy. He'd maybe even be our protagonist. And in a lot of ways the show treats him appropriately. We see many facets to his personality, both good and bad. We see him in a sympathetic light occassionally. He's never quite a 2 dimensional nut job or monster. It's great.

Every shot in Simon's former home. Every. Single. Shot where they are together? Empty chair. The emphasis on a missing figure is so lovely and clever. And sad.

This is the world's smallest thing but no two actors look more like mother and son than Sue and Keiran. Same big fuck-off doe eyes.

There'll be more, just you fuckin' wait. I've been rewatching the shit out of this show and need to get my thoughts out.

ADDITIONALLY. SPOILERS BTW.

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If Keiran is the first risen I will eat every left sock I fucking own. I went back to s1 ep2 and there were about a zillion other legs walking around when he crawled his lazy ass out of that coffin! Which is even more infuriatingly intriguing.

I'm also not surprised that literally zero fic can imagine our main pair being together outside of small moments near the show's timeline. Simon has an addictive personality and only just found purpose. I think domesticity wouldn't suit him. Meanwhile Keiran craves it. That and normalcy, simplicity... I wish there had been more time to see that conflict.

I wish we could've seen more of Gary. I want to know if they ever planned redemption for him. The way they treat him, it feels like they were going to. His portrayal felt too sympathetic, otherwise.

I wish we could have seen Jem grow. She was such a good character and I genuinely felt for her. Simultaneously called a badass and a coward. Maybe feeling that way too. She deserved the rest of the arc she never got.

ALSO. I NEED TO KNOW. WHO THE LEADER OF THE ULA IS. I NEED TO. My suspicions: John Weston. But we'll never know now T_T

[modestfuckup]

Get Beached 2020-Sundae Special

Midnight Snacks

Teen Wolf | No Ship | 1389 words

His experience being possessed by a literal demon changed Stiles. The overactive, hyper kid he was before shifted to a serious, cautious, and suspicious man. Sometimes it was even hard for Stiles to trust his own friends, his own mind, fearful that the nogistune’s destruction was only an elaborate dream he allowed  himself to have.

The void left massive holes in Stiles’ memory, his identity, and his soul. It took months after the demon left to get back to a semblance of life pre…. Pre-everything he supposes. That still didn’t seem like enough, too much had changed, there was no going back.

Nightmares plagued him every night, almost worse than the ones he had during those painful months. Sometimes, he’s see his dad’s head on a platter in the kitchen, other times it was Scott gutted and hanging in a tree to bleed out, Derek’s body being used against him once again, Allison--sweet Allison--being tortured in Hell by her aunt, all these resulted in him screaming himself awake and fighting to regain his own mind.

Soon, he stopped sleeping all together.

Instead he would spend hours searching the web for anything to make himself feel better, to make anything feel better.

He jerked off a lot, even that only providing a few fleeting seconds of joy or relief before he fell back into the darkness he’d been living in. Reading did nothing for him anymore, he had seen the letters shift and disappear so much that reading caused him so much anxiety, he’s almost failing school because he doesn’t do any of his homework.

The dark circles under his eyes grow everyday, and all of his friends are concerned because… well Stiles thinks it’s because they miss their friend, Stiles misses him too.

One night, Stiles is mindlessly searching the internet for something to do, watch, jerk off too, but nothing seems to be remotely interesting. His stomach growls and he quickly assesses that he must have missed dinner, his dad was working late tonight and Stiles must have forgotten; he does that a lot too.

Stiles gets up and jogs down the stairs, turning on all the lights through the house as he does. He can’t stand the dark anymore. The fridge is pretty bare bones, there’s enough stuff to make a pretty pathetic sandwich, and there’s no milk. He closes the fridge and opens the freezer. There’s a box of Pizza Bagels, 40 count according to the box. Stiles haphazardly throws them all on a plate and into the microwave.

It takes an astronomically long time for them to all defrost enough to eat, but eventually Stiles shoves a hot one into his mouth. It doesn’t taste like much, in fact, it doesn’t really taste like anything but hot. Stiles chews around it with an open mouth, hoping the heat and steam escape before he swallows.

He eats the whole serving, all 40, while he mindlessly searches for something on Netflix to watch. As soon as he settles on a movie, his plate is empty, and he’s disappointed to see it’s the case. His stomach is pleasantly full, the pizza bagels tasting better as they cooled off, and he wishes there was more. Stiles observes that he feels good. His stomach, though definitely overstuffed feels good and heavy, like a weight holding him down in a way he hasn’t felt since before.

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Then, he realizes he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time: sleepy.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stiles shuts off his laptop and lays down in bed, thinking about how nice it is to be sleepy, how nice it feels to be full, how nice it is to finally be getting back to normal.

This becomes a habit for Stiles. He starts eating A LOT. At lunch, he grabs two meals instead of his usual one, and makes up an excuse about exercising more, then on his way home he grabs a couple burgers from In-and-Out and then has another dinner with his dad. Each time he does this, he falls asleep--and stays asleep--with a full content stomach.

Slowly, Stiles’ body begins to show the effects of his overeating, but Stiles doesn't really care, he’s sleeping again, he’s feeling like his old self again, the holes he’s felt for so long are starting to fill up. Even his friends seemed to have noticed that Stiles laughs at lunch where as before he’s been quiet and reserved. No one complains, and Stiles’ appetite grows bigger.

His dad was the first person to say anything to him, Stiles can feel his dad’s eyes on him as they sit at the dinner table eating, this is Stiles’ third dinner today, he ate with Lydia after school, and Scott invited him over, now his dad was home from work.

“Son, you feeling okay?” John’s voice was concerned, and Stiles didn’t blame him. He’d noticed in the mirror that his usually oversized graphic tees were becoming less and less oversized, his belly button proved to be a visible dent underneath the taught fabric.

“Yeah, everything’s great dad,” and that seemed to be the end of that.

Quickly though, Stiles’ appetite became nearly insatiable, he would bring a backpack full of snacks with him to school, and munch on them all during class, he went from two to three trays of lunch and still had multiple dinners after school. The feeling of being full became a growing addiction to Stiles. He loved laying in bed at night, ready to sleep without fear of nightmares, his big heavy belly keeping him grounded to bed and to reality.

Stiles quickly outgrew all his clothes and ordered some new ones online. He made the determination that this was necessary when he split some seams on a pair of jeans while trying to dress out for gym.

Stiles continues to grow, and grow, and grow, catching the eyes of everyone at school and even in town. He and his friends have moved study sessions from the library to the diner, so Stiles could eat without the librarian asking him to be quiet as he moaned around his food. Stiles asks for a different desk in most of his classes because the static desktop starts cutting into his belly. His jeans leave angry red marks on the soft, stretch marked flesh of his lower belly. Stiles’ face fills out, promising a double chin with every new meal, his moles stretch and multiply over his face as it grows rounder.

The sheriff’s concern didn’t cease, and he began taking Stiles to doctors first for an answer to this abnormal weight gain, especially after Stiles had the hardest time putting on weight as a child, doctor’s shrugged it off as part of puberty, and prescribed a diet of moderation. This diet plan was quickly thrown out the window for Stiles. He frankly didn’t care what anyone thought about him, he was finally on the way to being normal, and if he was normal and fat, he’d take it.

The summer before senior year, no one saw Stiles. There were rumors that he was shipped off to fat camp, or that he had eaten himself to death. The whole school was abuzz on the first day back with theories about what happened to Stiles. Scott hadn’t even heard from him after a few weeks into summer.

What no one expected was Stiles to walk, or waddle it seems like, into school nearly a hundred pounds heavier than when everyone last saw him. Stiles didn’t pay any mind, and walked through the halls, eating something with his left hand and holding his backpack over his shoulder with his other. He took up a good amount of the hall, making people move out of his way.

“Hey guys,” Stiles says to his friends. “I had the best summer!” His friends looked at him, shocked by what they were seeing, but by Stiles’ tone, he sounded so happy and excited.

“Yeah? You’ll have to tell us all about it!” Scott said, taking his place at Stiles’ side so they could walk to home room. If this was the price they had to pay to have Stiles back to his normal self… well there were worse things he could have gotten into.

[50shadesofmittens]

The Emperor of Mankind and the Captain General- Parallels as Dads

So in the latest episode (28) there’s some symbolic parallels that are clearly set up and even outright stated between the Emperor and the Captain General, specifically in terms of how they Parent. I figured I’d talk about this a little bit, since it feels like CG and Emps have more to contrast than in common when it comes to fatherhood. Note that I’ll be sticking largely to TTS Emps behavior unless stated otherwise.

The subtext of this parallel is outright text, with Karstodes comparing his behavior towards CG with the Primarchs behavior towards Emps. Except… IMO that’s where the parallels tend to fall flat.

Let’s break down CG’s behavior towards the Custodians:

·      He lets them do their own thing most of the time

o   Most of the time they’re doing jobs they’re well-equipped for and can handle perfectly well

·      He notes their successes and praises them for it

·      He takes note of their desires and acts on them (letting Hammurabi come along on the Mars trip in ep 27)

o   Plus if Hammurabi had said his lines in ep 27 to Emps, do you really think Emps wouldn’t have teased him about being passive-aggressive? Even if he would’ve let him come, it still would’ve been throwing shame on Hammurabi

·      He instructs them well on the situation and/or engages them even outside of the mission (I’m talking about the Dawn of War tutorial gag, as it’s not clear which he’s doing)

·      He calls upon their skills even when those skills personally disgust them, if they are valuable (calling Santodes to seduce the Skitarii as using skills Santodes prefers, instead of crushing them as Santodes has the ability to do and CG would probably prefer to see)

Now let’s compare Emps’ behavior towards the Primarchs:

·      He lets them do their own thing most of the time

o   That said, most of them are in toxic or outright dangerous situations, either being lost in the warp, in environments that encourage their own insanity to fester, or in abusive servitude to mad gods

·      He tends to make jokes at their expense even when they do as he intended

·      He forces or tricks them into filling the roles he wants (TTS version has this with manipulating Magnus and wanting Dorn to go away until he’s ready to see him, but mainline 40K Emps also did this with Perturabo and Angron)

·      His lying to his sons and misleading them is a huge theme in the show, although I will admit we see him cuddling and reading to Dorn (I’m not 100% sure that’s entirely pure and innocent either, but I have no proof and only suspicions so I will keep those to myself unless asked)

·      He wants things to happen his way, his methods- even when/if his Sons have their own ways. Again, this is a big part of why he manipulates Magnus, and also

One parallel we can make from this episode alone is that CG treats the Custodians like adults, while Emps treats the Primarchs like children. As Rogal points out, that’s not how age works- just because you are older or have more experience doesn’t mean that those younger than you are inherently lesser than the average. CG acts more like a single dad to a bunch of 20-somethings still in or fresh out of college, while Emps acts like a single dad to a bunch of five-year olds.

What do they have in common? Emps is trying to be CG, but he fails to truly grasp what makes CG the man he is. Look at the traits that the Custodians list as they describe their faith in CG:

·      His mild disposition

·      His dedication and hard work

·      Like a widowed father who’s just doing his best

·      His ability to care is unsurpassed

·      He’s nice

·      He’s steadfast

·      Make a U-Turn

·      He’s what’s needed in an age of rampant corruption, not a warmaster

Honestly this is just speculation, but I think Emps’ knows is biggest problem as a father in the 30th millennium he WAS a warmaster rather than a father. He’s trying to be a father now, as that’s whats needed, but he doesn’t really know howto be one. And he can’t see or won’t admit that he doesn’t know how to be a father, so he keeps messing up. He treats his children like they’re actual children instead of adults (as said above), and he keeps switching between being a father and being a warmaster (manipulative). Rogal at least has the awareness to not take it personally, but Magnus clearly needs a consistent father-figure from Emps and then keeps getting a warmaster.

Now let’s make comparisons between the source of this simile, Karstodes ‘redemption’ vs Magnus’:

·      Karstodes comes to the redemption on his own, simply from watching CG’s actions- he saw something he valued in CG, something worth following, and he was inspired to make the decision on his own

·      Meanwhile Magnus had to be literally kidnapped and Emps had to both butter him up and reclaim his soul from Tzeentch in order to convince Magnus to join

We don’t have enough information yet to make more comparisons, as CG and Karstodes haven’t interacted yet after Karstodes decision. It will be interesting to see what issues will remain between them, and how those will compare with Magnus and Emps rocky relationship.

I think it’s notable that the Emperor struggles to interact with the people who are his sons in the biological and literal sense, while the Captain General is referred to as a father-figure by people his own age (or possibly older). The Emperor throws his fatherhood around and demands to be acknowledged as such, while the Captain General didn’t seek fatherhood- but was recognized as a dad all the same. One made himself a father by making his sons, and one was chosen as a father of choice.

Now the most pressing contrasts- Dorn’s behavior versus the Custodians:

·      Dorn is frequently pointing out Emps failures, and holds firmly that Emps isn’t a good parent

o   Meanwhile the Custodian host literally lays down the positive traits that are why CG was elected to the Captain General post

·      Dorn often asks if Emps’ plans are a good idea and is never heeded

o   The Custodian host literally tell CG that he’s doing a good job leading them and that he’s exactly what they need

·      Dorn indulges in some ‘child-like’ behavior with Emps (cuddling, bedtime story). Notably, these are also some of the only times Emps is fully supportive and does exactly what Dorn wants him to, without complaint or sass

o   I get the feeling that Emps is happy to do kiddy-stuff with Dorn because he views Dorn as a child more than as an adult, and Dorn is willing to go through with it both because he’s genuinely open-minded enough to enjoy these activities regardless of age stigma, and because it’s the only time Emps pays attention solely to Dorn (well, as solely as he can given his current state of being) and shows nothing but affection for Dorn

o   In which case, the Custodian Host doesn’t NEED to behave in one specific way in order to get CG’s attention and affection

·      Dorn didn’t even tell Emps of his guardian post over Emps- remember it wasn’t until season 2 we learned who the ‘Adorable Centurion’ was. We see something similar with Magnus as well, going behind Emps back even when it’s for his own good

o   Meanwhile, for all we’ve seen so far, none of the Custodians have ever felt the need to lie to or mislead CG on their own activities. The oily ones may have been cruel, but never misleading. There’s a level of trust, or at least a lack of mistrust, that Emps and the Primarchs sorely lack

·      Speaking of, this is a bit off-topic but we know why Custodians trust CG while Primarchs can't trust Emps- because Emps makes false promises and manipulates his kids constantly, even if/when he does act in their best interests, with hidden meanings even when pretending to be honest. He told Magnus to look up Cypher both to get around having to explain the truth to Magnus- something he previously promised to do- and to get him out of his hair for a while

o   There’s maybe one time that CG is misleading to anyone under his command- when he tells Boreale (and Diomedes by extention) to go make him a sandwitch. In this case it’s obvious that CG doesn’t actually need food, but he’s getting the two Marines out of the way while he has a fight with Magnus- a fight that was clearly already causing distress to the two Marines. It’s a very simple, straightforward lie, made solely for the benefit of the parties being lied to, with absolutely no other motive or reason behind it

On a more shippy note, CG also kinda treats Boreale and Diomedes like new step-children in the sense that he’d be a decent step-father to have. He bonds with them over video games, brings them along on trips with his ‘biological children’ (ie the Custodian Host) to include them even if they don’t actually have a ‘role.’ Granted he’s not perfect- using them to shame their ‘bio-dad’ when Magnus fucked up. But still- I always kinda thought of their relationship like a step-dad stepping up to fill the role of parent for the pre-teen sons of his boyfriend

Anyways, going back to Emps, I think that in the grand scheme CG’s successes highlight Emps’ failures as a parent. But, I also think that Emps is trying to parent like CG- he just fails at being like CG. He sees that CG gets results, and wants those same results, but doesn’t want to change his own behavior or analyze what it is that CG does that earns him respect and love while Emps is scorned and tolerated. Emps demands the rewards of being a parent, without doing the work to earn those rewards. IDFK yet if Emps will manage to change his own ways and pull through as a parent, but the point stands that Emps fails where CG not only succeeds, but excels.

[ellana-ravenwood]

Jason Todd and the Haunted Manor - Jason Todd x Batmom

Synopsis : Jason Todd, 8 and three quarter years old, is 100% sure Wayne Manor is haunted. And that the ghosts HATE him. 

I wrote a few fics with only Damian and Batmom, or Tim and Batmom...but never just Dick or Jason. Which I thought I should fix. So here’s a little mom/son bonding with Jason, based on a headcanon I’ve had for years about mister Todd. I also very much like pre-death Jay who was such a brat and yet so cute, and affection/attention starved <3. So...here it is, hope you’ll like it : 

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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When he was a kid, Jason used to run as fast as he could from his bedroom to the one you shared with Bruce, and jump in between you and your husband, terrified.

For the longest time, you never really thought much about it.

After all, Dick too, in the early months (even years) of living with you and Bruce at the Manor, sneaked into your bed at night, and settled himself inbeetween the both of you.

Your eldest son used to have night terrors. Used to wake up after nightmares of re-living his parents’ death. He always woke up with a start, mouth open on a soundless scream. So distressed and afraid that no noise could get out of his mouth. And then, more often than not with tears in his eyes, he would drag himself across the Manor to come and shyly enter the master’s bedroom.

At first, he stood there for a long time, and waited for you or Bruce to eventually notice him (which you always did, feeling someone watching you in your sleep, and therefor waking up) and tell him he could come sleep with you. More than once, you woke up with a start as you saw his little silhouette in the opening of the door, peaking in, unsure if he was allowed to enter or not.

But overtime, he stopped asking and just took the habit to climb into bed with you two, and settle himself comfortably in there.

Bruce would often grumble because Dick basically pushed him away from you (and wasn’t particularly delicate about it), took his arms off of you, so he could sneak in the middle…but he didn’t actually mind, of course. 

As long as he could feel one of his loved one’s warmth near him, Bruce Wayne could sleep soundly.

Ever since his parents’ death, sleep never really quite came to him when alone. As a child he used to ask for Alfred to stay with him. But then when he grew up…he had to wait years before you finally saved him. And before he could sleep properly once again.

It’s one of the reason he always let Dick sneak into bed, because him too remembers a time where he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and in tears, and wishing for someone to be there to hold him. 

Naturally, if he could give the kid this safety…Then he would. 

Bruce never  “half-assed” anything, you often said. And you were right. When he decided to adopt Dick, you could be sure that he’d do his best to be the parent figure the little one needed. Which came as a surprise to so many people who didn’t know him outside of « work related » things.

He remembers the shock on Clark’s face, when Dick, 9 years old, came up the League’s Watchtower for the first time. First of all, who knew Batman had a son ?! And a wife, since that day you followed too…neither you nor Bruce could quite remember why you all went up that day, but you did. 

To be honest, it was probably because Dick asked and no matter what Bruce said, he was never really good at refusing something to his kids. 

But what shocked Clark the most was how patient he was with the kid. Dick asked three hundred questions a minute, and Bruce answered each and everyone of them, even the kinda embarassing/silly ones like “were does the water go when you flush the toilet, since we’re in space ?”. 

At that time, Bruce an Clark’s friendship just started to bud, so Superman had no idea that the big, scary, unforgiving and cold Batman could be so…sweet ? 

At some point, Bruce went to check something on the computer, and you were left with Dick and Clark (it was the beginning of the League, there wasn’t many people up that tower yet, and Bart and Diana were probably busy with their own things…oh the good old days, now, the place was always bustling with activities). 

The bags under your eyes must have been bigger than you thought, because Clark asked you if you were alright. You simply said you were tired, and that’s when you got a bit scared that you broke the allmighty Man of Steel. 

Dick said it was probably his fault that you didn’t sleep well, because he snuck in your bed again and was always quite an agitated sleeper. He was pretty sure he punched Br-Batman in the nose…

Clark just stared at the both of you, unable to wrap his head around the fact that Batman, THE Batman, who never smiled, cracked a joke, who was always serious and focused and all…let his kid climb into bed after a nightmare ? 

You never understood why Clark couldn’t believe that fact. Bruce, when he was Batman, wasn’t the real Bruce. And of course that in the intimacy of his own home, he would be more tender and nice. Especially to his son. 

And to Bruce ? Who knew how it felt to be a little kid, all alone and scared and wanting some reassurance and a good hug ? Of course he’d let the boy climb in bed if he needed comfort, he could really relate to him.

Yes, in the early years of Dick living in the Manor, he used to often sneak into bed with you and Bruce. It lasted for quite a while, before he could finally sleep again. Before the nightmares became rare, if non-existant. Before he finally felt like he was safe and loved once more, like he had a family again.

So when Jason started to jump into bed as well, in the middle of the night, you didn’t think much of it either.

You just assumed he too, needed to feel safe and warm. God only knew how much that child needed it.

And just like with Dick, you never minded it. You and Bruce would both welcome him inbetween you any time he wanted.

He always told you “I had a nightmare” and you never thought much of it. This was exactly the same scenario than with your eldest son.

Exactly the same scenario ? Not quite.

Jason never waited at the door of your room, too shy to come in and say he had a nightmare. He immediately jumped in bed, looking terrified. 

You just assumed, at the time, that his nightmares were more “conventional”. Unlike Dick, Jason didn’t witness his parents’ murder, though he didn’t have an easy childhood either and god knew what he saw, living in the streets ?

Adding to the fact he never hesitated to jump in your bed, he also never came calmly from his room to yours. You and Bruce would often be awake by the time he’d arrive in your bedroom, because you’d hear his little feet pound the floor as he ran full speed from his room to yours ! 

You knew he tried to stay silent, to move stealthily, but you always heard how hurriedly he’d come over, running as fast as he could. 

Dick would calmly walk from his room to yours (both their rooms were pretty close from yours. Later, they’d change and move to the West Wing, as far as possible from your bedroom for…  « reasons », but at the beginning, you made sure they were close in case…Well, in case they needed you late at night), Jason would rush, in a panic. That was a pretty big difference, that at the time, you didn’t really pay attention to.

But again, given the history of the boy and such, you never once questioned why he looked so scared when he came in your room. He said he had a nightmare. You accepted his explanation and would rock him back to sleep, or sandwich him between you and Bruce, warm and safe.

You would never, EVER have guessed that the reason your son, that you always thought to be so brave and without any fear, ran to your bedroom at night was because…He was certain that Wayne Manor was haunted.

And that the ghosts HATED him.

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The first night Jason spend at Wayne Manor was also his first encounter with them. Which made sense, of course they’d come to him as soon as he arrived !

Bruce was out on patrol, but he kissed him goodnight before leaving. This was still the very early days of Jason becoming your son, but already the boy accepted that kiss. 

Thanks to his experience with Dick, Bruce wasn’t as lost as he used to be when faced with kids (even if lately, as Dick left to join the “Teen Titans”, his relationship with his father wasn’t the best…your eldest rarely stayed in the Manor anymore, prefering to be away in the Titans’ headquarter. Actually, it had been months since last time Dick stayed the night home, and he only came to see you and Alfred and…oh, but that was another story), and this said experience made it easier for Bruce to instantly bond with his new son.

Well, not quite instantly. When he saw that little kid steal the Batmobile’s tyres, Bruce wasn’t really amused…

And Jason ? Jason craved love and attention so much that although he was suspicious at first because everything seemed too good to be true, he ended up letting things happening pretty easily. Well, just like any 8 years old who just wanted to be cared about. 

Plus, he was very excited at the idea of being the new Robin, even if he wouldn’t wear the costume for  quite a while (about a year, in fact, and only after intensive training with his father).

That first night started really well. 

He got a kiss from his new dad (who was, by the way, supposedly known to not show affection much…but something told Jason that was just appearances, and that the Batman was much sweeter than he’d let on), a goodnight snack from that great guy called Alfred (he made him his favorite cookies ! And he was allowed to eat it in bed !), and his new mom…

His new mom (the only one that acted like a mom to him really), you, read him a bed time story. Which turned into two bed time stories, because you really couldn’t resist how cute he looked asking for more. 

After the fifth story, you decided it was enough and made the boy promise he wouldn’t tell anything to his father (Bruce would NEVER let it go that you just didn’t seem to be able to say « no » when kids gave you their best puppy eyes…).

It was 10 pm when you left him, after a few kisses goodnight and a tickle war (you really were weak in front of his cuteness, and the only way you found to escape him asking for another story was to tickle him until he begged you to stop  and forgot all about books). 

You went back to your room, making sure he knew you weren’t far (you’d usually be down in the Batcave but you and Alfred made an agreement that you’d each take turn down there, even more so when the kids were young. There was NO WAY you’d let them alone in the house at night, even if technically you were not far, just right under them...).

And for the first two hours, nothing happened. 

Until the giant clock’s gong, that was in the living room, resonated in the entire house. Jason wasn’t quite sure if it was the clock or…something else, that woke him up at that exact moment. 

But what he knew, is that all of a sudden, he was wide awake while he was sleeping peacefully just a few seconds ago. In a real bed, for the first time in a very VERY long time.

He sat up, wondering if maybe he just heard Bruce coming back from being Batman ? If it was him, then he wanted to greet him back, no matter if the man was going to scold him because it was late ! 

Jason threw his cover off of him, and jumped on his feet. Ah and he was definitely hearing footsteps in the corridor, they were coming right in front of his room now ! Excitedly, Jason ran to his door and flung it open and…Nothing. 

And no one.

“Bruce ?”

No answer. Jason flicked his eyes to his digital alarm clock and a thought invaded his head…Midnight ? It was much too early for Batman to stop patrolling ! Bruce would only come back up in the early hours of the morning !

Maybe he heard you walking back to your room in the corridor ? Sure it was weird that the footsteps immediately stopped as soon as he opened the door, but maybe you just went back in your room at that exact same time ! 

Were you still awake ? Maybe he could convince you that he couldn’t sleep, and you’d read him some more stories ? Curious, he went to your bedroom. 

The light in was definitely switched off. He opened the door slowly, and…you weren’t there. Mm. But the footsteps definitely went in that direction ! Maybe it was Alfred ? Oh oh, or maybe you went to get a drink, or maybe you couldn’t sleep and was walking around the manor ?

He closed the door to your room again, and looked around in the dark corridor. 

Jason has never been afraid of the dark, he had much more worries as a kid than monsters lurking in the shadows. He had very real monsters, back home…

So when he took a look on both sides of the corridor, he wasn’t scared at all. And didn’t feel the need to switch the light on. Even more so since he had no idea where the light switch was in that long ass corridor anyway ?

But though he wasn’t scared, he had a strange uneasy feeling in his chest. And suddenly, all he wanted to do was to look for you. Make sure you were still here.

He turned towards where he thought the footsteps went, and started to walk…The creasing sound of his bedroom door slowly closing made him stop dead in his track. 

He turned around, and in the dim light of the moon, definitely saw the door inexorably closing by itself ! In the last few inches left, the door slammed shut, making him jump in the air, and without really knowing why, he started to run towards where he thought you were.

Did he left his window open ? It was a bit hot today, in that warm summer night, but he couldn’t quite remember if he left the window open or not…

He ran down the corridor. 

Now he could go downstairs, or continue further and up to the next level but…Why would you go upstairs at this time of the night ? There was only guest rooms and unused bathrooms !

Sure you told him sometimes you walked around when you couldn’t sleep, but you also said you’d often go in the living room to watch a movie…

Down, or up ?

It seemed easier to go down, and so Jason rushed down the stairs, almost falling over in his hurry. 

Something really didn’t feel right, but he wasn’t sure what. He knew that it wasn’t the fear of you abandoning him and not being in the house, because deep down, he knew neither you nor Bruce would ever do that ! 

So why was he so freaked out ? He couldn’t even remember the last time he was this afraid ! 

The door of his room closing was probably just because he really did forget to close his window, and the footsteps ? It was most likely you, of course ! Or maybe just his imagination ! After all, this was an old house where the wood always creaked and cracked.

Just as he was thinking that, he heard a sinister cracking sound right behind him. 

What was that ? The steps right ? They were made of wood too so it was totally normal, right ?

He was now downstairs in the foyer, and everything seemed so different at this time of the day…Jason’s never been afraid fo the dark, as he had his own very real monsters back home. But here ? With his new family, in his new home ? There were no monsters anymore, and yet…yet the shadows stretched in ways that he never noticed before.

Pausing just for a second as he realized how scary the night could be, he started to hurry down the next corridor again, still looking for you. The living room right ? It was that next room on the left, right ?

Jason wasn’t quite sure. 

Alfred showed him around earlier in the day, but there were so many rooms, he didn’t remember everything. He remembered where the kitchen was, where his room and yours were, and also the toilet (one of them) but the living room.

Jason flung the door he thought led to the living room open and…It wasnt’ the living room. It was…god knew what kind of room. 

It had a pool table and a desk, and that was the only things Jason could see.

Suddenly extra aware of how dark everything was, he looked for a light switch.

In the long corridors, he couldn’t find where the switches were. But here…here he found it immediately and flipped it up. 

Light poured in the room, and the boy sighed in relief.

Ok. Well, this wasn’t the living room, but it was an interesting place nonetheless. He could stay here for a few minutes, collect his thought and try to remember where the hell was the living room ?

He was- 

The light flicked once, twice, buzzed and then...turned off.

Jason was completely in the dark again. He had taken a few steps in the room and turned around so fast he got a little lightheaded. 

Was that why he saw a figure at the door frame ? Probably. Hopefully. One thing was sure, is that it wasn’t you. 

The only light now was coming from the corridor and the open door, as for some reasons every curtains in the room Jason ended in were closed (the boy later found out that it used to be Bruce’s father office, and except for Alfred who went there to dust things over from times to times, no one ever entered it). 

But slowly, once again, Jason saw the door closing by itself. And this time there was no window open for sure !! 

He rushed to the door, but was too late, it was already closed and couldn’t goddamn budge no matter how much he tried to open it ! He tried to get the light to turn on again, but no matter how many times he flipped the switch, he was still in the dark. 

And as he was fighting to get the door open, came the moment he realized that the fear at the back of his mind that he tried to ignore by rationalizing what happened so far...was the truth. 

As he heard someone breathe right next to his ear ! And what kind of rationalized reason could explain such an event ? 

Jason screamed. At the top of his lungs. 

It seemed like hours went by, as he was properly terrified and unable to open the door ! But realistically, only a few seconds happened when...

The door opened. 

Jason got blinded by the light pouring in from the corridor. And warm arms wrapped around him. At first, he fought them, afraid that it would be “them”, until he realized...

You. 

It was you. 

He recognized your soothing voice trying to calm him down, and the way your hands were slowly caressing his hair. 

You did that too, the first time you met him, after Bruce scared the hell out of him by tying him up in the bat cave when he found him staling the bat mobile’s tyres (long story short, you weren’t happy and though Bruce explained his reasoning, you scolded him for a long time, and soothed that poor boy you didn’t even know for even longer). 

Jason let go of all his emotions at the same time, the fear stacking up all of a sudden in the past few minutes leaving his body as he fell in your arms and cried on your shoulder. 

You carried him back up, and he got scared you were about to put him back in his bed, all alone..but you got him all the way to your bedroom, and made room for him in your bed. 

He fell asleep in your arms, feeling safe and warm, and wondering if he had just dreamt those events or not ? 

************

He woke up when he heard Bruce’s voice, but didn’t open his eyes, listening in to the conversation you were having with your husband. 

“-such a softie.” 

Were the words that woke him up. 

“Maybe I am, but...you should’ve seen him my Broosh, he was so scared !”

“What happened ?”

“I’m not sure. I found him screaming in your father’s office. The lightbulb got out, and I think in his panic he was trying to open the door inward while for some random reason, that door was build to open outward.” 

...Outward ? Jason recalled himself opening it inward for sure ! 

“Really ? What was he doing in my father’s office ?” 

“I don’t know ? Probably couldn’t sleep and went wandering around. Like I do when I can’t sleep ?” 

“What do you think scared him ?” 

“Well, thinking you’re locked up in a dark room in a house like yours would be enough to scare any kid, my heart.” 

It would indeed scare any kid. But not Jason. Jason’s never been afraid of the dark, and never believed in...in...

“That is true. I hope-I hope he’ll be ok.” 

Bruce’s worries soothed the little boy’s heart a little bit more. It made him feel better, that he was cared for. Even if he just discovered that...That...

“He will. It’s his first night here, it’s a bit overwhelming you know ? This is very new. And your house is scary. Dick too ended up in our bed, I recall.” 

“That he did. And stop calling it “my” house, I’ll have you know it’s yours too...and his.” 

Jason felt a large hand softly ruffling his hair, and almost gave the fact that he was awake away by smiling. But he held it in, as he didn’t want to explain why he ended up in that dark room all alone in the middle of the night. 

He felt the bed shift, and guessed Bruce was climbing into it. Some added warmth wrapped around him, and he knew Bruce climbed into it. 

And Jason fell back asleep, feeling safe and loved. 

His first night in the Manor wasn’t a complete disaster. It was actually pretty good, really...If we forgot the fact he just discovered that ghosts were real ! 

************

Over the next few weeks, Jason tried to rationalize and find explanation about that first scary night. But the more he thought about it, the more there wasn’t any explanations !

And as days after days, he spend more time in the house, he found that...Something fishy was definitely going on.

When it was daylight, even if he was alone, everything was alright. Nothing weird happened. But as soon as the night fell, as soon as things got dark...All hell broke loose !

Jason saw objects moving on their own, doors opening and closing, and he kept hearing footsteps in the corridors at night, over and over, even if he knew no one was there !

Voices too, sometimes, calling him in his sleep and waking him up ! 

To him, and his 8 years old mind...it proved that ghosts were real. And apparently, those ones didn’t like him very much !

Sometimes, when he was really tired, he’d sleep through the night without hearing anything. Sometimes, the ghosts left him alone. 

But sometimes, it seemed they were particularly angry and kept messing around with him, scaring him to death ! Those times...those times were the moment he ran from his room to yours, and snuck into bed with you and Bruce. 

He never screamed, as he was sure that’s exactly what the ghosts wanted and didn’t want to give them satisfaction...But he was afraid, oh so afraid. 

Night after night, he waited for them. 

It was worst when they didn’t show up. It was proof to Jason that they were just being mean to him. Playing with his expectations, his stress. 

The boy didn’t dare talk to you about it, because it was clear neither you nor Bruce ever noticed that ghosts roamed the manor ! Dick, who occasionally came to the house, when Bruce was away, never noticed either, given how he reacted when Jason asked if he believed in ghost. 

His older brother just laughed, believing the boy was just joking around...No one who witnessed what Jason witnessed could react like that at the word “ghost”. 

Afraid that they’d think he’s crazy, or a wimp...He didn’t say a word. He stayed silent, running in fear to his parents’ bedroom whenever the ghosts were going too far. He suffered in silence, not daring to tell to anyone that sometimes, not all the times, ghosts who hated him were keeping him up all night. 

************

About a month after he moved in with you and Bruce, Jason asked his dad about his house and its history, and the man strangely didn’t know much about it ! Except for the date it was built in, and which of his ancestors did it…Bruce added he never really cared for Wayne Manor’s history, but that he was pretty sure there was books, or rather, registers about it somewhere in the library. 

When he asked Jason why he wanted to know, the boy simply said he was curious. And Bruce was content with that explanation, after all, Jason did ask a lot of questions about a lot of things.

That very same day, Jason went to the house’s massive and well furnished library, and started his research, determined to know who were those ghosts that hindered his sleep !

He found a few books talking about the Wayne family, and man did sometimes things turned gruesome ! When he asked Bruce about the alleged murders and such surrounding some of his oldest family members, the man simply shrugged and said that his family was one of the first in Gotham, almost build the city single-handedly along a few other families, and always been rich. 

And whenever there was money, power and fame ? There was terrible stories and awful things happening. Bruce then proceeded to reassure the boy that his family hadn’t been like that in at least a century, and blahblahblah...But Jason didn’t need the reassurance. 

He knew Bruce was a good man. He knew his parents were good people too, and his grandparents too...No, what he wanted to know what was the possibility of one of the “bad” Wayne still lingering in their manor ?

Who was coming at night to haunt him ? And why were they haunting only him ?! After a lot of research, Jason was pretty sure he knew who were the ghosts that had something against him. 

He was pretty sure that the leader of the pack was one particular angry man...

Theodore Hamish Wayne. 

He was a ruthless businessman and politician, whose opponents tended to just...”disappear”. It was rumored he killed his own son-in-law because the man was a nobody with no money, and dared marrying his daughter in secret ! 

Of course, nothing was ever proved...but if even his own daughter was sure he was the culprit ? Chances were, he was. He just had the power and money to make evidence...”disappear” too. 

To make things worst, and that’s what made Jason think he didn’t go into the after-life, the man died in odd circumstances...in what was now Bruce’s father old office ! 

“Odd circumstances.” It seemed like it was a suicide, and people would understand why he did it as at that time he was an old and bitter lonely man that everyone abandoned...But things in the police report didn’t make sense. However, he was such a hated man that no one looked further into it. 

His daughter took back Wayne Inc, and the family became beloved again, after a few decades of Theodore spreading fear all across Gotham City. 

Since Theodore’s daughter took back the entire family’s estate, the Wayne family stayed well loved, all the way to Bruce now. But before him ? There were some nasty people. And good old Theo ? He was definitely the worst one. 

There were others too, that died in and around the Manor that could still be here. And none of them were great people. All of them were pretty arrogant, and proud of being Waynes and...All of a sudden, Jason thought he understood why they were being so mean to him in particular ! 

He was a street kid ! 

He was exactly the kind of person Theodore’s daughter married ! The kind of person the first few Waynes made “disappear” when they got too close from their family ! The kind of person that would bring shame to them if associated with them !

He was a nobody ! A POOR nobody ! 

How could they accept him becoming part of their prestigious family ? 

But of course. That’s why no one else could feel the ghosts ! That’s why they only attacked him when he was alone ! 

You might come from a poor neighborhood too, but when Bruce married you, you were already a famous (and wealthy) author ! Good enough to be a Wayne. 

And Dick ? He was from a family of circus performers, which didn’t sound great on paper but...Didn’t Dick once said his mom had some royal blood from eastern Europe or something ? Was that enough to be worthy of becoming a Wayne ? Plus, technically Dick wasn’t actually adopted, but was Bruce’s ward. It wasn’t quite the same thing. 

But Jason ? There was official adoption papers. And though he didn’t change his last name (yet ?), he was officially a Wayne. 

And how could a man like Theodore, or the likes of him, accept this ? 

Yes. Young 8 years Old Jason Todd was sure of it. 

The ghosts in Wayne Manor were usually discreet, because they didn’t mind the house’s inhabitants. But a good-for-nothing nobody like him ? Living there ? In one of the biggest room ? And daring to become part of the family ?! 

Of course, that would cause a raucous. And make them angry. 

Yes. Yes that was the only explanation ! 

************

“I live here now. Wether you like it or not ! I’m-I’m Bruce’s son ! I am ! He’s my dad ! And this will NEVER change so you’d...You’d better leave me alone !” 

Jason said at the footstep he was hearing from the corridor. And as soon as he ended his sentence, the footsteps stopped. Right in front of his door. 

“I live here and I’m not going anywhere ! This is my home !” 

And it was true. Even with the “occasional haunting”, he still considered Wayne Manor as his home. And he loved this house...when it was daylight, or when he was with his loved ones. 

Ah. But nothing could be perfect, right ? His life now that he had a new family HAD to have at least one flaw. And if that flaw were ghosts...

The boy grabbed his flashlight, and lit the entrance to his room. When the flashlight started to flicker. No, no not again ! 

The door slowly opened, his favorite book, that he was currently reading and that was sitting on his desk, fell down on the floor heavily. 

“I’m-I’m Bruce’s son ! And (Y/N)’s ! I live here ! You can’t do anything about it ! You won’t make me run away !” 

Jason was sure by now that the ghosts only ever came to try and make him leave. That they were terrifying him so he wouldn’t want to stay. 

He looked on the internet to see how he could get rid of the ghosts, but it seemed that whatever unfinished business they had, it was too late now...they’ve all been dead for too long. 

Ugh. Why couldn’t the nice one stay behind ? Well...The nice one didn’t really had unfinished business, really. 

One thing the boy was sure of though, is that they were just trying to scare him so he would leave the estate, leave the family they deemed him not worthy of. 

Even at that age, Jason kinda agreed with them. Even then, he had big confidence issues, and always seemed to think he didn’t deserve to have things (years of neglect and people telling him he was nothing were the cause of it all). 

“I’m-I’m not afraid of you ok ? You can’t make me leave ! I finally have a family ! I won’t ever leave ! I don’t care what you think of me ! I know you can’t hurt me ! You can only scare me ! Move small object ! And never very far ! I’m not afraid, I’M NOT AFRAID !” 

As if to confirm his suspicions that the ghosts weren’t “powerful enough” to truly hurt him, his blanket slowly lifted and flew across the room. 

This fact should have made him feel better, made him feel less afraid, because now, he knew they couldn’t actually hurt him. After all, by then he’d been in the house for six months, it was pretty obvious the best they could do was scare him ! 

But the mere fact that some old nasty people’s ghosts were in his bedroom send shivers down his spine. It was an uncontrollable (and understandable) phobia. Reasons had nothing to do with any of it. And when he heard his name, softly spoken into the wind, followed by the words “leave”...Jason jumped out of bed and ran to yours and Bruce’s room, utterly scared. 

So much for trying to show them they couldn’t scare him huh ? But he was only a little boy. He could only take so much...

Even knowing they couldn’t actually hurt him, he was still scared. Phobias didn’t need to be rational, after all. And he was still scared. Even more so since it played on the extra fears that he wasn’t worth anything, and that he didn’t deserve a family as great as you and Bruce...

************

Today, Jason was very proud of himself.

He aced a test in school, and it was one he was very unsure about ! He even told his parents that he probably screwed it up…But he didn’t !

As he raced through the Manor, he couldn’t find anyone though ! 

Ah. Of course. His dad was probably still at work, and you had an office in Gotham City center where you went to write (you also had one in the house, but you hated staying alone in there, and Jason totally understood that ! So when he was at school, and Bruce at work, and Alfred god knew where…you’d go write in that office space. Jason loved going there, it smelled like you. Like books and coffee. It felt safe, and when he was there, surrounded by all your warmth, he felt so loved. Like it never happened before in his life !!).

Alfred was nowhere to be seen either. Oh but of course, we were Wednesday ! He always went grocery shopping on Wednesdays. Though he’d usually be back by the time Jason would be home. But today, something must have taken more time than usual.

Oh well, Jason would just go play video games in the living room and…No.

It was raining outside today, and everything was gray and dark. Which meant the house was full of somber places and blackness. Dark corners and shadows.

And suddenly, Jason’s breath quicken. Because that meant…

That meant he was at their mercy !

Them !

The ghosts !

The ghosts that hated him !

He hadn’t seen them in a while, mainly because he was Robin now, and was out most nights. So this would be a perfect opportunity for them to...

The door to Bruce’s father’s office (Jason didn’t even notice he had stopped right in front of it) slowly opened, creaking in a sinister way as it did. 

No. No no no no NO ! 

They left him alone for so long, he thought maybe they forgot about him. Or accepted him. But the actual reason was that he’d always go to bed when the first light of the day went up, and they had no powers, during the day. 

Except when it was dark and moody like right now. When it almost looked like it was evening while it was only 3 pm. 

The door to Bruce’s father’s office was finally opened, and the voice that scared him the most in the world whispered...”Jaaassooooon”. 

And that was it. Jason, no matter how much he tried to rationalize everything, or to act as if they didn’t scare him, couldn’t control himself. And he had to get out of here !! 

He ran towards the front door, ready to wait in the rain if he had to. He was looking behind him, and saw a small vase fall on the floor...they were close ! And though he knew they couldn’t really hurt him, the mere fact they existed scared him to death ! 

Ghosts, over time, became his one true phobia ! He could deal with a lot of things, especially since he was Robin now...but revenants ? No. No. And no. 

He almost reached the front door when it opened. Was it them ?! 

No. No it wasn’t. It was you. You coming home. And being extra confused when you were greeted by a strong hug by your son. 

He always greeted you warmly, but never quite...Like that. 

Even less so with tears in his eyes, and looking so scared ! 

“Jason ? Jason what is it ? What is it ? Did something happen at school ?” 

In his state of pure fear, he didn’t take the time to think, as he answered :

“No, no it’s...it’s the ghosts !” 

He would never have talked about it normally. But right there, as they took him by surprise after being absent for so long...the words just spilled from his mouth. And he told you everything. How, for the past few years, they haunted him and taunted his sleep. 

The real reason he ran to your bedroom so many times. 

But how it almost all stopped when he became Robin, because he wasn’t at home most of the time during the night, and if he was, you or Alfred or even Bruce during his nights off were always around. 

He told you how whenever someone else was there, even if it was dark, they wouldn’t show up. How his family, you, Bruce, Alfred and Dick when he was there...were fending off the ghosts. 

How when he wasn’t all alone in the dark, they never came. 

And why they hated him particularly so. Because he was a nobody, unworthy of bearing the name “Wayne” ! 

And as he told you the stories of ghosts, of Theodore Hamish Wayne and his nasty friends, of how scared he was sometimes etc etc...

Well, you weren’t sure you quite believed Wayne Manor was haunted. After all, you never witnessed anything. Sure, sometimes, you felt a bit uneasy when you were alone. Shivers ran down your spine for no reasons. But it never went further than that, an old big house giving you kind of the creep sometimes. 

But what you were sure of, is that wether it was real or not, it affected your boy. And you hated that. You hated that so much. 

To you, it seemed like he created those ghosts in his head, to symbolize his deep fear of being abandoned, of being all alone again. But to him ? To him it was clear all this was real. 

Oh but he believed in it so much, that you started to wonder if you had it right. Were the ghosts just the way Jason’s portrayed his true fears (the attack always kind of happened as he was asleep or almost asleep, it could very well be in his imagination, or sleep paralysis or something...except today he was clearly wide awake...), or were they real ? 

You probably would never know, as it seemed your presence warded them off. And you certainly weren’t going to tell him you had your doubts. 

And so you reassured him. You consoled him. You told him you’d always be there, and that those ghosts could never dislodge him from your heart.

“It’s ok little bird, it’s ok. You’re safe here, with me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” 

“You must think I’m nuts...”

“I most certainly don’t think that. You’re not crazy Jason, ok ? Nobody gets that scared over nothing. Nobody.” 

“So you believe me ?” 

“Yes.”

“Promise ?” 

You didn’t hesitate one second as you answered, because even if the ghosts weren’t actually ghosts, you knew he was telling you the truth. That those things truly happened to him, wether in his head or not didn’t matter.  

“Promise. Because even if I never see those ghosts, to you, they’re very real. And they’re total jerks. And- And you know what ?” 

Jason was sniffling only a little now, slowly getting over his fear. Thanks to you. 

“Wh-What ?”  

You stood up, and brought him with you in the middle of the foyer. You couldn’t quite pick him up anymore, as he was a much too tall 11 years old boy...But you could still definitely hold him close ! 

You stood there, in the middle of the foyer, glaring at the entire house, and finally said : 

“Hey ! Theodore and whatever are your names !? The ghosts haunting Wayne Manor ! Ya better stay away from my son, or I’ll whip your stupid ectoplasmic ass fissa !”

For a few seconds, Jason was afraid you just annoyed them and it would get worst...But then you continued. Telling them exactly what you’d do to them, and nothing sounded very nice. 

In the end, he couldn’t help but laugh at how imaginative you got, thinking of all the ways you could make GHOSTS’ life miserable ! 

And now... 

Now you knew. And you didn’t mock him at all, on the contrary. Jason felt like a weight was leaving his shoulders, because now...now he wasn’t the only one knowing about Wayne Manor’s haunting ! 

And since that day, things got a little easier. 

But at the same time, Jason discovered that he hated to be alone in the house whenever it was too dark outside, which didn’t just include nights, but also gloomy rainy days. 

He always found a way to avoid those situations, in big parts thanks to his Robin work, but also thanks to you, and how understanding you were. 

It really didn’t matter, if the ghosts were real or not. You’d be there for your son no matter what. 

************

Even if he rarely saw them now, the thought that Wayne Manor was haunted never left him. He still hated being alone in it. Especially when it was dark.

But hey, at least nowadays, you knew about it. More importantly, you believed him. He was pretty sure that at first, you didn’t really...But as the years went by, you ended up truly believing him.  

As you said, more than once you got unexplained shivers or bad feelings while walking around the house, and only felt comfortable when you were with your family...you liked to be alone, but when you needed “alone time”, you’d leave the house and go to your office in town, where you wrote all your books. You also had an office back home, but only used it when one of your son, or your husband was there too. 

Yes. By the time he entered his teen years, Jason came to closure with the fact that there was ghosts in Wayne Manor, and that they didn’t like him very much. But you know what ? They’d have to deal with it. 

Because he was NEVER going to leave. 

NEVER. 

This was his home too now. Not just theirs. 

They’d just have to deal with it. 

************

You thought about the ghosts in Wayne Manor, as you roamed its corridors very late at night, tears in your eyes. 

Jason had been gone for almost a year now, but your heart was still bleeding. 

15. He was only 15. 

You thought about how he was so convinced that the house was haunted, and right now...Oh right now you really wished ghosts were truly real. Because then maybe...Maybe he’d come talk to you again ? Maybe he’d come back to you, even if he was just...just...just a ghost...

A little wind went through your air as you walked in the corridor, and you wondered if you left a window opened somewhere ?

************

Present day : 

Jason, as he was fixing himself a snack in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, thought that his old nemesis, the ghosts of Wayne Manor, must have believed they won. 

After all, he haven’t stayed the night at the house in almost a decade now. First because he was dead for a while (bad business). And second because when he came back to life, he was lost and hated his father so much...He didn’t intend to ever come back home. 

And it wasn’t because of the ghosts, it wasn't. 

But tonight, after he finally understood and forgive his dad and  they celebrated his forty-fifth birthday, and as they were all reunited for the first time in ages...He finally decided to stay over. It was so rare, they were all together, and not on patrol (they left the night under the watchful eyes of Batwoman...her alone could handle things for one night, and if she couldn’t, she could always call them). 

But, remembering his old ennemies, he made sure to not be alone in a room ! He somehow managed to convince Dick to share a bedroom, even if there were definitely enough rooms in the Manor for all of them. 

He gave the excuse that he wanted to “remember old times” when Dick finally came back home (shortly before Jay’s death) and Jason would sneak into his room and they’d play video games too late and fall asleep...Already at that time, Jason snuck in because of the ghosts. His brother’s presence kept them away. 

He was too old, at that time, to sneak in yours and Bruce’s bed. He knew. Settling for his brother was fine. Because even if he could somewhat deal with the ghosts now...he still really hated being alone in the Manor. 

The secret was well kept. You never told anyone that Jason strongly believed in ghosts, and that he was sure the Manor was haunted.

And Jason never told anyone else but you. That even now...

Even after his death and resurrection.

Even after he grew up, changed.

Even as an adult…

Jason still hates being alone in Wayne Manor at night.

Actually, he hated it even more after his death. 

He couldn’t quite remember much from between the moment he died and the one Ras Al’Ghul threw him in a Lazarus pit, but sometimes, he had flashbacks of what he thought must be the afterlife. 

With someone kinda looking like Bruce but not being him (he was pretty sure it must be his father), and a woman who reminded him a lot of you but that wasn’t you (probably a certain Martha Wayne…). 

Which to him, confirmed the existence of ghosts. If there was something after death…Plus, in the meantime, he also met  a certain John Constantine and that dude had so many stories ! Though he never quite dared asking him to exorcise Wayne Manor. 

He really didn’t want anyone to know how much of a chicken he really was (damn misplaced pride, you hated it…and it was unfortunately a flaw ALL of your children + your husband had).

Yes. Even now, as a grown man, Jason would avoid as best he could being alone in the Manor when it was dark. 

In broad daylight ? He never minded. Nothing ever happened in the light. 

But at night ? Yeah. No. 

Which is why, right now, as he was fixing himself and Dick a snack, he was going extra fast so he would stay the least amount of time on his own in the kitchen. Why did he even made the offer to be the one getting the snacks ?!

The lights weren't flickering, and he hadn’t seen any ghosts in years (mainly because he never stayed after dark in the house), but still. STILL !! 

And as he heard footsteps behind him, but turned and saw no one...he jumped into the air, shoved all the snacks in his arms and ran as if his life depended on it back to his brother’s room, who in the meantime, had been invaded by his younger siblings too.

The next day, as Bruce would do his daily reviewing of the security cameras he placed all around the house (avoiding his children’s bedroom of course...or so he says), he got a bit confused by footage of Jason, being in the kitchen around 3 am, and suddenly running away, looking scared, as Alfred the cat walked in...

Bruce swore that sometimes, Jason did things that he didn’t understand. More than once, over the years, he saw him run away hurriedly from a room, or talk to no one in particular...Ah, his son was probably a hell of a sleepwalker !

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Just a little thing written in a very short amount of time. Because of reasons. Next story will be a long ass one so ya know... :). I hope you liked it ?Ah, and what do you think ? Is Wayne Manor haunted, or is Jason simply sleepwalking and have a very vivid imagination ?

As usual, feedbacks and reblogs = life. 

PS : As you noticed, I did not said my story was bad for once. I spend the last few days doing some self-care and...I’m gonna go easy on myself. Nothing can be perfect. And this exist just because I like to write, I don’t proof-read or just even re-read anything, this is my hobby in its “purest form”, just me enjoying to write about things I love, and sharing it. So. Yes. If that makes any sense...