#sibling!reader

[ymmpily]

Prologue

Summary: When a winter night turns tragic, young Vincent Rothschild is the sole survivor of a brutal newborn vampire attack that claims his parents’ lives. Rescued by the Cullen family just in time, Vincent is thrust within a world much darker—and more complicated—than he ever imagined. Haunted and afraid, Vincent finds comfort in Esme’s arms, but his presence ignites fierce debate within the Coven. Carlisle, who knew the boy’s parents, is determined to protect him, even as Edward and Rosalie warn him of the dangers: the Volturi’s laws are clear—humans do not belong amongst vampires.

↳ The Cullens x Adopted!Male Reader

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Minor Character Death, and talk about killing main character.

Word Count: 3,268

Masterlist |

September of 1997,

“Vincent, I asked you to put on your coat.�� Eleanor sighed as she carefully tugged the warm puffy coat onto her son, zipping it up. Vincent’s face scrunched up in a quiet frown. “Sorry, mama, I really want to play in the snow.” Eleanor chuckled softly, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. “Alright, darling, but don’t go too far. Dinner will be soon, so listen for me.” Vincent nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across his face as he dashed toward the red double doors, pushing them open into the front yard, his boots crunching in the newly fallen snow.

Winter had decided to arrive early this year round, blanketing the Rothschild front yard in a fresh, powdery white. The kind of snow that made everything feel new—safe, almost magical. Eleanor watched her son run through the snow with a tender smile, but as the wind began to howl a faint unease tugged at her chest. The trees swaying along with the rugged wind felt like a warning, a bad omen perhaps? But she dismissed it.

Inside, Eleanor moved to the kitchen, where the sweet, rich but familiar aroma wafted throughout the house—a smell that always calmed Eleanor and made her feel right at home. She stirred the pot with practiced hands, her thoughts wandering to her childhood; when her mother would cook this soup and sit at the table telling stories, fables for her and her brothers to memorize. The routine was comforting, something she always did and Eleanor would continue to follow this routine.

Soon, the sound of the front door creaking open reached her ears. Anthony stepped inside, brushing off the pesky snow that clung to his coat. Behind him, Vincent appeared, cheeks rosy and eyes wide with excitement. He was soaked through, his boots covered in snow, but he beamed as though winter itself was his playmate. “Ah, I was just about to call him in dear,” Eleanor said with a smile, her voice a soothing presence in the warm residence. Anthony chuckled softly, “I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

As Vincent hurried down the hallway, Anthony joined his wife at the dining table. The two exchanging a quiet glance, the comfort of routine settling over them like a warm blanket. “Anything new at the firm today?” Eleanor asked, dishing out bowls of the rich soup. “Nothing too exciting,” Anthony replied with a shrug, his voice carrying the calm indifference of a long day’s work. “Mark got fired today though, apparently he was having an affair with the manager's daughter. To say the least Derek was not happy and Mark won’t be missed. Otherwise it was just a few cases, nothing too pressing.” Eleanor frowned, her thoughts turning to Irene, Mark's wife. “Oh, I hope she’s doing alright…” A quiet sadness enveloped the table as both parents dug into their meal. The rich soup tasted even better than usual, yet Eleanor couldn’t shake the heaviness in her heart as she thought of Irene’s situation.

Vincent, the ever-hungry boy, finished his soup in record time. His bowl was practically clean, save for the mess on his face. He looked up at his mother, his big brown eyes sparkling with eagerness. Eleanor smiled softly. “Of course, sweetheart.” She filled his bowl once more, her hands steady, but her heart still heavy. Vincent’s joyful spirit filled the house, but there was a quiet, gnawing worry deep within her.

The evening soon passed with Vincent watching Scooby-Doo, laughter filling the room as he sat on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. The warmth of family surrounded them. The clink of silverware, the murmur of conversation, and the glow of the fireplace created a sense of peace, but even in the comfort of her home, Eleanor couldn’t push away the strange feeling that had settled deep in her chest.

After two episodes, Eleanor glanced at the clock and softly said, “Vince, it’s time for bed, darling.” Vincent, ever the stubborn child, pouted. “But mama, I want to watch more.” Anthony gave his son a gentle shake of the head. “Not tonight, buddy. You need your rest.” Reluctantly, Vincent agreed. He trudged down the hall, dragging his feet. The house was still and quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of pajamas as Vincent changed into his Spider-Man onesie and climbed into bed. The stars on his ceiling glowed in the darkness, comforting him as he stared up at them, lost in his own thoughts.

It wasn’t long before sleep claimed him—until a loud crash shattered the night's peace. It sounded like glass breaking, followed by hurried footsteps. Vincent’s heart raced as fear took root in his chest. He shot out of bed and crept towards the door, the house eerily silent except for the quickened thumping of his own heartbeat. From the hallway, he heard something else—voices—his mother’s and father’s unmistakable whispers. Then, the unmistakable sound of another set of footsteps. Someone was in the house.

Then came the scream.  A blood curdling scream from his own mother—one so full of terror that it froze Vincent’s blood in his veins. “Mama!” Vincent cried, his feet moving before he could think. “Papa!” He rushed down the hallway, every instinct telling him to protect his parents, but the sight that greeted him in the living room was enough to freeze him to his core. Eleanor lay motionless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath her, staining the once-pristine white rug. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. The man who had once held her so tenderly, Anthony, lay nearby, his body lifeless, his blood staining the floor as a tall, pale figure loomed over them. The creature turned its crimson eyes toward Vincent. In that moment, the fear that paralyzed him broke. He screamed, his voice high-pitched with terror. “Get away from them!” But the creature paid no mind. Its gaze never wavered from Vincent, hunger flashing in its eyes.

Meanwhile in the Cullen residence,

Alice froze, her hands shaking as a vision unfolded before her eyes. The world around her dissolved, and the horrors she saw were like a sickening wave that threatened to drown her. Her breath hitched as her vision came into focus—newborn vampires were attacking a family, and the child was the target. “What is it, Alice?” Jasper’s voice was urgent as he rushed to her side, his face pale with concern. “They’re after a boy… he’s in danger,” Alice gasped, her voice trembling with the knowledge of what was coming. “If they bite him… they’ll create an immortal child. They need to stop.” Carlisle immediately stood, his expression hardening as he took in the gravity of the situation. “Where are they? What does the house look like?” Jasper handed Alice a piece of paper, and with incredible speed, Alice sketched the house she had seen in the vision. The Cullen’s wasted no time. They were on the move, the smell of blood heavy in the air as they reached the Rothschild home.

Vincent didn’t know what to do. The vampire was upon him, pinning him to the ground. Its breath was hot on his face as it bared its teeth, preparing to sink them into his flesh. The world around him seemed to go dark, and just as the vampire’s fangs descended toward his throat, something— someone—tore the creature off him. Vincent scrambled to his feet, terror flooding his veins, and ran into his parents’ bedroom, slamming the door behind him. His sobs filled the darkness as he huddled in the closet, shaking uncontrollably, his tiny body wracked with fear.

Carlisle, his eyes sharp with concern, moved silently through the house, searching for the boy. The last of the newborn vampires were being dealt with by Jasper, Emmett, and Alice, but Vincent’s safety was his priority. He found him, huddled in the closet, shaking like a leaf. The soft sounds of crying were unmistakable. Carlisle’s dead heart ached seeing Vincent in such despair, he knew the boy to be lively, talkative, and more energetic than most boys his age. He knelt beside the human boy, the pale light from the moon seeping within the crack of the door, casting a soft glow upon the boy’s face revealing the tear stained cheeks.

The savage screams of the newborn vampire echoed through the house, each one making Vincent shrink deeper into the shadows of the closet. He curled in on himself, trying to disappear into the darkness. The soft glow of the moonlight that had illuminated his tear-streaked face moments ago faded, leaving him almost completely hidden. Carlisle’s eyes flicked instinctively toward the bedroom doorway as the growls and cries grew nearer—then, just as suddenly, they ceased, leaving behind an eerie, heavy silence.

“Vincent, it’s over now. You’re safe.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, as he extended a steady hand toward the trembling boy. Behind him, his adoptive children entered the room silently, their presence both reassuring and unnervingly still. “The newborns are gone,” Edward spoke softly, his amber eyes flickering to the human child, then to the back of Carlisle's head; his adoptive fathers thoughts loud in the smaller room. Edward knew it was a terrible idea, having a human child join a vampire Coven was unheard of; it was punishable.

“Carlisle, you can’t be serious,” Edward said, his voice tight with disbelief. His amber eyes flicked from the trembling boy to his father figure, searching for any sign of hesitation. “This isn’t like you.” Carlisle held his ground, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Don’t do that.” Edward’s brow furrowed. “What?” The room was still, “Do not use your gift against me,” Carlisle said, his tone firm, edged with rare authority. “If you want to understand my decisions, ask. But stay out of my thoughts.” Edward scoffed, taking a step back as if the words stung. “What happened to you being the voice of reason?” he snapped. “A human in a vampire Coven? It’s madness, Carlisle.” His voice rose, sharp with frustration. “If the Volturi find out, they won’t hesitate—they’ll kill us. All of us. They’ll make sure you watch while they slaughter that boy because you broke their laws.” He gestured toward Vincent, who shivered, eyes wide with fear at the mere mention of dying. “The boy is afraid, it doesn’t take Jasper to tell us that.” Edward spoke, softer now, but no less fierce. “And if you bring him into our world, surrounded by what he should fear most… he’ll never stop being afraid.”

Carlisle pinched the bridge of his nose, “I know what it entails, Edward. I don’t need it broken down.” Beside Edward, Rosalie scoffed, her arms crossed tightly, “You really aren’t thinking clearly,” she snapped. “We’re vampires for christ sake, Carlisle. He's a human child. How long do you think he’ll live?” In the background of the chaos was Esme, who was as gentle as she could be knelt in front of the boy. “You must be scared? I know that feeling, it’s okay now. No one is going to hurt you.” Esme saw as Vincent’s body started calming down, “They argue a lot, but it’s nothing to fear sweetheart.” Emmett placed a hand on Rosalie's shoulder, his tone gentle. “Rose, hey— relax. Let’s hear him out first.” Rosalie looked at her husband with pure disbelief, “I am hearing him out.” She hissed, “What I hear is insanity.”

Carlisle stood firm, and Esme rose from the ground, turning to face him. Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it. “Carlisle… this isn’t just risky. If the Volturi finds out, it won’t be a warning. It’ll be an execution.” The room fell silent, save for the human boy's heart. Still she stepped closer to him, taking his hand. “But if this is what your heart believes is right, then I will stand by you—no matter what it may cost.” Carlisle smiled, his eyes looking at their joined hands. “I knew the boy’s parents—Eleanor and Anthony. They were good people,” Carlisle said softly, his voice carrying both memory and sorrow. His golden eyes lingered on Vincent. “I can’t just leave him behind. And handing him over to someone else… That comes with its own risks. He’ll remember tonight, even if he can’t understand it.”

Rosalie scoffed and crossed her arms lightly over her chest, eyes narrowed. “So what now?” She snapped. “Play house? Pretend we’re some perfect little family while the Volturi watches our every move, just waiting for one wrong step to tear us apart.” Emmett didn’t dare speak, rubbing his lover's arm in a quiet attempt to sooth her rage. Rosalie’s amber eyes narrowed on the human boy, unflinching and fierce. There was pity in her gaze as she looked away from the boy. Carlisle remained still and silent, his thoughts filled with conflict, reasoning. His children were right after all. Esme, who had been standing at Carlisle’s side, said. “I understand what you all are feeling,” her gaze swept from Edward to Rosalie, softening as she finally looked up at Carlisle. “This is reckless, dangerous. It could cost everything we’ve worked for.” She paused, looking at Vincent. He was watching everyone closely, his eyes wet with lingering tears.

Before anyone could speak, Alice’s voice broke the brief silence. “I’ve seen him.” All heads turned, even Vincent’s who was now curious who she had seen. “Not clear. Just flashes,” she said slowly. “Moments. A little older. Still human… and alive.” Alice glanced at Vincent, his eyes wide and glinting with curiosity, before turning her gaze back to the others. “In every flash, he is with us.” Jasper stiffened beside her, “The visions don’t hold long.” Her voice wavered slightly, a rare uncertainty creeping in. Edward’s jaw tightened. “This means nothing, you of all people should know the future is unstable—especially around humans. One choice can change everything.” Alice’s golden-honey eyes briefly lingered on Edwards sharp gaze before they shifted to Jasper. “I know,” she replied. “This all feels like a terrible idea, logically anyway. Right now though, the future is clean of blood. We should take that for granted.”

Rosalie let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and jarring. “The future lies, Alice. It always has,” she snapped, arms crossed tightly over the chest. “You’ve seen things before that never came true—things that gave us hope just to rip it away.” Alice flinched slightly, but Rosalie wasn’t finished. “I don’t care what you all decide,” she said coldly, brushing past Emmett’s light touch on her arm. “But if you’re so keen on keeping it—” she motioned toward Vincent with a sneer, “ that disgusting thing, then fine. Just make sure it stays far away from me.” Her heels clicked hard against the wooden floors as she stormed out of the room, fury trailing behind her like a shadow. Emmett hesitated before slipping out of the room after her.

Carlisle stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the empty space where Rosalie and Emmett has been moments before. The stillness clung to the room, thick and unmoving. “Are… army parents really dead?” Vincent’s voice broke the quiet, trembling and thin, glazed with a glossy sheen of fear and disbelief. He didn’t look up. His eyes stayed locked on the floor, as though lifting them might force the truth to solidify��might make the loss feel real. A heavy silence followed, stretching between them like a wall.

Vincent shifted his weight, glancing toward the motherly woman—he couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered her face. Gentle, warm. Just like how she was when everyone was arguing. He had seen her before, when visiting Mr. Cullen, the man who stood next to her. She smiled at him then just like she was now. Vincent desperately wanted to curl up in her arms. Jasper quietly reached over and squeezed Alice’s hand, his touch gentle but grounding. He didn’t feel any thirst when he looked at the boy—no burn in his throat, no instinctual craving—but the boy was human nonetheless. Vincent’s emotions were loud, present still. Fear. Confusion. Jasper kept himself still, not wanting to startle Vincent, not when the boy had finally come out.

Carlisle approached the boy slowly, his expression calm, kneeling down so that his eyes were level with Vincent’s. There was a gentleness in the way he moved, as though any sudden motion might break the boy. “Vincent,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, “your parents… they’re just somewhere else now. Somewhere you can’t go—not yet.” He didn’t lie, not exactly. Vincent looked at him for a long moment. His eyes were tired, too tired for someone so young, but something in Carlisle’s words seemed to settle him. He gave a small, solemn nod.

Off to the side, Edward let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “Carlisle’s made up his mind,” he muttered, not bothering to hide the hint of frustration in his voice. “He’s keeping the boy, I’m done here.” He turned away, disappearing down the hall without another word. Alice lingered, her usually bright demeanor dimmed by unease. She stayed close to Jasper, her fingers laced tightly with his. Though she didn’t speak, her eyes remained on Vincent, watchful and uncertain. Nonetheless, she and Jasper stayed.

A tiny yawn escaped Vincent. Esme’s face softened with instinctive affection. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and gently lifted Vincent off the floor, cradling him against her like he weighed nothing at all. He didn’t resist. Instead, his small arms wrapped slowly around her neck, and he let out a breath—a deep, shuddery exhale, as if he’d been holding it in for hours. Within seconds, his body relaxed completely against hers, his head resting on her shoulder. Jasper stood silently nearby, a small smile creeping onto his lips. He absorbed the calm that had taken the place of fear. Alice, though still tense, softened at the sight, her eyes tracing the lines of the boy’s face as if trying to memorize something important.

The house settled into a pleasant silence, Carlisle’s gaze lingered on the boy sleeping soundly in Esme’s arms. Vincent’s breathing was slow and steady now, his small frame curled gently against her like he had belonged there all along. Esme swayed ever so slightly, humming a tune under her breath that only someone with heightened senses could hear. Her touch was instinctively material, protective. Peaceful. But Carlisle’s mind had already drifted somewhere else. The Denali Coven.

They had been gracious hosts so far—open, welcoming, even joyful in their reunion with extended family. But Carlisle knew the unspoken rules among them, the lines drawn in centuries of mutual understanding. Bringing a human child into their midst, especially one so young and vulnerable, wasn’t something any of them had agreed on. Family, yes. But not without conditions.

The Denali sisters—Tanya in particular—were not always temperate as Carlisle. There would be questions. Objections. Maybe worse. The boy’s presence would shift the balance of everything, no matter how gentle or innocent he seemed. Carlisle could already imagine the looks, the discussions held just out of earshot, the concern that one slip could spell disaster. Still, he said nothing. He didn’t want to burden Esme with the thought—she looked too serene, too full of quiet joy as she held Vincent, her fingers brushing through his hair with a tenderness that made Carlisle’s chest ache. He would carry this uncertainty alone, for now. There would be time to navigate the Denali Coven. Time to explain, to reason, to protect. No matter what Carlisle had made up his mind, the boy was going to be a part of the family.

[invincibledc]

Imagine the baby al ghul-Wayne twins, Y/N & Damian, these two are babbling their mouths off to each other. Bruce is just watching with an intense face, he’s trying to understand baby body language as he soon sees the brown skinned boy slap you. Your eyes widen before you start to cry. You definitely said something offensive to him in baby language. As Bruce sighs and goes to pick you up and punish Damian, Damian himself picks your hand up and makes you slap him.

Now he’s crying. Bruce just sweatdrops at this. what in the world just happened? Two baby twins crying as Damian just fails his arms around as you sit perfectly still.

Time skip, to the twins being 10. You and Damian are arguing as Bruce sighs at his kids. You hit his shoulder and he hits yours. You stay quiet as your face puff up, Damian puffs his face up as well, mimicking you. Before you can get more angry, Damian hugs you and says sorry. It’s different than what it was when you both were babies.

Bruce could only look in confusion, the twins are confusing.

[chixkencxrry]

Been Callin' Yo Name at My Altar

Summary: You are Smoke and Stack's older sister. You've always protected them. Why would now be any different? Remmick x Reader.

AN: Remmick shows up later in the story.

Warnings: miscarriage, mentions of domestic abuse, swearing. slurs (n-word), mentions of sex, depiction of murder, blood, killing of klansmen. It is tagged Stack x Reader and Smoke x Reader because they’re siblings not because it's romantic. No Incest here. NOT BETAREAD, NOT PROOFED.

I

Cinnamon oil smelled like fire. You pour the smallest amount into the bottle of lotion on your kitchen counter, then add some camomile to ease the burn of it. If not for your mother-in-law's burning gaze, you’d have added arsenic instead.

            When you turn, you meet her mean cat-eyes glaring over her wide fan. Miss Lorna always thought you too little for her son – too beneath her good, educated boy. You were the daughter of sharecroppers and the sister to criminals; and sold tinctures and home remedies to feed your younger siblings back when they were in your care. You were all wrong and too much; ill-fitted and ill-suited.

            Yet, Daniel had loved you. He had cared for you. He was the perfect husband at first. The first year together had been bliss; then his Daddy died and his Mama came to live with you two. Then he got mean. Real mean. All that molasses became sour fruit.

            By then, Elias and Elijah had gone to Chicago and were making a life for themselves. It would’ve been greedy to reach out, to ask them for help. They deserved a life of ease. You – you didn’t what you deserved, if you deserved anything but the burn of a fist against your skin.

            “I’m going down to the shop and pay the staff, gonna check over the bookkeeping.” Daniel announces as he enters the kitchen, smelling of cinnamon and camomile. He smiles at his mother and glances at you. In quick strides, he’s by his mother’s side and kisses her cheek.

            Miss Lorna, the old bitch, preens. Fluttering her lashes like some stupid school girl. “I’m sure there won’t be no error. Miss June is a bright lil girl and I hired her myself. She comes from good stock. Her father was a good man.”

            You go stiff then cork the lotion bottle before tidying up the counter. Daniel probably won’t say anything to you – you counted on it. You turn, taking the bag with his lunch and thermos, putting it on the counter closest to them before going to the furthest part of the kitchen. The house that they’d so proudly displayed was old, probably belonged to some mulatto bastard they’d all crawled out of. The kitchen about as big as the house you’d grown up in. The house for all its beauty and bigness, most of the time felt smaller than that old house. Even with your father’s evil ways and heavy hands, you still had your baby brothers to lift you up. Still had little Sammie that imbued you joy of life. Here you had no one.

            A hand rests on your shoulder, making you gasp in surprise. You look to see Daniel bearing down on you, like a Lord from an elevated throne. The eyes of evil he’d inherited from his mother glaring down at you.

            “Make an extra bowl for me, sweetness.” He says, licking his teeth and kissing your mouth. All slobbering and tongue; like you weren’t apart of the kiss. “I might be there mighty late.”

            You nod and go ahead, knowing it won’t be for him. Knowing Miss June will eat of your hand. You hope she tastes your hatred. You hope she sees what her future might be; trapped, suffocating, dying.

            He takes the bowl and tips his hat; the thundering of his new car rolling off the plot so fast you might have had whiplash if you were looking. Rather, you were looking at the view behind his mother, whose gaze was on you – sticky and thick, like she could read your mind.

            “You gon’ wash me, or I have to shit myself again, girl?” She snarls, spitting on the ground.

            The hibiscus trees sway in the wind. The lemon trees, planted by you in that first year of love, grown tall and bloom bright blossoms. You wonder if you could see Clarksdale from that window, beyond that high green.

            Your day dreaming is stopped by the wet splat of a spit on your front toes. You shiver; rage trembling. Your eyes narrow at her manic expression – you turn, step back and grip the handles of wheelchair. Hearing her giggles; like she won.

            The downstairs bathroom had a large clawfoot tub; golden feet and a luxurious step-in. You wipe her off, rinsing the faeces and piss, before setting her into the warm soapy water. Miss Lorna closes her eyes and relaxes. She would take ten minutes to relax; often ordering you out of the room. Now was no different.

You run upstairs to your own room and wash with warm water. You hurriedly grab the two bags you’d tucked away a fortnight ago; all your papers, the money you saved and stolen from your husband, everything you needed to run. Walking out the house, you could hear Lorna calling for you – but you couldn’t find it in you to give a fuck. That bitch and her son could burn for all you cared. You were getting the fuck out of there and heading to Louisiana; you had been writing Annie, on and off. She had people there who could keep you for a bit, hide you until the tides passed on your pregnancy and you could give the baby to people who could love it right.  

But you had to get home first.

Five miles down the road, at the back of an old barn sits the car you’d bought from your mother’s pawned wedding ring. Mr Miller – the owner of this property kept it for you, keeping it running for the past year.

“Though, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to show off. Rich as your husband is, he must be proud to have such an industrious wife. Why, coming down here and buying a car for your husband’s birthday is a mighty fine thing to do.”

“All through the grace of God, sir.”

He’s nowhere to be seen when you limp your way to his property. Between the oak trees, you rest your bags so he doesn’t notice, doesn’t assume, and try to be upright and calm. Even if you can hear your heartbeat in your ear. Hands shaking like a hummingbird. The barn doors are open and at the back, beneath dusty tarp, your escape sits. Freedom is iron and gas; freedom is four-seater with and open hatch.

When you set off; you swear you can see Clarksdale and hear the rumble of your brothers in the distance; their unanswered letters burning in your chest. I’m coming, you thought, hoping somehow they could hear, I’m coming home.

***

Shrouded in the dark of midnight, Annie’s home was no less welcoming than it had been six years ago when you left. The car you had taken was in a creek, four miles back, sinking to the base. Your feet sore as you creep close, bags heavy and stomach weighty.

The porch light is lit; its indigo blue beaconing you.

Before you raise your hand to knock; the door swings open and you smile. Annie is as beautiful as you remember her. All shining in the grace of her gift, all regal like a Queen of a distant land.

“They tell you I was coming?” you can’t help but joke, though your voice is out of use from years of silence.

Annie shakes her head, laughs, cries, but reaches for you – holding you tight like you might disappear. Your bags fall and you start crying too; crying for that baby in your stomach, crying for that ache in your heart, crying for everything and nothing at all.

It’s easy to fall back into Clarksdale.

You find yourself in town, in your uncle’s church, tending to your cousins. Sammie was a man now. All youthful and light, with a voice that was magic. You find yourself in Annie’s kitchen. Among her roots and bones, the altars of ancestors.

“You even know who you praying to?” you taunt one night when you’re feeling exceptionally vicious and hateful; when that seed is growing extra big in your belly. The two of you are eating at her little table, candle light got the whole house glowing. “Not like we even know our ancestors.”

Annie cuts her eyes at you; “Praying? That what you think I be doing? I am talking to my ancestors, girl. We communing. It’s a conversation. It’s love here. They ain’t better than me, they guiding me, showing me.”

“How you know it’s them?” something desperate rides your voice.  “How you know who to listen to?”

“You been hearing voices, Sug?” Sug, short for Sugar, cause you were always sweet to them – a nickname that stuck like gum to the back of your soul.

You tilt your head. “All my life. I ain’t crazy. They don’t tell me to strip naked and run into the Mississippi or nothing. But I remember the night I married Daniel – they’d been screaming at me, crying. How you know who to listen to?”

Annie looks at you like she’s only just seeing you. Like this is the first time you ever sat across from her at a table. It unnerves you. You regret saying anything, it was stupid. Hearing your ancestors. Where your ancestors been for the past six years while your husband and his Mama made you they slave? Fuck them dead people.

“Listen to them all at first.” Annie murmurs, dipping her spoon into the soup you’d made. “Take it in and focus. You know who your guide is.”

That was some bullshit. You didn’t tell her that though. “Think I’m going to head out before the week is out. Don’t want him to start looking for me – if he even do.”

“He ain’t looking.” Annie says in a way that’s not unkind, simply honest. It stings. Somehow. You can’t imagine who you aren’t glad. You feel some kind of way that the man you took care of, loved, wouldn’t be looking for you.

He didn’t love you. He loved what you did for him. Loved your power. Your pussy.

You clear your throat. Knocking that voice out; since you left Daniel, the words became clear as a whistle. Like whoever was speaking was right next to you.

Your plan to go to Louisiana doesn’t disappear, you do put it on hold for a bit. Even if you weren’t running from Daniel, you sure as fuck weren’t staying here in Clarksdale. Not with the Klan at every corner, lurking in a way they hadn’t back there. Clarksdale was strangling. The worse haunt of it all was your Daddy. His evil grin. His evil leer. You saw it in the gaze of a shadow, in the glare of a fire.

You see him in your reflection; turning over in you.

You my daughter, after all, ain’t ya?

If Annie sees your turmoil, she’s kind enough not to bring it up. She doesn’t even whisper it. Instead, she shows you her gardens and her notes, tells you what does what, welcomes you into a craft that has ran through her veins before her people made it over the Atlantic. You always considered her your sister anyway. But there’s something concrete in the smoke and mist she shows you, when you tie your first mojo bag – you feel something you hadn’t in years.

Belonging.

It hums under your skin. Honeybees buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, stinging that flesh and filling your blood with sweet venom. Oh, you were home in this. Your hip to her hip, your hands in that dirt, throwing them bones and singing them hymns of protection.

“You ain’t come to church in a while, Sug.” Your uncle says when you drop in one Sunday to visit Sammie. You’re in a nice, white dress that conceals your four-month stomach, with a broad rim hat. The gloves on your hand help you letting the bible slide from your hold.

“I just been taking it easy.”

Your Uncle narrows his eyes. “When your husband coming back for ya? Or you part ways?”

“My husband visited me last weekend. We didn’t get out much. On account of, well, you know.”

He had the nerve to blush. “You should get a room or something. Staying at that den of paganism will send you straight to hell.”

“I’m doing just fine, Unc. Annie don’t make worship the devil, even if I ask nicely.”

“You ain’t ever been funny, girl. Don’t start today.”

“I’ll see you next Sunday, Uncle.” You wave, kissing your teeth as you left the church. Sammie is waiting for you just outside, his guitar on his shoulder. He takes your bible and the two of you walk in silence.

“Daddy pissed you off?”

“We disagreed is all.” Your Uncle did piss you off but it wasn’t your place to sew discontent amongst father and son. Your Uncle was a good man. Better than his brother.

Sammie looks at you and hums. Smarter than his age. “He and I disagree too.”

“Fathers and sons do that.”

“I don’t wanna be a preacher.”

“A preacher is a fine task to take on. It’s honest and solid.”

“It don’t do shit for nobody.”

“Sammie.” You admonish, though a laugh lays on your throat.

Sammie smirks, laughing. “I wanna play. Wanna make music for people’s joys and sadness. Wanna do the blues.”

You don’t say anything at first, opening your mouth to speak but a holler comes out, the loudest thing for miles. The pain searing from your stomach to your core. Streaming down, dampening your nice, white dress – is deep, rushing blood.

You scream and scream and scream.

But that doesn’t stop what’s happening; no God or ancestor could.

II

            The cold, wet cloth glides over your forehead, patting the long gone fever away. This doctor looks at you with pity. He seems like he belongs in one of those hospitals that would spit at your feet if you even tried to get treatment there; you wonder who pays for his visits over the past month since you lost the baby.

            Ain’t it obvious?

            When the doctor leaves, you sit up and sip the tea Annie had brought you hours ago – gone cold now, but no less useful. “Tell Mary she don’t have to pay for that no more. I don’t want her husband knowing she got roots this side. Her Momma done dead, she’ll have to come here soon. Don’t want any trouble.”

            “You know as well as I do, ain’t no telling Mary what to do.”

            You smirk, chuckling. “Ain’t that for fucking sure.”

            Annie sits with you; humming as she stitched the neck shut on a doll.

            “Who getting got?” you tease, eyes on the doll.

            “It ain’t for nobody like that. A gift for a little girl.”

            “I see.” You hum, closing your eyes. “Could use some wool thread for the hair. Make it pretty.”

            “Got some scraps from a red dress I was gon’ add. Think she’ll like it.”

            “What little girl wouldn’t.” you murmur, eyes feeling heavy.

            A knock sounds at the door. Annie had taken to locking it these days, claimed you’d been sleepwalking since they brought you back from the doctor. You weren’t likely to believe it but didn’t say anything. Once Annie got a thought in her head, it was stuck there. Gum on a kite stick. She goes and answers it, her voice kind to the person on the other side. A friend, you decide it must be, not a customer.

            Sammie, a voice rings.

            Through the door of the bedroom, your cousin comes in, guitar in hand.

            “You finished your quarter early, Sammie?” you query, sitting up with a smile. You still saw Sammie as a round-faced baby you’d have on your hip while you sold mixtures in the square. He sits at the foot of the bed and leans back; an agedness upon his young face. Something in you ached at the sight. “How about a song? That one you been working on, sing it for me.”

            “Ain’t you tired of it?” he asks with shy sweetness.

            “Never.”

            He plays and you lean back. Soaking it all in. Listening to the humming around him – the voices of those known and unknown; carrying the tune through every part of you. How lovely it is. How pure. When he finishes, you clap and holler.

            “Look at you, boy! Sound damned good. Lord, you sound better than you do in church. Do you know that?”

            He smiles, then grins. “I know. Been playing a few places.”

            “Hedon.” You tease hands moving to cup your stomach before they fall against the soft flatness. You flinch but try to hide it. Sammie, somehow sees – the boy was far too bright than he let on.

            “Smoke and Stack been writing me.”

            “Oh?” You had written to your brothers once since arriving at Annie’s but they hadn’t responded. “What they say?”

            Sammie looks around; not wanting Annie to hear what he had to say. “They ought to be here in two days time. Opening a juke joint.”

            “Juke Joint, huh?” you murmur.

Lord, not them bad ass boys.

            “I’m gonna be playing the opening night.” He beams.

            “You gon’ do good wherever you go.” You compliment.  

         ��  The two of you chat a bit more about his younger siblings and his father. How your doing, the weather, music and how your brothers coming home might change things. When you doze off, the sun dipping in the distance, Sammie leaves you to slumber.

            In your dreams – green eyes taunt you, a river of blood drowns you and a baby cries. You awake in pitch black, Annie’s back to you as she snores peacefully. A piss holds you and you groan as you crawl over her. You grab your coat and slip on the first slippers you find, and head to the outhouse.

            The crickets are creaking something ugly and the mosquitos whine in your ears. But the night breeze is cool and refreshing, batting fiercely against your skin. Lulling you.

            When finished, you don’t feel the urge to get back in right away. Instead, you walk between the tall trees, feet beating on a desire path until you meet a log bathed in moonlight; waiting for you. Sitting on it, you hold yourself close and bow your head.

            Tears stream down your face, a faucet running and your sobs echo in this private space. You hadn’t even wanted the baby, half-Daniel, a quarter Lorna, a quarter your Daddy – you couldn’t predict it. But you reasoned, it could have been a bit of you, Elias, Elijah or Sammie. It could have been good, despite all that. And now, you’d never know.

            Better gone than to take the risk.

            “Fuck off!” you shout, snout running down your nose. You wipe it off and holler, pressing your face into your knees as the tears rock you. Who were they to tell you how to break?

            “You doin’ okay, little lady?” a drawling voice calls from the darkness.

            Your head snaps up and you wipe you face hurriedly, standing with your hands balled into fists – ready to face whoever was out there. Through the thicket, a tall white man emerges, a banjo on his back as he smiles at you. You jolt, hands in front of you. Fuck, had you walked so far into Klan land?

            “I…I don’t want any trouble, sir. I’ll be heading off now.” You say, eyes low but still able to watch him – and behind, in case he had any friends keen on surprising you. You take a step back, trembling with fear.

            “Not looking for any, Miss. Just heard you crying and wanted to see that you was alright.”

            “I’m alright.” You assure, stepping back further.

            “My name’s Remmick. And you, Miss?”

            “I’m Sug.” There was no way you’d be giving this man your actual name.

            “Sug. Suga’.” He rolls the nickname over his tongue like he was tasting something, his face utterly pleased by the sound of it. “Ain’t that sweet. What got you crying?”

            “None for you to worry about.”

            “I don’t plan on worrying. Just wanna hear your voice some more.”

            You stumble but right yourself. Was this man flirting with you? Though scared, you answer, the words tumbling out fast. Looking back; you’ll blame the moonlight, the tears, and maybe even that look he’s fixing you with. Like you was something special. “Lost my baby a month back. Feel like a failure of a woman. For losing it and not wanting it to start with.”

            “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice is low, sympathetic. Remmick takes a step closer to you; his eyes lock you in place and you can’t move. “Makes you feel all kinds of sad and confused, don’t it? Little bit angry too.”

            You blink. “A little bit.”

��           “Sit with me?”

            “I-I think its better I leave. You have a good night.” You say, turning through the path you came, and running. Through the voices in your head, whispering danger, your hear his own, sympathetic, seductive, and sinful.

Worse is the desire deep within your belly.

            They give him a name; a category – a specie. This, they don’t whisper, this they shout. You go straight for Annie’s notes in the morning and make a plan.

***

            Sammie thinks it will be a nice surprise for the twins, if when they pick him up from church, they see you too. You tell him it’s a stupid idea but you go with him regardless. A scratching part of your soul aching wants you to be there; to see these boys turn men.

            You wait at the turn of the door; watching them hug and greet each other. Looking on like some creeper at your family. You tremble when you get to the door, Stack sees you first – cool dripping away to a grin, then Smoke, a smile, small and secret. They look like their fighting the urge to curse you out and lift you up. Luckily, the church prevents the former.

            “Don’t you look pretty, Sug.” Stack starts, coming up those steps and hugging you tight. You kiss his cheek and rub his face; boyish and mischievous.

Smoke comes after, hugging you and kissing your cheek. “You look good, sis. Healthy. Happy. That husband of yours let go?”

You stiffen. “We got some catching up to do, Elijah.”

Elijah still acts like the world is on his shoulders. Still carrying more than he ought to. Back bent beneath the weigh of his own expectations. You kiss his other cheek and hold him tight. “Daniel was more like Daddy than I thought.”

He looks at you, really looks at you before he turns his gaze and curses. Elias swears louder, his face an ugly turn of rage. “We gon’ set you right. You hear me?”

“I’m gon’ see you tonight. See y’all tonight. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You squeeze their hands. “I’m gon’ head into town and get some things then head back to Annie’s.”

“You staying at Annie’s?” Elias asks with a grin.

Elijah rolls his eyes. “Give me yo list, I can take you to Annie’s. No trouble.”

            “Of course, it ain’t no trouble. Ah hope you take a long walk befo’ you see yo’ lil bro sin—oh nigga, you ain’t had to hit me that hard!”

            You smirk, taking a pen and notebook from your bag to write the list of herbs you could only get from one of the Chinese grocers. Bo would probably have everything, he knew what you liked to add to your bags.

            “The fuck is a gotu kola?” Elijah mutters, strolling back to the car. Elias hops in the back, while Elijah helps you into the front seat. The Mississippi day is humid, but the drive cools you. You listen to their conversation faintly but mostly find yourself dozing off. When the car stops, Elijah taps your shoulder, but you hear – through your sleepy haze – your other brother’s voice warning him off of waking you up.

            It doesn’t work though, you sleep only for a moment before Elijah is back again.

            He takes you to a truck, filled to the brim with no doubt bootleg gears and alcohol. You say nothing. You had failed as his protector, so what right did you have to ask him where these things came from. Death lingers all over him, all around Elias too. It was worse than when they left; this was deeper. If they were swimming in a pond before, now they were diving in a river wider and fiercer than the Mississippi. Your brothers are drenched in darkness and it was your fault; you had failed them.

            “Did he beat you?”

            “Not at first. Started when his Mama moved in with us. He got real mean then. Got meaner when he started fucking his staff.”

            “Want me and Stack to take care of him?”

            “You boys don’t gotta. I left. I’m free.”

            “There’s that word.” Elijah mutters. “How come you ain’t write us back?”

            “Didn’t want y’all to worry. It was my burden.”

            “That’s stupid as hell. We family. All them years you took care of us. Took beatings for me. It was our job to look over you. I thought you forgotten us. Thought you was in that big house, happy as can be.”

            “Good.” You say, narrowing your eyes against the glare of the sun. “That’s how it supposed to be. Y’all were mine to care for.”

            “Yeah, well we grown now. ‘Bout time we took care of you.”

            You laugh, patting his hand. “Ain’t no need. I just need y’all safe and alive. No more of this dirt.”

            “Can’t say. We knee-deep. We got roots in this.”

            “I been planting a lot. I can replant ya. Big sister is here now.”

            Elijah shakes his head. Not believing you, but you were earnest. You spoke this promise to the ancestors, to the past and future. You’d do anything to ensure that. You had failed them once; it would not happen again. This, you put your soul on, this, you put everything on.

            Be careful what you promise, girl.

***

            When Elijah places the white flowers at the grave of his child, he pauses at the one beside her, looking back at you with question. You frown, keeping tears back. “Lost her a few months in, weeks back. Wasn’t meant to be.”

            He nods. “I’m sorry…we…I’m sorry, Sug.”

            “Don’t worry ‘bout that.” You say, looking back at the house then him. “Go see your lady. I’m gon’ take a swim and pick some herbs. I’ll be there tonight. Remember to keep one of those Irish beers for your big sister.”

            Elijah gives you one last look before entering the house, nodding before he disappears. You stand there for a moment; staring at it in the sunlight, the glow of the day surrounding it like something divine. When you turn your back, a shiver runs down your spine. Some unknown feeling of dread that you pushed down for nerves. You pause before heading to the creek, making a turn for the truck. In the crevice, a second gun was tucked. You took it with you, tucking it into your skirt.

            Gathering all the herbs you want take much longer than you’d like, the ones in Annie’s garden are easy to find and put aside. The ones amongst the forest take longer. The ancestor guide you though; when you almost pick a poison fungus you hear a chorus of shouts asking you if you were stupid. You cussed them right back, because hello, this was your head. Fuckers.

            You empty the gun and fill it with your own bullets you’d haphazardly made. Though, they need not have looked pretty – you’d melted down all the jewellery Daniel had ever given you to make them after all. You would give it to Smoke as a gift when this was all over with.

            It was twilight by the time you got to the creek. Three tone dying sky across the horizon; orange bleeding to purple, purple bleeding the black. You’d have to be quick to make it back to help the boys.

            The creek was a few miles back, deep in the forest. No one really came down here this time of the day, you were confident you would have it to yourself. Between two sycamore trees, a hammock was slung. You dust the leaves off and begin to remove your clothes. The mojo bag Annie made for you swinging on your chest.

            You had just stepped out of your underwear when you hear a familiar drawl.

            “Should’ve known you’d come back to this shithole town.”

            “Daniel.” You curse, feeling the gun beneath your folded clothes. You turn and see him standing beneath a cypress, his eyes ringed with darkness. Daniel was more worn than you’d ever seen him; looking horrid in the daylight. A man haunted. His fancy shoes were dusty and crunched on a twig as he got closer.

            “Beautiful as ever, sweetness,” he sugars in the air, a smile on his handsome face.

            You step back, gun behind your back as you backed into the creek. He couldn’t swim but you knew how patient he was; particularly when he wished to be cruel. Daniel would wait.

            “What are you doing here, Daniel?” you croak.       

            “Does a man need a reason to see his wife?” he scoffs. “I came to take you home, sweetness. Your Uncle, he wrote me, told me how you lost the baby. Told me how you said I was letting you come here to give birth and heal. Never took you for a liar, sweetness. Stupid – but never a liar.”

            “He should’ve minded his business.”

            “You my business. Running off like that, leaving Mama to almost drown in that tub! But I can forgive you. I can find it in me to forgive you – if you come home, now.” He steps closer, long legs closing the gap fast but you draw the gun faster – his eyes widen as he stares at you, shocked.

            You point the gun at his foot and fire.

            “Fuck!” Daniel swears, falling back against the trunk of a tree; eyes burning into you. “You fucking bitch!”

            “Why the fuck are you here? Don’t give me no bullshit about forgiving me you evil motherfucker.”

            Daniel clutches his foot, looking up at you with so much hatred, five months ago you would have pissed yourself in fear. Instead you bare your teeth and fire off another shoot, right by his head. “Shit! Fuck! You crazy bitch. Damn, I just – June can’t have kids. Then I read one of them letters, if you could get one baby, I figured you could give me another.”

            Disgust fills you. “Oh you are a sick motherfucker you know that.”

            “You loved me though. Took all my shit and still sucked my dick.”

            “I was terrified! I was so afraid you’d hurt me, you and that evil mother of yours! Twin demons.” You holler, shaking your head, you huff – pointing the gun at his head and firing a shoot between those eyes that had been haunting you for weeks. Now, he was lifeless at your feet. You throw your head back; mouth open as the howls of your ancestors echo, their individual cadences and songs spilling as they rejoiced in his death.

            “Now, ain’t this something.”

            You jolt, tripping over Daniel’s limp leg. Smiling, at the edge of the creek was Remmick. His gaze holding none of the false humanity of before; now, his eyes were that of feral creature. In the dark, he grins a row of white. This man has the look of hunger and you doubt that it has anything to do with your nakedness.

            He folds his arms and taps a finger on his mouth. “Did you do this, Miss?”

            “Step back, I don’t know what the fuck you are but you ain’t right.” You say gripping the gun and crawling back. “You gon’ get the fuck away from me.”

            Remmick sniffs the air and in a moment, the drawl is dropped for something older, more natural on his wicked tongue. “Is that vervain? Oh, little lass been doing her research.”

            “Yeah motherfucker, and garlic.” You murmur then taps the gun at the side of your head. “Got something in the chamber too.”

            “But you ain’t here to kill me. Are ya?”

            A silence drawls out between them. He looks pleased with himself. You want to aim for his chest. “I figure you must want something from me. Else you’d have killed me that night.”

            “Smart and pretty, aren’t ya lass?”

            “I want a deal.” You broker, holding up your mojo bag. “You gotta tell me what you want first.”

            “That’s easy.” He leans in. “I want you. I want your stories, I want those voices in your head. And I’ll give you my stories. My histories. We gonna be help to each other – robbed to robbed, taken to taken. We share a mutual devil.”

            “I’m staring at a devil – ain’t I?”

He hums. “Ain’t you killed one today? Ain’t one trying to kill your brothers in the morning – burn it all down. I’m sure one of your voice told ya that, lass. I can be the familiar devil. Your devil.”

“Get in the water.” You say, gun pointed.

He puts his hands up. You feel like he’s humouring you rather than taking your threat seriously. “Let a man undress first, can ‘e?”

“You can’t run. You hear me? I got vervain all around here and I been chanting since you came out. We’re stuck together till we see this through.”

“Lass,” he laughs, naked in a second. “That’s a treat.”

You flutter your gaze up and in the moment it takes you to look down again, he’s in the creek, doing backstroke amongst the herbs and mojo bags you’d tossed in. Your hand trembles but you step in, mojo bag still on your chest.

“Remmick,” you say his name and he stops, staring. Then he says yours. Your proper, actual name. You ought not be surprised he knows it – being a demon and all, vampire. “We enter a bargain to become companions and not Childe and Sire.”

He repeats, eyes on your own.

“That I will share my gift with you without prejudice.”

He repeats, standing now in the water, thighs touching your own. The gun is tightly squeezed between the two of you. “You, in turn, will slaughter the Klan for miles to come. You will leave all that I share blood with, all I care for – you will leave them alone.”

Remmick smiles; broad and full of sharp promise. Then he bows his head and kisses you, not like Daniel had, greedy and selfish. Remmick tastes your lips and mouth, cleans it out and finds home, he pulls back and you follow, kissing him too.

Sealing the deal. Selling your soul for the salvation of those you loved.

“I want to see them once before you kill me.” You say, feeling his tongue graze your neck. He kisses the skin, lips pillow soft until he meets your mouth again.

“Done.”

“I bind thee to this fate then. To keep this promise or perish under the morning star.”

Then he kisses you again, the gun limp in your hand as you wrap yourself around him and let him taste you. Remmick divides your legs nestling his hips between your thighs. You feel his hand go to your button, dipping into your centre to stroke fire there.

When you scream this time, its all you. All desire.

III

You hear the music before you see the joint.

It ain’t Sammie singing, but probably Delta Slim. You feel the life, the people pouring out at you, the bubbling echoes of your people crying to be apart of it. But you hadn’t the time. You had to see your brothers before you died.

“You can see them again, ya know.” Remmick whispers upon your neck. His hands rubbing the front of your dress, cupping your breasts with the impatience of a starved man. “All it takes is some control. Hell, you might want them to share in this – eternity.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say without bite, trying not to enjoy the way his hands feel over the satin of the crimson dress. How your body was bare beneath and pressing against his own; his imprint a recent memory. “And don’t pop up until I say good-bye.”

“A deal is a deal, lass.” He says, nipping at your neck.

Cornbread dips his hat to you and smiles as you enters, “Twins been looking for ya Sug.”

“I see the party already started.” You tease, smiling. Taking a step in. Pride swells inside of your chest – look at what your boys had done. Tears prickle your eyes. “I’m gon’ go looking for them.”

As luck would have it you don’t have to look far. Above the crowd, you see the twins. Making your way through the crowd, you see Sammie dancing with Miss Pearline – a married woman, if you recall correctly – you’re tempted to scold but stop yourself. It ain’t your business, you decide.

Let the boy have some fun.

Annie is dealing with customers, smiling at them as they hand her wooden coins. You go straight to her and wait until she’s finished before you order. “Give me some of that Italian wine.”

“No Irish beer?” she asks.

“Nah, I don’t think I have the taste for it.”

When she places the drink in front of you, you stop her from turning away. “This should cover it.”

Annie looks down at where your hands meet and her mouth drops. “This is solid gold – where did you get this from?”

“It’s gon’ be enough to help for a few months. Good money.”

Annie holds it. “Old money. Real old and bloody.”

“You let me worry about that.”

“Where you get this from?”

“That ain’t nobody problem but mine. You hear me?” You warn with the sternness of age; Annie may be older than you in Hoodoo but she would respect you as her elder even if it was just five years.

Annie shakes her head. “You leaving again, aren’t you?”

“I left a letter on your bed. Some gifts at the foot of the stove.” You say low, leaning so no one else would hear. “I love you, girl. You my sister. You make my brother lots of babies – okay?”

She nods turning her face. You take it as a gift and turn away too, before you start crying. You slither through the crowd until you meet the twins, alone and arguing amongst each other. You clear your throat and Elias gives you a big smile, kissing your cheek and hugging you tight. “You looking good, Sug. How you like our place?”

“It’s amazing, Elias.” You squeeze his hand and kiss his fingers. You look at Elijah. “But I ain’t here to stay.”

“And why the hell not?”

“You fellas know you bought this from the klan?”

“That pot-bellied motherfucker. Yeah, we know.”

“Did you know he was coming back here to kill y’all? It what he does. Sells this to niggas then comes back to kill them then sell it again.”

It was Elijah who curses this time. “Motherfucker!”

You let go of Elias’ hand next and dig into your bosom. Taking two little bags out. “I’m taking care of it, though.”

“What you gon’ do?” Elias teases.

“Put a mojo bag on ‘em?” Elijah taunts.

You roll your eyes. “Put them on. Elijah, I know you have Annie’s but this…is an addition.”

“Whatever you say.” Elijah murmurs. He was always the more obedient.

Elias rolls his eyes and ties it too.

“I’m leaving.” You say and the boys pause.

“Going where?” Elijah says at the same time Elias says. “The hell you not.”

“I killed Daniel this afternoon. His people gonna look for him.” You lie. “I’ll write you boys and you better answer.”

Elias kisses your cheek and Elijah the other. “We just got you back and now you leaving us again.”

“Y’all got your ladies. Don’t need me no more.” You murmur. Tears falling free now. “I love y’all. Wish I had protected you more. Wish I had done a better job of keeping Daddy off ya.”

“Nah,” Elijah says, hugging you. “You did the best. You kept us alive.”

“Alive ain’t it. Living needs more than that.” You say. “I left some gifts at Annie’s for y’all and Mary.”

“Shit. You acting like you ain’t coming back.” Elias says, gripping you tighter.

A familiar song comes from below. You close your eyes and sway; Sammie’s playing that song now. And it’s sounding mighty pretty. You take both of theirs, and sway. “C’mon, dance with ya sister like when we was chil’ren.”

 As Sammie plays, you hold your boys and dance, and sway. Moving to the music and feeling young and old at the same time. Knowing this was the last time you’d hold them like this, smell them, feel them. Your heart broke from it all. From the loveliness of holding them – one – last – time.

When you leave, you see Sammie and plant a hug on him, making him promise to go to Chicago and to name a song after you. He looks at you, his big cousin, like you hung the moon as you disappear into the night.

***

            It’s almost dawn by the time you’ve slaughtered the last Klansman. The gun in your hand – stolen from the first set you’d killed, hung as you stare down at the bloated body of the one who’d planned to kill your brothers. Grand Dragon. He didn’t look very grand beneath your slipper, choking on his own blood.

            “Don’t it feel good, powerful?”

            You turn to Remmick, eyes the colour of your dress as his gaze lingers all over you. “Will it hurt when you make me one of you?”

            “It will. Briefly.”

            “Will it be quick?”

            “No.”

            “Can you make me forget it? Make me feel good, like you did last night?”

            “Oh, darling. I plan to.”

[deadghosy]

slytherin boys react to aibling reader clinging onto them,not wanting them to leave after they come home from holidays and sibling literally not letting them go? Like clinging onto their legs,arms,body

HOW THE SLYTHERIN BOYS REACT TO LITTLE SIBLING! READER CLING TO THEM:

I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

Ft. The riddles, Draco malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire

A/N: in this, the boys have a normal family, no evil shit ���� just pure sibling and family love

Tom Riddle

The moment you clinged to him with teary eyes, his face structure softened and picked you up.

“Nonono! DONT leave me!” You said as Tom kissed your head. Tom honestly felt his cold heart melt, the way your eyes tear up made him want to stay longer. But he needs to go back so he can graduate.

“Sweetheart, I promise when I graduate or when a next holiday comes. I’ll show up again.” You sniffled into his chest. “Promise?” “Promise.”

As you watched Tom leave with tears in your eyes still, Tom felt guilty. He loved his little sibling. But the way you cried.

Broke his heart.

Mattheo Riddle

PLEASE DONT…he’s gonna cry. Like literally internally he’s clawing the floor and gripping his hair to not cry while his inner demons want to kidnap you and bring you to Hogwarts with you.

He knows he can’t bring a non-student to Hogwarts. It’s against the rules. But he may break it just for you. As he sees your clinging to his shirt, crying with those soft baby doe eyes. His heart is clenching.

“Mom can I bring them…” immediately your mom says no as mattheo roll his eyes.

When he got to Hogwarts, this bastard already made a plan. He’s gonna kidnap you, make a small little bed and a small bathroom for you. And boom! Bring in extra food from the great hall!

It’s perfect isn’t it..

Draco Malfoy

“Father, I’m taking Y/N with me.” He says with a serious face as you had teared up a bit after he said he was going back to Hogwarts.

Your brother spoils you well, and you love him for that. But you love him for himself more which makes Draco feel even better about.

Your father just rolls his eyes. Which is a simple no. And Draco just sighs. Jokingly telling you he will take you away anyways

Which was actually 50/50 percent a joke cause he actually did show up only to get grounded😭

But he does love you!

Theodore Nott

“NON VOGLIO CHE TU MI LASCI!!” (I don’t want you to leave me!!)

You cried out clinging to his arm. He had visited Italy only to not try and just take you with him. But he knew he can’t as he knee down and hold your tiny hands.

“Ascolta, tornerò, va bene? Forse puoi venire a trovarmi probabilmente. Ma ti amo e ho bisogno che tu rimanga forte per me okay?” (Listen, I’m gonna come back okay? Maybe you can come visit me probably. But I love you and i need you to stay strong for me)

“Ok…” you said in sniffles. You then hugged theo who had a small smile on his face. Kissing your head and forehead as he leaves.

He does send you small letters and gifts he find that you will like.

He loves you dearly

Lorenzo Berkshire

Will cry as well like mattheo. This big brother is gonna send you notes about what his daily life is like as a Slytherin in Hogwarts

So when you get sorted into his house or any other, he doesn’t want you to get nervous when it’s your first time in Hogwarts.

The way you cringed to his leg as you cried for him to not leave you. He immediately dropped to his knees and cried with you.

Leaving your parents to try and separate you both. Your eyes puffy as his nose is slightly runny.

The sibling love is strong as he kisses your head and wishes you goodbye.

He cries a little arriving back to Hogwarts, but he wants to be seen as your strong older brother who can protect you no matter what.

[melzula]

Okay I have an request

So like we are azula and zuko sister and we adored by both but like in the catacombs we choose gaang over azula and zuko of this and please can y/n x sokka and now zuko now wants to join gaang and yeah I am not good with words I hope u understand what I said😁

Y/n can be a firebender or non bender its ur choice anyway

a/n: okay so there’s a lot to tackle in this request which is why i chose to do it as headcanons so i hope you don’t mind !

summary: being the middle child isn’t easy, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

As the only non-bender and middle child of the royal family, you never felt like you mattered

You were the Black Swan of the palace, a disgrace to your father and his image

You kept to yourself, staying in the shadows and out of his way while your siblings took the spotlight

However, just because your father looked down upon you didn’t mean your siblings shared his sentiment

In fact, they adored you

Zuko was an attentive older brother. He let you follow him everywhere, defended you against anyone who dared speak badly about you, and was your shoulder to cry on whenever your father was feeling particularly cruel

He saw you for who you were, and who you were was an intelligent, kind, talented young woman meant to do great things in her lifetime

Azula, while being particularly mean to Zuko at times, never once treated you the way she saw her brother

Despite you being a nonbender, she surprisingly never speaks down to you or makes you feel less than

It could be because she doesn’t see you as competition as she does Zuko, or maybe she truly does just feel genuine sisterly love for you

Maybe it’s because whenever she felt your mother was unfairly favoring your brother over her, you were always there to assure her that she was a wonderful bender and just as important

Maybe it’s because sometimes she wished you could be her mother instead

Whatever her reasoning, Azula sees you as a comforting presence in her life. She seeks your validation constantly almost as much as your father’s, and she’d do anything to protect you and your honor

Things became worse for you when Ursa left. She could no longer intervene when your father felt like tormenting you, and your siblings knew better than to say anything in your defense. Shortly after her banishment, Ozai deems it best to send you away to the academy since he has no other use for you

Your departure is hard for both siblings. Zuko is gutted that he can no longer be there to protect you or look after you. Though she acts as if she couldn’t care less, Azula is devastated at your leaving. Her source of comfort is being ripped away from her, and she has no one to look out for her

At the academy you learn various forms of physical combat and weaponry wielding. You’re especially fond of using tanto swords in battle and they’ve become your weapon of choice when in a fight

Zuko and Azula send you letters during your stay at school behind your father’s back updating you about your home, their lives, and their annoyance of each other. You keep every single one they send, and it eases the ache of your home sickness

It’s also at the school that you learn of the Agni Kai and Zuko’s banishment. Your heart breaks for your older brother, and you’re devastated at the fact that you never got the chance to say goodbye and you may never see him again. He still sends letter for a time, but as the years pass they become less frequent and almost nonexistent. Azula’s letters follow the same path

Years pass and your father deems it time for you to come home. Now that you’ve made a decent fighter out of yourself he finds your worthy of being his daughter again

However, your stay is short lived. Azula recruits you to be part of her little team to capture the Avatar and your brother, and you don’t really have any other choice but to agree

You downplay how skilled you are in fighting so that she doesn’t expect much from you and force you to do too much of the work. You don’t want to go against her, but you also don’t want to have to fight your brother and your uncle

You also don’t exactly feel good about destroying the world’s last hope for peace

And that’s why, when the time comes, you choose the Avatar over your siblings

You’re tired of being pulled back and forth, of always being stuck between your siblings with no real purpose, of not being able to do anything for yourself

Zuko is astonished by your choice and conflicted. Just when he finally had found his way back into the family you chose to leave it. Why were you doing this? Why were you ruining everything?

Azula is furious. Your betrayal hurts worse than mother’s. You’d always taken her side, always comforted her and supported her, you’d always been there, and now you were leaving. How dare you leave her?

“You fool!” She’d cried, angrily sending a blast of blue flames your way knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop it. If not for Iroh, surely her strike would have ended you. The fact that your own sister was willing to hurt you for the cause was enough proof to know you were making the right decision

You help the Avatar escape and join his group, vowing to help them in any way you can to win the war. Your fighting skills and knowledge of the Fire Nation makes you a big help and they appreciate your assistance

It doesn’t take long for you to win their trust and acclimate into their group. You become fast friends with everyone, growing especially close to Sokka who may or may not have a huge crush on you

He definitely becomes your shoulder to lean on when things get tough, because he knows it can’t be easy for you to just leave all you’ve ever known behind. you struggle constantly over having to choose the Avatar over your siblings, but he constantly assures you that you’ve made the right choice

Least to say your departure makes Zuko’s return home even more conflicting and turmoil filled. How can he enjoy being back home when you’re not there to enjoy it with him? How could he be happy knowing his sister was out there risking her life to help the Avatar?

Your decision definitely inspires his own to leave the Fire Nation and aid Aang and his friends

Your abandonment of your siblings also fuels Azula’s descent into madness, fueling her fire to continue her mission to capture the Avatar

It’s a rough position you’ve found yourself in, but it’s not like your whole life hasn’t been you stuck in a terrible spot

Being the middle child is hard, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

[writinginatree]

All the Blood that You Still Owe

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader

Summary: An unpleasant surprise awaits on Hedotis, and you react with far less composure than your brother.

Warnings: Spoilers for Onyx Storm (set during chapters 33/34), canon divergence, mommy issues, implied daddy issues, anger issues, self-worth issues, we got all the issues baby!, unresolved childhood trauma, meltdowns, self-harm tendencies if you squint, graphic description of blood and violence, violence against children, murder, dissociation, self-hatred, vaguely suicidal thoughts

Title from MCR's song "I Don't Love You", go listen for some extra angst!

Landing on the rocky shore near the capital of Hedotis, you immediately dislike the place. You can't pinpoint why — on the surface, it seems like a beautiful, peaceful place. Nonetheless there's something about it that makes you uneasy in a way none of the other isles did. It's not just the lack of magic, either; uncomfortable as that is, you're starting to get used to it.

Observing the city — Vidirys, Violet had said it's called — it seems wrong somehow, with all those identical houses. It feels like looking at the background of a painting someone didn't want to put much effort into, just copying the same view over and over to create the illusion of a real place. Creepy, somehow, despite the superficial serenity.

The rest of the squad are all gathered a little farther up the beach, but you hang back, reluctant to part from your dragon.

The contrast of Dioghal's blood-red scales against the pale landscape only amplifies the lack of color around her, and you can't help but think what easy targets you make like this. Not that it should matter — according to Vi's handy guidebook, the people of Hedotis are supposedly peaceful. That doesn't make them trustworthy in your eyes, though. You're naturally suspicious of people who remain neutral in any and all conflicts happening around them, and you'd be willing to bet they do have weapons, possibly aimed at you this very moment from some hidden spot.

With these things in mind, you tense when you notice the group of locals stepping onto the wooden walkway that connects this piece of beach with what looks to be a market just outside the city.

Though you can't see any weapons on them, and they're all dressed in light tunics and gowns entirely unfit for combat, you double-check that all of your own weapons are where they belong before you give Dioghal's leg another pat and hurry after your squad, who are already going toward the locals.

Xaden raises a brow at you when you fall into step beside him, a wordless scolding for falling behind. Guess he doesn't quite trust the purported peace, either.

You're glad you aren't the only one who finds the place a little unsettling, because it really shouldn't be. But try as you might, you cannot shake the unease. Even the welcoming committee — if that's what it is — doesn't sit right with you. They should be wary of armed strangers on dragons showing up on their shore, but the way they're strolling toward you looks perfectly relaxed and casual. Almost like your visit doesn't surprise them.

No, you definitely do not like this. But these people could have the answers you're looking for, so if this is a trap, you're just going to have to deal with it. To calm your nerves, you remind yourself that Dioghal will be watching over you from afar. She won't let anything happen to you.

As you draw near, you notice a tall woman in the group of Hedotians — or is it Hedotics? — You should ask Violet later, she'll know what they're called — who seems strangely familiar.

Your discomfort intensifies, but you force yourself to keep walking, staring at the pale wooden boards beneath your feet as your group reaches theirs and greetings are exchanged. When the man from the triumvirate — he introduced himself, but you were only half listening — beckons his wife forward you glance up, and your heart stops, only to double it's speed.

It's the familiar-looking woman, and up close, you know why she's so familiar.

"Xaden," she says. Then her gaze jumps to you, frozen in place half a step behind your brother and a little to the side.

You barely hear her saying your name over the rushing in your ears, only vaguely register Xaden acknowledging her as he pulls Violet closer to his side. On the inside you're seven again, abandoned, confused, and fucking furious.

But unlike back then, you're armed now.

The metallic sound of your sword coming out of its sheath draws everyone's attention, and Garrick grabs you around the waist before you can take more than a single step toward your so-called mother.

"Let me go," you demand in a low growl barely loud enough for those nearest to hear. You can't seem to get enough air to speak any louder.

Instead of letting you go, Garrick forces your sword-arm down and pins it to your side. Despite the endless hours of training you've put in, you're no match for his strength — you might as well still be that seven-year-old you were when your mother left, so effortlessly does he restrain you.

"Calm down," he has the audacity to whisper into your ear. "We have a mission, remember? Don't fuck this up because of her."

He's right, you know that. It's just hard to care when so suddenly being faced with the woman you've missed and hated for the last thirteen — no, almost fourteen — years. Years you've spent imagining seeing her again — at first, it had been a happy, tearful reunion you'd pictured, back when you couldn't fully believe she had left for good. You'd thought you would apologize for whatever you had done to drive her away and all would be well. Then, as you'd grown older and understood she really had abandoned you, you imagined her looking at you full of regret and apologies, begging for forgiveness you would deny her. Later still, after your father had died and you were left alone under the care of some Navarrian loyalist, soaking up the world's cruelty like a fine handkerchief dropped into a pool of blood, you started dreaming of revenge. Your mother, Navarrian leadership, everyone. In your dreams you made them all pay for the hurt they'd inflicted on you and your brother, knowing you'd never be able to do so in reality.

But now you're here, and so is Talia. It would be so easy. So gratifying to make her see what pain she caused you and give it back to her tenfold.

Garrick's words echo in your ears as you notice the rest of the squad watching you with varying degrees of confusion and disapproval. Don't fuck this up. No, you can't afford to ruin this mission the way you do everything else. You've got to keep your shit together. For Xaden's sake, if not for that of everyone else on the Continent.

With that thought, you force your muscles to relax, and let Garrick guide your sword back into its sheath. His hold on you eases, but he hovers right behind you, ready to grab you again should you make it necessary.

You won't. Won't disappoint your brother and friends, won't ruin the mission, won't make things more difficult for them. You just have to hold in this burning rage. You can do that, have been doing it all your life. Calm. You have to be calm. If Xaden manages not to throw a fit at the sight of your mother, surely you'll manage not to do so either. Be calm.

Forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths (nice and calm, nice and calm, nice and calm) you look anywhere except at Talia.

Someone starts making excuses for you, claiming that in your exhausted state you had merely gotten startled by Talia's suddenly stepping forward and overreacted. You meant no harm, they say. You're perfectly safe to be around, they say. It won't happen again, they say. Lies, all of it.

But no. It mustn't happen again. You can't ruin the mission. Keep it together. You have to keep it together somehow.

The man from the triumvirate — your mother's new husband — who observed your outburst with cold disapproval looks like he doesn't believe a word, but doesn't withdraw his invitation, either.

You really, really don't want to go to his house, though.

"Garrick," you mumble, since he's still standing closest to you, "I want to leave."

This is how it always went when you got overwhelmed while stuck at some stupid event as kids; you'd tug on the sleeve of whichever of the boys was closest to you and he'd sneak you out while the other two distracted the adults that wanted to keep you there before eventually joining you. But this is not a boring ball or dinner party, and you are no longer a child. You are here on a mission, and there's too much at stake to just blow it off, you know that even as you ask to leave.

"We can't, not before we find out if they have some answers for us," Garrick whispers back. He rubs his hand up and down your arm, trying to soothe you. "I know it's hard, but just remember that we're doing this for Xaden."

He's right. Gods, you know he's right, but every second in your mother's presence feeds the hatred burning inside you. Soon it will consume you whole. You don't know how you're supposed to keep it in much longer, if you can keep it in.

But you have to try. For Xaden. For your brother's sake, you might manage. If he can look at Talia without bursting into tears or punching something, then so can you. But of course Xaden has always had much better self control than you, a different kind of anger. Where your own anger burns like a raging fire, demanding to be let out, Xaden's turns his veins to ice, freezing his voice and eyes, a mask of deadly quiet.

You're not even sure if he is angry at your mother, or just disappointed, sad, whatever. Your rage is more than enough for both of you, anyway.

Talia's husband clears his throat. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Aaric says, stepping forward to take control of the situation, since neither Xaden nor Violet make any move to reply. The sideways glance he gives you in doing so says to get your godsdamned shit together. "Thank you for the invitation."

"You don't have to come," Xaden mutters to you, hanging back while the group slowly starts toward the city. You can tell he's upset too, but unlike you, he keeps it all on the inside. If only you were capable of the same. "Stay with the dragons if you want."

As much as you want to do so, it feels wrong, like you're failing both Xaden and the whole squad. What's the point of being part of this quest if all you do is lag behind?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You can always still join us later, if you feel up to it."

Us. That means Xaden intends to go with them. Of course. He's more important to the mission, and if both of you stayed behind, the man from the triumvirate might take offense. You should care about that. He's important here, and that means his opinion could decide whether or not these people will help you. But all you can think about is that all this time, your mother has been here, with that man. Had she left specifically to be with him, or did they meet later? Does it even make a difference? No, you decide. You hate both of them either way. And no matter how much you tell yourself you should, you just can't go with them to their house, where you'd probably have to sit in a stiff reception room and make pleasant conversation while the anger continues to eat you alive. You can't.

"Go. It's fine," Xaden encourages again. Nothing is fine. Not to you, and certainly not to him, either, but he's good at pretending things are fine when they're not. "You can do a sweep of the area if Dioghal isn't too tired, see if you spot the irids."

"I doubt they're here."

They aren't; you feel that in your bones. Hedotis is not a place dragons would like. Or are you just biased because you don't like the place?

"Yeah, me too. But we have to make sure, and it'll give you something else to focus on."

"Okay. I'll see you later then."

Xaden nods and follows the others, catching up with Violet, who walkes at the back, waiting for him, in a few long strides.

For a moment you look after them, feeling like a failure. They're almost out of earshot already, so you could break down now, scream and cry like the turmoil inside you demands.

You don't. Instead you turn, walking back down the beach to where Dioghal waits.

You wish your brother could have remained behind with you. Or better yet, that you could all leave this whole fucking place already. Selfish reasons aside, you also don't like the thought of leaving Xaden to deal with your mother alone. Her absence was just as hard for him as for you. Harder, maybe. But he won't really be alone, he has Violet and Garrick to take care of him, so you suppose it's alright. It makes no matter, anyway. Wishes won't get you anywhere; that's a lesson you learned the hard way. Xaden will bury his feelings and fulfill his duty the way he always does, while you will fight the urge to cry and scream for as long as you can and eventually break down, the way you always do.

Dioghal lowers her head when you reach her, chuffing in a way that sounds vaguely worried.

You curse the lack of magic in this place, desperately missing the mental connection to your dragon. She watched the interaction, but you don't know if she was close enough to hear, to understand what exactly made you so upset.

"That— That woman," you explain out loud, almost choking on the words, "that was my mother."

Dioghal croons, a blast of steam parting your hair. Her head swivels around to look after the group with narrowed eyes, like she's contemplating to follow them and show Talia exactly what happens to people who upset Dioghal's rider — death, usually.

"Can we just fly, please? Xay asked that we look around for the irids while the others talk to the triumvirate."

Dioghal lets out a low growl, and for a moment, you think she'll ignore you and go after your mother. Unlike you, she doesn't have anyone to grab her and talk some sense into her. You almost want her to do it. That way, you'd get the revenge you've dreamed of for so long without being directly responsible for ruining the mission. But then Dioghal straightens, averting her piercing gaze, and you know she's decided to let Talia live for now.

That should be a good thing, but it doesn't feel like one.

As you scale Dioghal's leg and get seated, you picture her claws sinking into your mother's flesh, her strong jaws closing around her, the resulting spray of blood as red as her scales. There's so many ways she could go about killing her. Biting her head clean off or slowly ripping her limb from limb, snapping her in half or clawing her guts out. Burning her, like the traitor she is. She could stab her with the poisonous bulb of her tail, make it slow and painful.

Gods, what the fuck is wrong with you? It can't be normal to wish these things upon your own mother, no matter what she did to deserve it. She may have abandoned you, but the fact remains that she's your mother. You're pretty sure that's supposed to mean something to you, even now, so why doesn't it?

If Dioghal could talk to you here, she would tell you it doesn't matter, that this hatred doesn't mean you're broken somehow. She understands your overwhelming anger better than anyone else ever has. You're one and the same in that way, quick to lash out for the smallest reasons, unable to let go of the big reasons, no matter how much time passes. Sometimes you wonder if that's why she chose you, because you're as unforgiving as she is, with a temper to match her own. And other times, you wonder if this similarity might be a bad thing, if maybe you would have been better off with a more reasonable dragon — say, a green, like your cousin's — that would teach you control over your emotions, instead of encouraging you to act on your rage like Dioghal tends to do. She forgets that you're human, that unlike dragons, you're supposed to have morals, a conscience.

If Dioghal ever caught those thoughts, she would probably eat you alive for doubting her.

She leaps into the air, and you wish you could leave the feelings plaguing you behind just like the ground, quickly shrinking with distance, but it's never that simple.

You can blame the stinging in your eyes on the wind, having foregone your goggles in your hurry to get off the beach, but there's no denying the sob that works it's way up your throat. Another follows, and another, and now your cheeks are stained wet, and with your eyes closed, you can pretend you've flown into a cloud and that's where the wetness comes from, but you know that if you open them, you won't be in the clouds. It would make no sense to fly that high, not when you're supposed to survey the isle for signs of the irids.

Bending at the waist, you press your face against Dioghal's warm scales and try to pretend your distress away. When that doesn't work, you allow yourself another sob, two. You have to stop. Dioghal may understand your anger, but she doesn't have much patience for tears. You squeeze your eyes shut, gnawing at your lip until blood floods your mouth. It's a reassuring taste. The pain in your lip isn't enough to distract you from your emotional hurt, but it gives you the strength to push past it and straighten in the seat.

Far below you, Hedotis's capital sprawles into the distance in it's orderly rows of identical pale houses. You can't deny there's a sort of beauty to it, but the city does not look alive the way Aretia or even Basgiath's small village of Chantara do. This kind of orderliness isn't natural.

It's hard to wrap your head around the fact that this is where your mother must have come from, that your ancestors lived here — maybe not in this very city, but in one like it somewhere on this isle. These are your roots. Talia's home, that she abandoned you to return to.

You hate it.

For hours, you fly along the coast, steering clear of any human dwellings and searching for signs of dragons in the less populated spots. As expected, you find nothing.

Despite how hungry Dioghal must be, she shows no intention to land and find something to eat. You know it's your obvious distress that keeps her in the air; she's protective of you to a fault, like— You flinch at the thought. Like a doting mother. Your eyes burn. Your mother abandoned you, but at least you now have a dragon to play the role she didn't want. Not that you'd ever say that to Dioghal's face. She has a habit of waving that poison-dripping scorpiontail of hers in your face when you call her out on her overprotective behavior, and she would take even more offense to being called a mother hen, no matter how true it is.

Guilt nags at you for keeping her from her well-deserved meal. She has to be tired, too. The flight to Hedotis had taken all night, and thanks to your meltdown, Dioghal has been circling overhead for another four hours or so while the others rested and fed themselves. Without magic to give them strength, the dragons tire faster than they're used to.

"Maybe we should land," you yell over the wind. It's not just lonely being unable to talk through your mental link, but also terribly inconvenient. "I've calmed down now. Honest."

Her head swings around, golden eyes scrutinizing you in that way that makes you feel like she can see through you, straight to your soul. Apparently Dioghal is satisfied with what she sees, because she makes a turn for the northeastern shore, where you can make out Tairn and Sgaeyl's looming forms once you get closer, and slowly descends to land on a colorless beach near a colorless house.

Talia's colorless house, you realize, spotting Xaden and Violet on it's veranda. The distance is too big for you to hear them, but from the look of it, your brother is arguing with Sgaeyl. Amazing how he manages that even without being able to talk to her.

She roars something in his face, maybe Don't tell me what to do or Behave until I'm back, and turns, making a slightly friendlier sounding noise at Dioghal before flying off, Tairn and Andarna close behind her. Dioghal nudges you toward the house and turns to follow the small riot. You assume the sound must have been an invitation to eat together. Dragon relations are a mystery to you, but as far as you can tell, Dioghal is something like Sgaeyl's cool aunt.

Not wanting to go into or even near the house, you're contemplating whether you should just make yourself comfortable in the sand or maybe go for a swim, when you notice two dark-haired boys watching you. They hadn't been there when you'd scanned the area from the air, which means they must have come from inside the house, probably attracted by Sgaeyl's roar. That in turn raises the question of whose children these are. You don't want to think about it, but... It's your mother's house. Of course it's possible someone else lives there with her and her husband, maybe a widowed sister or something. Or maybe the kids belong to someone who works for them; you just have to look at the place to know they have a whole army of staff. And yet the most painful conclusion also is the most obvious, the most likely — if Talia has a new life with a new husband, why shouldn't she have new children, too?

The thought makes you feel like crying again, so you turn to stare out over the water and do your best to ignore the boys. You don't want to know who they are.

And yet, when you hear voices a moment later, you turn to look again. You blame it on the self-preservation instincts Basgiath has instilled in you, edging on paranoia. Even before that, you never liked having something happening behind your back, but now it positively makes your skin crawl to be facing away from potential danger. What you see doesn't seem very dangerous, though. The boys are still there, and a woman fusses over the pair of them — some kind of maid, judging from the look of her.

Maybe that is their mother. Or maybe it's her job to look after them. What do you care?

But you do. You trail them with your eyes as they start back toward the house. Just as you're about to lose interest and turn away, Talia rushes from the house, straight toward the boys.

Your throat constricts. No. You don't want them to be hers.

But as you watch on, it's obvious they are. You don't understand what they're saying, since it's all in Hedotic and you're almost out of earshot, anyway, but you don't have to. It's all over Talia's face, in her tone, in every gesture and touch she makes. So loving, so tender.

Your heart aches as you watch her run her hands over their hair like she'd done yours when you were little. When she'd still loved you. Or pretended like she did, anyway. You're not sure which it was, and it doesn't really make a difference. Those times are long gone.

Your shaking hands curl into fists as the hatred inside you grows, demanding an outlet.

Not enough that she abandoned you. No, she fucking replaced you. With these boys, who no doubt are nicer, better behaved, less prone to meltdowns. You'd always known you weren't good enough, too difficult to be considered worthy of her love.

Xaden spent years trying to convince you it hadn't been your fault she left. He and Dad loved you despite your faults, wasn't that proof enough that you weren't unlovable like you thought? Sometimes, you almost believed him. After all, your mother had abandoned not only you, but Xaden, too — flawless Xaden, who you'd always been aware was your parents' favorite, who always had to serve as your good example when you acted out. Not even he had been enough to make her stay, so you'd let him convince you that maybe the problem really wasn't you. Maybe there was something wrong with her. It was easy enough to pretend so; she was gone, and memories blurred with time.

But now here she is, playing the loving mother for these boys, so it must have been your fault after all.

You stalk closer, unsure what you'll do when you reach them. It won't be pretty, that's all you know. You feel like a predator advancing on its unsuspecting prey.

Just a handful of steps and you'll be right behind them, and they still haven't noticed you.

Mom. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't get it out. It feels too wrong. She will always be your mother, there's nothing you can do about that, but she stopped being your mom the moment she disappeared into the night without so much as a goodbye.

You still remember how you'd woken up that morning, happy and unsuspecting. You remember Xaden, who'd been awake earlier than you, sitting over his untouched breakfast — chocolate cake, left over from his birthday the day before. You knew something was wrong then, and that it had to be serious. There wasn't much that could kill Xaden's appetite, especially when it came to cake. You remember how you hesitated, slowly walking to the table and sitting down, not sure you wanted to know. Finally, you gathered your courage and asked what had happened.

"Mom is gone," Xaden had responded glumly, shoving his untouched plate of cake to you and rising from the table.

"Gone?" you'd asked, briefly wondering if he meant gone as in dead. Adults sometimes talked that way, but you didn't think Xaden would. "Gone where?"

"Away."

Xaden had stomped off to his room — to cry, presumably — and you dug into the cake he'd spurned, vaguely angry with Talia for making your big brother so sad, but still thinking that surely she would come back after a few days at most.

Her absence hadn't sunken in for you right away the way it did for Xaden. You missed her, sure, and you were upset, yes, but that was mostly because Xaden was upset.

Your mother had always been there, so it made no sense to you that she shouldn't be anymore. That she should have abandoned you seemed as absurd as the idea of water not being wet, or fire being cold. Children and their parents belonged together, that had always been a simple fact to you. Therefore, it wasn't until a few weeks had gone by that you were able to believe that she wasn't coming back.

Then you started to wonder why, and it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that it must have been your fault somehow. It always was. When she was unhappy, or tired, or had a headache, when something broke or there were chocolate smudges on the window; it was always because you had thrown a tantrum or refused to go to bed, because you had been too loud, too clumsy and careless. In your parents' eyes, you could never do anything right. Talia especially had always seen right through all your attempts of being good, of being like Xaden, straight to your rotten core. For as long as you remember, you always felt that something was fundamentally wrong with you, and your mother knew it, too. She never said so, tried not to show it, but she must have felt it, or she wouldn't have left.

And it's true, there has to be something wrong with you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be slinking toward the wholesome little group like a wolf amongst sheep, mind racing with bloody scenarios. You should be happy to see her, not want to throttle her.

You're close now, a step or two more and you'd be close enough to reach out and touch your mother's back, should you want to. You still have no idea what you want to say or do when she notices you, if you'll even be able to get any words out or if the rage will take over like it did this morning.

You hesitate. It might be better to turn away now, before it's too late.

That's when one of the boys notices you, tapping his mother's — your mother's — arm and saying something in Hedotic, wide eyes on you.

You can only imagine what you must look like to these people, who have only ever known peace. The raised scar running along your collar bone that Dioghal gave you at Threshing is on full display with your flight jacket unbuttoned, the array of weapons strapped to your body glinting in the sunlight. You wonder if the boys have ever seen a blade before, kitchen knives aside. You don't think so. Not with the way Talia and the maid were fussing over them, like they're precious little treasures that need to be wrapped in silk and kept safe. So unlike you and Xaden, discarded to be forged into deadly weapons in the fire of war.

Talia turns, gasping in surprise to see it's you standing there, you, who she'd certainly noticed separating from the group that morning.

A tentative smile touches her lips. She takes a step toward you, hand raised as if to cup your cheek, but falters at your hard expression. Still smiling, but less so. She's nervous, probably struggling to see the pathetic child you were in the soldier before her.

"How nice that you could join us after all. Xaden's girlfriend said you wouldn't, that you had to monitor the area. I'm so glad—"

"I didn't," you cut her rambling short. It's only half a lie. Xaden sent you patrolling mainly to distract you, so it wasn't like you'd had to do it. "I just didn't want to see you."

You thank Dunne that the words come out just as coldly as you intended them to, despite the tears wanting break free again.

Your mother flinches, and the smile falls.

Good. How dare she talk like that, after being gone for almost two thirds of your life? Is she really that ignorant of what pain she caused you, or does she simply believe she's entitled to your forgiveness? Whichever it is, she'll know better soon.

"You abandoned me," you say before she can recover from the shock of your words, which should not have shocked her at all — wouldn't have, if she'd ever cared enough to truly know you. You've always held onto your grudges, clung to them, really. "Abandoned us. Does that mean nothing to you?"

You assume the whelps don't understand the common language — it's only common to the Continent, after all. A shame, really. You want them to know their mommy isn't as perfect and loving as they probably think, to know she's already left a pair of her children behind without looking back once and there's nothing stopping her from doing the same to them.

"Of course it does," Talia exclaims, "but you have to understand—"

"I don't have to understand shit!"

Dragons don't listen to sheep, that's what Dioghal would say.

"I didn't want to leave you behind, but I couldn't take you with me," Talia continues to defend herself. "Xaden was the heir, and you..."

You're the spare, that's what she's too cowardly to say. She should have thought about that sooner. Of course she couldn't take either of you from Tyrrendor, that would have defeated the point of your very existence. She knew her children would have to grow up in Aretia when she married your father. Was she planning to abandon you even then, years before you were born?

"I couldn't bring you!" she repeats.

The tear that runs down her cheek only make you angrier. What right does she have to cry?! It's your and Xaden's lives she ruined, while she was here playing house with her oh so lovely new family. It makes you want to turn the whole place to rubble. To climb onto Dioghal and torch it all, force Talia to watch her neat little house burn the way you'd had to watch Aretia burn. To take away the happiness she'd found while you were suffering.

"You could have stayed!" You meet Talia's eyes for the first and last time and repeat yourself more quietly, "You could have stayed."

Then, faster than Talia could ever hope to comprehend, you grab the younger boy by the shoulder, ripping him away from her and setting a dagger at his throat in the span of a second.

"No! Gaius!" she shrieks, color draining from her face. "Don't hurt him!"

Her fear is both gratifying and infuriating. If someone had done the same to you, would she have cared as much? You almost laugh at the thought. No, if it had been you in that boy's stead, she wouldn't have given a damn.

Talia pushes the other boy behind herself, hand clasped so tightly around his arm he winces in pain. She doesn't notice, gaze fixed on her youngest. At least you think he's her youngest. For all you know she could have more children hidden inside the house.

The maid shuffles backwards with tiny steps, as if you won't notice what she's doing that way. She's still well within knife-throwing range when she turns and makes a run for the house, but you let her go. It's not her you care about, and any help she might return with will come too late. The blade is already nicking the boy's skin; one wrong move from anyone and he'll be dead.

"Please," your mother cries, "let him go! We'll do anything you want. My husband is part of the triumvirate, he can give you whatever information you want, just don't hurt our boy!"

She thinks you're doing this for information? Things must've not gone well for the others so far, then, a realization that only adds fuel to the burning rage inside you. Doesn't she care at all what happens to you and Xaden, not even enough to put in a good word with her husband?

You shake your head, lips curling in disgust. Does she have no spine or dignity at all?

"The only thing I want is for you to suffer. And since you seem so attached to these boys, killing them will be a good start. You think I'm just taking this one hostage?" You laugh, the resulting sound harsh and ugly in a way that sounds foreign to your ears, not like you at all. "No. I'll make you watch me slit both their throats just for fun."

"They're children!"

"So were we!" you scream, voice breaking as you finally lose control of the tears you've been wrestling with for hours. "We were just children too when you decided you didn't want us anymore and fucked off without a word! You think that doesn't do anything to a child, being abandoned like that?!"

"You had your father!"

"Until we didn't," you bite out. "But that's not even the point! The point is that you pretended to love us while you had to put up with us, and then as soon as you could, you ran away behind our backs like the coward you are. Would it have killed you to tell us you were leaving, to give us a chance to say goodbye?!"

As you speak, you give the boy in your hands a shake, your dagger scraping his skin ever so slightly. He cries out for your mother, who is staring at the blade against his neck with such intense concentration you doubt she heard a single word you said. You don't know why you even bothered.

She says something to the boy in Hedotic — hopefully to calm him. She would have to be an even bigger fool than you thought to believe he could escape you.

"Please don't hurt him," she sobs again. "Do what you want to me, but let Gaius go!"

As if. Killing your mother is still on the table, but for now, watching her fear for her son's life is much more satisfying than the brief pleasure of putting a knife into her would be.

If only you could stop crying. Talia is not worth your tears, and you hate letting her see you cry, hate giving her that power over you. Crying in front of people has always felt humiliating, like a display of your lacking self-control. And crying in front of your mother now, after all the time that's gone by since she left, really ruins the picture of the cold-blooded soldier you want her to see. You want the thought of what the innocent child she left behind has become to haunt her — a futile hope, probably. If she cared, you wouldn't be in this situation.

Shouts from the direction of the house alert you that others have become aware of what's happening, but your eyes never stray from your mother's panicked form. For better or worse, she has your undivided attention.

You should do it now. Drag it out much longer, and whoever is coming from the house might manage to stop you. Peaceful place or not, they would be fools not to have some sort of security personnel. You could probably take them on, but that would mean letting the boys go, and that is not happening. They're the ticket to Talia's personal hell.

From the corner of your eye, you see Xaden approach. He moves carefully, the way you would around a corned animal, and stops a dragon's length away.

He calls your name, so softly you almost miss it, and cautions, "Don't do something you'll regret, baby."

"What difference does it make? She's always looked at me like I'm some sort of monster, so I might as well prove her right."

It's stupid to be acting like this, you know. It's Xaden who will turn into an actual monster if you don't find a way to cure him. You're not going to get any closer to doing that by throwing pointless tantrums about things no one can change. But you've never been good at regulating your emotions. Even when you were little, your anger always consumed you. You thought you'd gotten better — you'd had to. All the power that comes with being a rider is dangerous in the hands of someone with the emotional stability of a toddler, so you'd worked hard on learning better self-control. Using sparring sessions to work through your feelings, you now usually manage to avoid the violent outbursts you were prone to as a child. But there is no coping mechanism strong enough to save you from the sheer hatred for your mother that has festered inside you for almost fourteen years, the embers of the despaired rage from when she'd left reignited into the burning flames they'd been when the pain of her departure was still fresh. The moment you saw her, the rage overwhelmed you the way it always had.

"It's not about her," Xaden reasons. Can't he see you're beyond reasoning? "It's about how you will feel once you've calmed down."

"Better, that's how I'll feel!"

But even in your frenzy, the tiny part of you still capable of rational thought knows that's not true. Never once have you actually felt better after one of your outbursts. You always think you'll feel better after you let it out, but every time you're left drained and ashamed instead, picking up the pieces.

One time — you must have been about eleven — you'd broken Xaden's snow globe, which had been a gift from your mother, in a rage. You'd felt horrible afterwards, and not just because he refused to speak to you for more than a week. After that, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't lose control of yourself like that ever again. Keeping that promise had been impossible, but the memory almost makes you halt. It's never too late to change, right?

But then your gaze falls back onto your mother — the same mother who'd thrown you away like an old toy she no longer wanted, never looking back, never caring what became of you in the rebellion or the impending war, now so keen on protecting these boys — and the hatred wins out.

"What makes them worthy of the love she denied us?" you demand of Xaden, not really wanting an answer. If she ever loved you at all, she has long stopped doing so. If there is a reason for it, it doesn't matter. "Why does she get to be happy with a new family while we had to suffer and fight for our lives every day for years?"

Without waiting for a response, you turn your dagger so that instead of the edge of the blade being lined up with the boy's throat, it's the tip that presses against his fragile skin.

For a moment you stare at your mother and wonder how it has come to this. Her desperate pleas mix with the boys' crying and the frantic voices of your squad, fading into the background until all you can hear is the racing of your own heart.

Then the dagger pierces skin. You sink it in to the hilt and yank sideways, slitting his throat wide open in a move you've practiced hundreds of times on the mats of Basgiath's gym. Never would you have thought that this would be how you'd come to use it for real.

Talia wails, lurching forward, and you shove the body into her outstretched arms. A fountain of blood sprays over your hands and your mother.

She cradles the boy to her chest, crying and blubbering words you're too far gone too understand. Maybe it's Hedotic. She's focused entirely on the life you already took, and that's her mistake. She doesn't notice you sidestepping her to get to the other boy, who stands frozen in terror, until it's too late.

He screams in fear as you advance on him, lifting his arms in an attempt to fight you off, but of course he doesn't stand a chance. If he'd ran while you were killing his brother he might have made it into the house. As it is, they're about to be reunited.

Talia screams again, even louder than before. "Simeon!"

She gets to her feet just as you stab the boy straight into the heart. Through the haze of your own tears, you watch as she catches his falling body and sinks to the ground with him, wailing all the while.

There's a blur of movement, and then someone's arms are around you, pulling you back against a strong chest. He holds you tightly, like he expects you to resist, squeezing your arms against your ribcage in a way that would be painful if you weren't so detached from your own body. Someone else takes your bloodstained hand into their own, prying your fingers apart to take away your blade.

You let it all happen, numb to the world.

People are shouting, hectically buzzing around. None of it registers. Your vision blurs, not with tears this time, but simply going unfocused. You barely feel the hands turning you to face away from it all. Now that your anger has run it's course and is wearing off, there's nothing left in you but the deep underlying despair you've long gotten used to.

You vaguely realize it was Xaden holding you as he lets go, stepping to your side and wordlessly leading you toward the ocean, where the dragons are waiting. You hadn't even noticed them returning.

As you walk, your head starts to clear, and you slowly become aware of yourself and your surroundings again. The way the sand shifts under your boots with every step. Warm blood dripping from your fingers, the heavy smell of it mixing with that of the sea. Your brother's hand, strong and steady against your back.

You're glad he doesn't take it away, even when you reach the dragons. If he did, you might just crumble under the weight of what you have done.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand beneath your feet, not wanting to see the horrified looks on everyone's faces. There can be no doubt they are horrified, after what they just witnessed. Even you are disturbed by your own actions. The uncontrollable anger might have been an almost constant companion for most of your life, but never before had it driven you to kill someone.

In the heat of the moment, you'd only seen the boys as tools to hurt your mother, but now it sinks in that they'd been people of their own. Children. Innocent. It hadn't been their fault that Talia replaced you with them. Now they're gone, and you can't take it back. You're not sure you want to, and that scares you most of all.

You look back only once. When you do, Talia still kneels in the blood-soaked sand where you left her, sobbing over the bodies of her youngest sons. Part of you thinks you should have finished the job and killed her too, but another, crueler part buried deep inside you whispers it's just right this way. This way, she'll suffer far more, for far longer. Then, viciously, you wonder if that's true. It was so easy for her to replace you and Xaden with these boys, who's to say she won't replace them just as easily? She probably is not yet too old to get pregnant again. Well, let her. No matter what she does, she'll have to live with the memory of their deaths, of her own helplessness in the face of your righteous fury. You hope it haunts her till the end of her days.

When Xaden stops walking, you do, too. Some of the others are rushing back into the house to get their things, but Xaden doesn't leave your side. Taking your rucksack from you, he digs through it until he finds a towel, and leads you to the edge of the water to clean the worst of the blood off you. Neither of you speaks a word while he does so.

You just stand there, staring into space while the past hours replay in your mind over and over again. The bloodshed could have been avoided, you think numbly, if only you had stayed in the air a few minutes longer. If you hadn't landed just when Sgaeyl roared, the boys would have been safely inside the house, and you would've never even known about them.

Finally you drag your gaze up from the ground to look at your brother. You're not sure what you expect to see on his face — disappointment, anger, horror... some sort of negative reaction to the atrocity you just committed, certainly. But you find neither. Instead, he's gazing at you with affection and worry you do not deserve. The look he gives you is almost like he understands, like he might have done the same. But that's absurd. Xaden would never throw a fit like that, would never let his anger out on innocents. He's the sane one of you two, the responsible one. He never would have risked the mission— Oh gods, the mission!

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I ruined everything."

He shrugs, like it's not a big deal. As though you broke a tea cup or maybe a window, not ruined international relations forever by murdering innocent children. "They weren't going to be much help anyway."

"What if they know something that could help us and now we'll never know? It'll be my fault if— if—"

...if Xaden fully succumbs to the dark, is what you mean, but can't say so when you're not sure who might hear. As the isle of wisdom, Hedotis is the most likely to know a cure, isn't it? But thanks to you, there's no way any of you will be welcome here again, no way of being given access to their collected knowledge.

Your brother shakes his head, brushing a tear off your cheek. "They don't have magic here, so it's unlikely they know anything that would help us. Even if they did, they didn't give the impression of wanting to share their knowledge, regardless of your behavior. And they don't have an army they could aid us with, either."

He's just saying that to make you feel better.

They don't need to have magic to have information about magic. And information is something the people of Hedotis surely hoard. Aaric, Violet and Xaden are good at this whole diplomacy thing. They would have managed to make some kind of bargain and learn something useful if you hadn't fucked everything up.

They should have left you at home, never let you near anything or anyone important. Your mother was right, you're nothing but trouble. It would've been better for everyone around you if you'd never been born.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone," you whisper. At least you don't think you did. You certainly hadn't wanted to want to hurt anyone, which basically comes down to the same thing... doesn't it? "I just— I was so mad at her, and— They were right there and all defenselessness and—"

"I know," Xaden soothes, running a hand over your hair. "I know, baby. You don't have to explain yourself. I'm not judging you."

"You should, though! I— I'm—"

By now you're crying too hard to continue speaking.

"Shh, it's alright. You're not a monster," he says, somehow guessing what it is you'd meant to say. "You're just upset."

You certainly are, but that doesn't excuse what you've done.

Despite what he might think, Xaden's lack of concern about the matter is far from reassuring. Not that you want him to be mad at you, but his complete disregard for the lives you took makes you wonder if maybe he's already lost more of his humanity than you knew. But no. Surely he's just pretending not to care to your benefit. How could he be a soulless venin when he's looking at you so gently, soothing you just like he had so often when you were children and your parents didn't have the patience to deal with you? Venin or not, he's still a better person than you have ever been.

"Mom was right," you say, and immediately cry harder. Now you've done it, now you've called her that after all. "She always knew something was wrong with me."

"Nonsense," Xaden starts, but you don't let him speak. Now that you've started talking, the words just keep pouring out.

"I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be so mad at her, because it was my own fault she left. She never would have left if it wasn't for me. You were perfect even as a child. All I ever did was throw tantrums and cry." You manage a self-depreciating laugh between sobs. "Still do, apparently. I can't even blame her for wanting to get away from me, I'm just sorry you had to suffer for it, too."

Xaden takes your face between both hands, forcing you to look at him, though it's hard to make out his expression through the tears blurring your vision.

Shaking you for emphasis, he says, "It was not your fault. We've been through that a thousand times after she left, baby. There is nothing wrong with you for being emotional."

Calling you emotional is a severe understatement. For as long as you can remember, you've always been too much. Too clingy, too loud, too easily overwhelmed, too quick to cry and rage. Needy and out of control, a disgrace to your family line. Xaden can say it's not true all he wants; you know it is. And now you're a murderer too, on top of all that.

"And for k-killing those kids? Is there nothing wrong with me for that, either?" you ask angrily.

Xaden sighs. "You made a mistake. It happens. If you didn't feel bad about it I'd worry something's wrong with you, but you clearly do. It's okay. We're all capable of bad things."

You don't know what to say to that, so you don't respond.

For a few minutes, Xaden simply lets you cry. He doesn't try to calm you, doesn't scold you for breaking down. He just holds you, providing an anchor in reality and making the occasional soothing sound.

Then, someone says something. You can't make out the words over the sound of your own sobs, but the voice sounds like Violet's, and there's a note of urgency to it that gets your attention. You feel Xaden nod, and then he takes your hands, gently removing them from the death grip you're clutching the back of his shirt with, and holds you at arms length so he can look you in the face.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I need you to calm down, now. At least enough to get on Diogahl and fly. I know you're upset, and you can cry all you want later, but we really need to go. Okay? Think you can do that for me?"

You nod, even though you're not at all sure you'll be able to mount your dragon, let alone keep your seat once you're in the air. You can barely breathe.

Maybe that's okay. Maybe it would be better for everyone if you lose your seat and plummet into the sea. At least then you wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, wouldn't destroy everything you touch, wouldn't constantly disappoint those you love. Maybe they'd be better off without you. Your mother definitely was — or would have been, if you hadn't come back into her life.

"Hey," your brother's gentle voice pierces through the mess of your thoughts. "Breathe, baby. It's okay. If you can't fly—"

"I can," you croak, wiping your face with your sleeve. More tears are still falling, but you manage to trap the sobs inside, at least.

A glance toward your mother's house shows what brought on the hurry to leave: guards are coming. You knew they had to have some, but there's no triumph in being right. Forcing a deep breath, you swing your rucksack onto your back and tighten the straps with shaking hands. Meltdown or no meltdown, you can fly. You have to. You refuse to be responsible for even more bloodshed.

"That's the spirit," Xaden praises, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Try not to think too much about what happened. Just remember there's more to you than that anger, and that I love you, even if Mom doesn't. You're not evil."

"Okay. I'll try." The guards are getting close; you really have to hurry now if you want to avoid them. "Love you too."

Xaden waits until you've made it up Dioghal's leg; only then does he run to Sgaeyl, taking his seat as the others climb into the air. You get away just in time, and with your brother's words in mind, you hold on tight and don't look back.

[celestialvik]

hiiii i was wondering if you could write sibling headcanons for if jayce had a younger sibling? idk if you only write romantic stuff but i ❤️ seeing platonic/familial headcanons with arcane characters too

yes!! yes absolutely! i love platonic writing just as much as romantic. both are so sweet in their own ways!

SIBLINGS ; JAYCE + SIBLING!READER

fluff/domestic, no warnings. s1 jayce. life with jayce as his younger sibling. sorry if this sucks, i don't have any siblings or younger cousins.. LMAO.

jayce is 24, reader is 17.

as much as you and your brother love each other, you two are the worst duo to exist.

with a 6 year age gap between the both of you, he obviously almost always knew more than you did.

you guys drove your poor mother insane.

you both STILL drive your poor mother insane.

after the explosion, the first thing you did was ask him what the hell he did

he immediately became defensive

you both didn't speak of it again and refuse to bring up the explosion at get togethers or dinners because it WILL end with you two in a fist fight

jayce was always more interested in the whole "creation of magic" thing than you were. what happened to you guys' mom was before you were born, you have no memory of magic saving your mother.

however, aside from the bickering about hextech, jayce would do anything and everything to keep you safe.

the first time you met viktor, you very quickly clocked that your brother liked him

after you both split ways from viktor, you started pushing him

"that your boyfriend?"

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

there's not more verbal bickering than there is physical fighting between you two.

obviously, no one walks away SERIOUSLY injured, but you do have a few scars and scrapes that he's given you over the years.

he tries SO hard to get you into his research, but you're way too scared of what it could do, so you stay away.

but you always tell jayce to "be safe, not stupid" whenever he goes to the lab.

viktor eventually sees you as a little sibling as well.

think of jayce as book smart with no common sense, but you have common sense with close to no book smarts.

jayce also tags you with the nickname of "the pain in my ass" or, more affectionately, "twerp".

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤ ㅤa birthday like this ─ dean winchester.

baby sister!winchester oc & dean winchester, called bug. or, the only one to remember her big brother's birthday.

not a series! exists purely for writing ideas i get that cannot fit an x reader plotline. dean is 22, bug is 6. bug will gradually age in each possible coming part.

warnings. pure fluff! dean's birthday has the baby fever so high. there's, like, background angst, but it's nothing too bad<3

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dean winchester decided that morning that he was not celebrating his birthday today. it'd been an idea long in the inner workings of his brain, mostly because there was no reason to celebrate it, on his end.

sam was away on a high school trip. john wouldn't be home for weeks, dean figured, so he signed the return slip in his place to at least grant his little brother that simple sense of normalcy. and bug was only starting to figure out that she was a person, let alone know what days were important compared to other days.

john was notorious for forgetting birthdays. he'd had a little girl when dean was sixteen and brought her home and seemed to forget that she even existed, most of the time.

the idea was cemented the morning of january 24th, when he woke up to his cellphone ringing on the bedside table next to him. for a moment, he really thought that his dad was calling to tell him happy birthday. for a moment, he was almost struck speechless.

but all john said on the other side of the line was a location, and a general debriefing of a case, before not-so-politely telling him to get on it.

dean was not disappointed, because he hadn't been expecting anything. but he was irritated. it was a prime example of the fact that he was only at home right now because someone needed to watch over bug, and it certainly wasn't going to be her father, who slipped away at the first chance he got. conveniently, dean was not told what to do with bug, so long as he took his father's orders and got shit done.

he slipped out of bed, a hand ruffling through his sleep mussed mop. through his gapped door, he could already hear bug singing to herself, and the sound of something getting scribbled on. of course he was set to have to clean crayon off of the walls on his birthday.

he changes out of his pajamas quickly and into a variation of his everyday wardrobe, and sighs heavily as he pushes open his bedroom door, bracing himself for the worst.

to dean's surprise, there was no mess. just a little girl sitting at the small kitchen table, hair more mussed than his was, still wearing the cowboy hat pajamas she loved so dearly. a piece of paper was in front of her, one that was being utterly decimated by the scribbles of a red crayon.

"hey, baby bug," dean sighs, his lips pulling into a tight smile, "hate to interrupt your riveting morning, but dad's got us goin' on the road tonight."

"on the road?" she asks, her head tilting to the side. still, her eyes don't leave the paper, her eyebrows furrowed as she focuses so heavily on the scribblings.

dean huffs out a laugh. "tell me about it."

bug is quiet for a second, the only sound in the room being the rough etches of her crayon against the paper. he realizes very quickly that if he wants to be in the car and to georgia before sundown, he's going to have to take matters into his own hands and get his baby sister moving.

his footsteps echo on the hardwood of the apartment's floor as he approaches, clapping his hands together a couple of times to gather bug's attention. his arms slip under hers as he yanks her out of the dinning chair. bug's fist crumples her paper to grab it as she's yanked, already stringing out unintelligible noises that he assumes are little kid curses.

"i know, i know," he says, tucking her to his chest with one arm as he carries her into what was once her and sam's shared room, but has now become hers alone. "but i wanna beat the sunset, and we can't do that if we're coloring all day."

bug's head tilts again. she looks so much like dean, sometimes. she's only his sister half-biologically, but there's so much of him and sam in her that he forgets it often. sam's little smile when she's amused, dean's nose scrunch when she's pissy. her nose is extremely scrunched up right now.

"can i bring my picture?" she asks as he rifles through the mess that was her room. at one point, a low point, he got tired of being her primary caregiver and let it get to this point. toys everywhere, sam's clothes littering the floor, her clothes in his dressers, her favorite dresses in her toy box...

he'd clean it up eventually, he promises himself every day. but rarely did he get time for himself or time at all to try, and most nights anyways, he had bug in his bed, an arm secured around her. there was no way he was going to run the risk of nearly losing her like he had with sam so long ago, when she was too little to know that possibility even existed.

dean helps her get properly dressed, running a brush through the tangly knots of her hair, before he answers. "promise not to color all over baby?"

the smile in the mirror's reflection was often the one thing that kept him from losing his mind. no, bug was not something he asked for, especially not to play father over her, but he could never be mad at her for that. "i promise."

"then sure," he says with a little shrug, grabbing a little sparkly ponytail from the top of the dresser and looping it through her hair, "only bring like, six colors, though. so we know if you lost 'em."

"my favorite ones?"

dean shrugs again, giving her ponytail a little tug before leaning down to scoop her up again. "you bring your favorite ones, i'll make sure we don't leave 'em anywhere, yeah? extra special crayon patrol duty."

packing for these on-the-spot trips had become routine at this point. bug had gotten used to it, too, by now, even unceremoniously declaring herself on snack duty, which meant dean was eating strawberry banana puffs and sipping apple juice for the duration of the drive. he handled the scarier stuff; the weapons, the toiletries, and diapers, before she'd grown up and no longer needed them.

it gives him pause for a second, when he's loading her into her carseat in the back, at how big she's gotten. does their dad even know that bug is nearly at his waist now? that she can argue dean in circles?

he doubts it. their dad didn't even remember his oldest's birthday, after all.

dean studies the map and the route while bug scribbles more in the background, still humming to herself. he's certain it's a baby medley of metallica songs, as certain as he is that this trip is going to take past sunset, regardless.

he scrubs a hand over his face and tries, really tries, to keep the irritation at a minimum. it was never bug's fault, but he wished sometimes that he didn't have to drag her into all of this, and so young, too.

the drive is strenuous; back roads melting into back roads, driving through small towns of people who also don't know it's his birthday. at least they have an excuse.

"dean!" bug screeches over the rock music, and when he glances in the rearview mirror, he meets her bright-eyed expression. "blue or purple?"

dean's mouth scrunches up as he thinks, an expression that bug mimics in the reflection back at him. his heart warms. "both."

"i can't do that!"

dean scoffs. "baby bug, you can do anything. you could make the freakin' sky green, if y'wanted."

he's guessing at this point, unsure of what she was even coloring back there. he hadn't gotten a glance at it back in the apartment, and definitely couldn't see anything but a mass of blurry colors from the rearview mirror.

"there is no sky." said as if dean was supposed to know the inner workings of his baby sister's brain. "it is a flower."

"blue petals, purple petals. easy."

one more glance in the mirror, and he watches as bug's expression shifts in realization. catches the start of an approving nod. of course he knew what he was talking about; who did anyone think taught her how to color within the lines?

it's always peaceful, somehow, on these long drives. bug keeps him company, which he actually appreciates. the silence might have ruined him if he kept subjecting himself to it. he remembers a time when she used to wake up from every car nap wailing, and he'd have to pull over and soothe her to sleep or handfeed her strawberry banana puffs. now, she was pretty much a little human, and he still couldn't believe it.

not his daughter, but he loved her like one, he thought. dean only wished that their father did, too.

the diner he pulls into is a little rundown, but he knows from experience that these are the best ones. hole in the walls of small towns that don't get the luxury of keeping them secret. he finds them all.

it's not even ten seconds after they're seated that bug cuts in, interrupting the waitress's rehearsed lines. "it's his birthday."

dean actually falters, stuttering over the stern words about politeness and whatever else you're supposed to teach to kids to not let them turn into his father.

the waitress's eyebrows raise, a little smile curling on her mouth. "that so?" she taps her pen on the pad of paper in her fingers before she looks over at dean. he doesn't like this. there was some sort of communication in that look on her face and on bug's that he was not getting. "want a milkshake?"

"no," dean starts, his lips pulled tight, his throat tight, everything a bit more intense now, for some reason, couldn't understand why.

at the same time, bug says, "yes."

the waitress winks and stalks off before he can do a thing about it. "baby bug." his voice is stern, but not as stern as he wants it to be.

bug sits up straighter in her seat, tilting her chin up in a way that indicated he was about to have his ass handed to him. "why don't you want a milkshake?"

the truth was that he didn't want a birthday, but he couldn't explain his pessimism to a toddler, so he says, "because big kids want something stronger than milkshakes."

"two milkshakes?"

his eyes close for a second. alcohol is probably not a good thing to teach toddlers about, either. "i didn't even think you knew today was my birthday," he says instead, nudging her little hand over the tabletop.

a look of pure befuddlement crosses over bug's expression. "i know birthdays."

the picture that she'd been working on all day makes an appearance on the table. he knew she'd been clutching something in her hand when he carried her into the diner, but hadn't been very focused on what she was doing. it'd been a long day, long drive. it was probably a crayon she'd lose and they'd have to come back in for before they continued driving. extra special crayon patrol duty and all.

it's edges are crumpled from her little fist gripping it so tightly, and the fold of it is jagged, but there in front of him is a card. the front of it is entirely made up of red hearts, only little bits of white paper peeking between them.

dean's eyes flick between her and the card a couple of times, his jaw loosing and closing and opening again. "you've been making this for me? all day?"

"it is very special." bug adjusts on her side of the booth, balanced on her knees as she leans across to the center of the table to open it. "look."

on one side is a giant purple and blue flower. purple petals scattered between blue petals, and a clear mix of blue and purple for the stem, layered atop each other. on the other side, in big letters, some backwards, some uppercase and some lowercase, is happy birthday dean!!!!!

dean feels a little like a baby himself, with the way his breath hitches. he can't cry over a birthday card. how pathetic would that make him?

"the back is not done." she slides the card closer to dean, urging him to take it, nose scrunching up in that familiar contempt. "you said we have to come n' eat."

dean takes it from her, flipping it over to see what had her so twisted up. his eyes actually do well up, then, at the sight of a big stick figure drawn in blue and purple, and a littler one next to it, holding its hand, in blue, purple, and pink. the dress on the littler one, as she said, was not done. neither was the green sky.

"thank you," he says, his voice a little more breathless than he wanted it to be, a lot more choked up than he expected. "m'gonna keep this forever, y'know."

bug doesn't even look fazed at the fact that he was damn near crying over a handmade birthday card. in fact, she looks downright smug, wearing sam's dimpled smile. "y'better. i worked really hard."

"yeah, baby bug. it shows."

the waitress slides a milkshake in front of dean, and a littler one in front of bug. then she turns without another word to go to the back of house again. dean's a little too raw to care that they hadn't even ordered yet, plucking the cherry off the top of the whipped cream and chewing on it to keep from thinking too hard.

bug's chugged half of her milkshake by the time the waitress comes back, a slice of pie on a little plate with a lit candle in its center. "it's not much, but..." she trails off, glancing between bug and dean with a little smile, "i figured this was a very big deal."

bug nods furiously, still not having stopped drinking her pink milkshake. the sugar rush was going to be impossible when they reached the hotel, but with how light dean was feeling, he might end up jumping on the bed with her.

"make a wish!" bug huffs, her little leg kicking out at dean's knee beneath the table.

dean stares down at the cherry pie, the whipped cream hiding the candle's base in it's foam. what did you wish for when things never tended to go right?

in his pocket, dean's phone buzzes. he blinks once, blinks twice, before answering. "sam?"

"hey!" sam's voice is like a soothing distraction to the ache in his chest. he figured the field trip would take up most of sam's attention, hadn't been expecting any sort of phone call or word from him until he came home. he'd had a lifetime of doubts that kept him from believing that anyone could consider him. "happy birthday, dean."

his heart falters in his chest again. dean smiles before he can stop himself. "thanks, sammy," he says, his voice still rough on the edges, "wanna talk to bug?"

bug's already reaching across the table to steal the phone, and as she does, dean considers the candlelit pie again. he listens to sam's muffled voice from the other side of the booth, and bug's excited recounting of her birthday card making, and he knows what to wish for.

another birthday like this, dean thinks, as the flame dissipates into smoke.

───────────────────────────────────

notes, cried writing this thank u for asking. this was one of those shower ideas that wouldn't go away, so... wrote it! anything for my birthday baby.

tags. @titsout4jackles @moonstruksandco @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @itzavahere @sagegreen17 @bruceewayne @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @deansbeer @blushpinkdoll @warpedless @sabrinasopposite @k-slla @deansbite @foolinthera1n @honeyryewhiskey @angelblqde @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @fallbhind @florchids @figthoughts @beausling @chevroletdean @mccartneyqp @bluestrd @sthefferrete @rubyvhs @tortureddarkstar @aileenunfiltered @frosttbitessam @theosaurous

[callsign-rogueone]

How do you think the fourth wing characters would be like with a little sister? Who would be overprotective and spoil you, who'd constantly tease and fight with you, or not be close with you at all? Obviously for the ones who have sibling(s) in canon we have some idea, but I'd really like to hear your thoughts, especially on Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen, and Xaden! 🩷🖤

I love this ask! sorry it took me so long, and that these are short. I had to think about the sibling dynamics for a while. my brother and I were never very close, so idk what’s “normal”, if that makes sense.

Imogen:

she’s the youngest sibling in canon, so if she had an even-younger sibling, she’d go protective mode times a thousand after your parents’ execution. you are not leaving her sight unless absolutely necessary, and anyone who doesn't pass the vibe check is not going anywhere near you. she’s fighting tooth and nail to stay with you when they split up the 107 for fostering.

she relaxes a little after a while — a little. but she’s still the one to interrogate you about where you’re going, with who, when you’ll be back…

she’s not the warm and fuzzy type by any stretch of the imagination, so the way that she shows you love might look a little different than “normal”. but if/when shit hits the fan, you know that she’ll come running when you call, and the other way around, too.

Bodhi:

he’s the one that spoils you, our sweetheart. anything that you need for any reason will just materialize in your room. (his family comes from money, so it’s fine).

his philosophy is that a) you deserve it all, and also b) you have enough to worry about with the current state of the world (because you absolutely know about all of that wyvern and venin stuff. he’s not leaving you in the dark about it) and having to eventually go to the death trap that is basgiath war college. just let him take care of you, and do the things that he can.

if you got split up, heaven forbid, he visits you all the time. and brings presents, of course.

he’s the touchy one. it’s common for y’all to be directly next to each other all the time, or for you to be laid on the couch with your feet in his lap, whatever. (these are probably bad examples. idk.)

no goodbyes without hugs, ever, because he knows that any day could be his or your last.

Garrick:

I’ve thought about this a lot because of sweets!!

he’s going to invest time in teaching you to protect yourself, as he won’t always be nearby to defend you (especially after he leaves for Basgiath and then graduates to go to Samara and you’re left behind). all of them would do that, but he's the one knocking on your door at the crack of dawn to go run 3 miles with him before breakfast — no days off for this one.

he’s also the one who teases the most. you two are gonna be bantering all the time. outsiders might be concerned, but you and those closest to you know that it’s out of love.

lets you borrow (steal) his clothes, especially when you’re cold or want to be extra comfy. some days you just need a sweater that hangs down to your knees, okay?

the sleeves are also way too long, so you whap him with one, and then he’s putting you in a headlock and messing up your hair until you apologize.

also; intimidates the shit out of any boy you would bring home, because no matter who it is, he could absolutely beat them in a fight. you have to bribe / beg him to stay away whenever you have company, because he’s scared off three potential boyfriends already. his argument is that if they’re too scared of him, they wouldn’t be able to protect you. and maybe he knows that somebody else likes you, anyway…

Xaden:

I feel like out of all the fw characters, I have the least grasp of Xaden, despite him being the MMC. anyway…

similarly to garrick, he’s putting you through the paces to get you physically prepared. maintaining the skills your dad taught you (because fen would have taught all of his kids to fight, regardless of gender), and building on them by practicing with brennan or the other elders.

he’s the one you have random, deep conversations with at 2am over snacks, where you say some incredibly profound, introspective things, and then never mention it again. you both silently understand that anything you tell each other doesn’t leave that room.

you understand how much weight he has on his shoulders, and so you try to take care of him too sometimes. lots of silent gestures between you — if he’s doing laundry, he’ll throw some of your stuff in too, if you’re going to town you pick up a piece of cake from the bakery for him… etc.

that’s all I have for now. might reblog and add more thoughts if they come to me!

[fanged-fanfics]

oh oh !! I have an idea !! You made a Dark choco cookie meet kid!y/n, how about a Princess cookie meeting y/n and just like Dark choco, their are like sibling ??

☆ Another Friendly Face — Princess Cookie & Child!Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Familial, Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The moment Princess Cookie found out about you, she wanted to hang out! She's always been the type to welcome new friends, and latched onto you pretty quickly

ᯓᡣ𐭩 If dress up is your thing, then she absolutely helps you try on clothes from her wardrobe, you can borrow anything if you'd like!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The type of kid that always wants to have a sleepover. Her parents always allow it if yours are okay with it, and she's ecstatic to have you over each and every time

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You basically never run out of things to do with her, she always has an idea for a new fun game or somewhere to go (sometimes even dragging Knight Cookie along)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 She's super sweet and supportive to you, but not to anyone who's rude to you. Oh someone was picking on you? Just say the word, she'll storm right up to then and very loudly chew them out

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Since I'm a princess, then that makes you a royal too!... Well yes I know you're not technically my sibling, but it counts!! Here, just try on one crown-"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One of the best Cookies to go to when you're having a bad day. She's very attentive and motivating and is equally willing to fight anyone who wronged you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 She'll sometimes give you a gift out of the blue, and when you ask what the occasion is, she'll just smile brightly and say "nothing, really! Just to make you happy! It's what sisters are for, right?"

[shadowsndaisies]

I was re-reading the series bcs duh, why not? And I love that NG has so different dynamics with each member of the Team and I love that with Roy is just younger-sister-sassy.lvl_3000

LIKE- she turn even more cheeky and stubborn with him, annoying him on purpose and getting in his nerves LMAO THAT'S EXATCLY LIKE SIBLINGS ARE

here a dialogue that I had with my siblings that remembered me of Roy and NG

Roy: get out of my room (lying down on his bed scrolling through his phone)

NG: (stading right there on his room door) I'm not on your room

Roy: yes you are, get out!

NG: I'm not!! I'm not stepping inside of your room! (points down where her feet's are behind the line of Roy's door line)

Roy: Get out!! OR I'MMA THROW OUT YOU JACKET (gets up)

NG: YOU WOULDN'T-

Roy: (bolt out of his bed)

NG: (running down the hallway)

so ive been sitting on this one bc it inspired a lil blurb. enjoy some sibling roy and birdy content after their angst from the season finale!!

synopsis: sibling bonding time!! aka the holidays right after ollie takes in roy...

wc: 1.2k

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You were bored.

It’s winter break, 2004. Christmas is days away but you were so incredibly bored.

This year you were celebrating in a cozy little cottage some ways outside the city that Oliver’s family owned. Ollie himself had been pulled away for some sort of League thing, and so at the moment it was just you, Dinah, and Roy. Dinah had been on some call for the last hour and a half in a little home office. So really, it was just you and Roy.

You like Roy. Everyday he's becoming more and more like the older brother you never had. Dinah seems to really like him too, so it bodes well for your little family. Ollie had only taken him in about six months ago, and there was still some space for adjustment as you settled into being a newly minted family of four. Not that Roy seemed to realize that this was a family… he’d catch on soon enough.

But that's okay. It took you a while to put it together, you could give him some grace to do the same, even though he's older than you were then, and older than you in general.

Nonetheless, be it the boredom, or because Roy was still this new thing, you found yourself in his doorway.

He was just laying there, book in hand. Maybe he's bored too? you consider as you stare. If he's reading the tactic books that Ollie had given him, he had to be, right?

“What do you want (y/n)?” he sighs out, without looking when you stood in silence too long.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Stuff,” is his one word answer and you crinkle your nose in response.

“Come play with me,” you offer instead.

“Nope, doing stuff,” he repeats.

This time your brows shift down, and you step closer.

“Stop,” he groans, finally turning to look at you. “I'm not interested, and I’m doing stuff, so just.. I don't know? Go away?”

You're fully frowning now.

Teenagers suck, you decide.

And then your face relaxes. If Roy wanted to be a sucky teenager meanie pants, then he would be treated like a sucky teenager meanie pants.

“No.”

Roy stops mid page turn and slowly turns his head to look at you. Blue eyes narrowing slightly. “No?”

“No,” you cross your arms and confirm.

“(y/n), get out of my room!” he huffs.

You know he's starting to loose his patience with you. He's already tossed his book to the side to glare at you with full focus, he didn’t even mark his page, you note, scrunching your nose.

Your brows furrow in response before you glance down at your feet. You can see the thin little line that marks the threshold of the room and hallway.

smirking you look back at roy and state, “im not in your room,” as matter of factly as you can manage.

You don't laugh when his eye twitches, but you do take great smug solace in it.

“Yes, you are! Get out!” he shouts again.

“No, I’m not,” you repeat with the same tone. “I haven't stepped into your room at all… yet,” you challenge, pointing to the threshold of the door, and how your feet were planted firmly in the hall still.

“Get out, or I'm donating your leather jacket to a Goodwill,” he challenges, standing up.

That gives you pause, because no fair, you loved your jacket. Dinah and Ollie got it for you.

You hesitate in the door, and he steps forward.

“You wouldn't,” you counter, brows knitted as you study his body language.

Honestly that’s probably the only reason you managed to move as quick as you did.

Studying him for a lie meant you saw how he tensed up, pushing his weight to his back leg before he pounced, arms open and trying to grab you.

Well, and Dinah, consider she's the one who taught you how to read people.

You did notice though and were already booking it back down the hallway before he’d even caught his footing.

“BIRDY!” he shouts, and you can hear him running after you.

You're about to turn to your room, ready to shut the door and throw the lock when you realize your jacket is hanging over the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen. You turn quickly, sprinting through the home.

When you risk a glance back to see Roy gaining, stupid longer legs you think menacingly to yourself.

“DINAH!” you shout, hoping she might hear you.

“NO DINAH!” Roy counters.

You plant one leg on the couch vaulting yourself over before skidding to a stop next to your jacket.

Roy stands across from you. The two of you separated by a couch.

“You shoulda just left me alone Birdy!” he spits out, but you're both panting hard.

“I was bored!”

“How about now?” he challenges. “Still bored?”

You're hugging your jacket to you as you frown, but are saved from retorting when the door swings open, revealing Oliver. He's a bit bruised and battered, and he's got his bag with all his GA gear slung over a shoulder, but he's back.

Neither you nor Roy moves, and it takes less than two seconds for Oliver to read you both and let out a sigh.

“What was it this time?”

“She’s annoying!” Roy starts and you stick your tongue out at him.

“At least I'm not a sucky teenager meanie pants,” you counter, and Ollie’s eyes blow wide.

“Wow, breaking out not only sucky but also a meanie pants, gosh squirt what’d he do?”

“He was mean! for no reason!”

“No reason? She’s literally annoying me for no reason!” Roy counters.

“We're really feeling that holiday spirit huh?” ollie offers in response, finally walking all the way in, and shutting the door behind him.

“So funny,” you scoff.

“Yeah, what a crack up,” Roy snarks.

Ollie takes the opportunity to beam with a little too much pride at you both.

“See, you guys do agree on stuff,” he decides. “I’m great at this conflict management stuff,” he smirks, “I honestly don't understand what Dinah was going on and on about,” he adds, though his tone drops a bit quieter as he says the last sentence.

You make eye contact with Roy behind Ollie’s head and you see as he rolls his eyes and the expression he shoots at you clearly asks, *can you believe this guy?*

You hold back a snort as you quirk a brow in response. Roy seems to pick up on what you were trying to share because slowly you place your jacket back on the chair and then in the next second you both are lunging at Oliver. Ollie, despite how well trained he is was unprepared and lopped over the back off the couch, practically somersaulting over the sofa until he was on the ground. It's quiet for a second and then both you and Roy are laughing. He's holding the edge of the couch and there are tears in your eyes.

“Yes,” he states dryly, slowly pushing himself back to his feet, “bond by bullying your injured mentor…”

The look on his face simply had you both laughing harder.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist: @batarella @loninctzencarat @escapenightmare @uh-oh-howd-i-get-here

cnng taglist: @babymango-writes @smile-more19 @bruiscdlikeviolets @truly-dionysus @farfromjustordinary @sometimeseverythingsucks @dweeb-central @lucy-roo @casedoina @cipheress-to-k-pop @anonomano @seninjakitey @whelmedparker @officiallydarkgeek @midnxghtblue @unini @blackwhiteandshadesofgradient @dontmesswithbeebo @raggedyoldwitch @bouqet-of-gay @duckmylife18 @kendallambrosio @notslaybabes @torchbearerkyle @cynthiarose07 @mono--moonchild @emo-space-tea @notsostraightweeb @sassyspanishartist @ahyeonah @acceber1313 @onepieceformeplease @whatislifeandhowdoidoit @luvelyxp @lovelyartemisa @evermoore580 @mischiefmanaged71 @cryingnotcrying @aces-tattooartist @we-flower-fan @awkward-youtube-trash @laurcad123 @sanovr @feverish-dove @lolsnacks

[invincibledc]

Dick who is feeling prideful: Who’s your favorite sibling lil D?

Damian not hesitating at all about his twin: Y/N.

Dick coughs in his fist feeling a little hurt.

Dick: let me rephrase that. WHO’S your favorite non-blood sibling?

Damian actually thinks about it before opening his mouth.

Damian: I am loyal to my sibling that is my blood. No one shall take their spot in my heart.

Damian dramatically puts his hand to his heart meanwhile dick is very close to punching the boy in the throat.

Damian: though Grayson, you are tolerable. I can recommend that you are my favorite “non-blood.” Brother….

Dick smiles before what Damian said made him frown.

Damian: Though, you are below Todd.

Dick: MOTHER FUC—

[katzu919]

okau so this idea randomly came to mind so if requests r still open may i request a one of tartaglia’s little brother whos the reader. The reader even being younger than tartaglia he could be around (18-20), he ended up falling into the abyss like tartaglia, it felt as if it was years for reader in the abyss but was maybe only a couple hours. tartaglia finds out about this and hunts down his brother and comforts him since he knows what its like in the abyss. idk if this makes sense but take ur time :) , ive seen ur page floating around for a while now and just ended up following u lmao

call of the abyss

Ajax had returned to Snezhnaya after being abroad for work. Ajax’s brother, Y/n had just turned eighteen and Ajax got to celebrate it just a few days late. Y/n and his friends went out to celebrate him finally becoming an ‘adult’.

“Oh come on!” One of his friends nudged his arm. “The night barely began!” His friends laughed. They had been hanging out in an old fort they’ve had since their younger years. The old building somehow surviving the harsh weather of Snezhnaya for multiple years.

“I promised my brother I wouldn’t stay out too late so we could hang out. And he’s rarely home and I don't want to waste this time I have with him.” He replied as I stood up from the wood plank he was sitting on.

“It’s fine man, we get it.” His other friend replied. They sat higher up, looking down on Y/n. “You good to walk home by yourself? I think we’re going to stay out.” Y/n nodded his head and crossed his arms, and annoyed look crossed his face.

“Yes I can. I’ve walked the path many times, I don’t even live far.” He huffed as he made his way out of the fort. His friends laughed at his reply as he slowly made his way towards his home.

The snow crunching beneath his feet as the wind started to pick up a bit. Y/n groaned as he pulled his coat tighter to himself. Snow started to blow up around him making it hard to see anything but a few feet in front of him. His breath started to fasten as panic set in a bit. How did the weather change so drastically so quickly? The wind pushed him around as his surroundings started to become less familiar. Did he get turned around? He swore he never changed the direction he was walking in. Did the wind slowly push him in another direction? His breath started to become more panicked but before he could take another step the floor fell beneath his feet. All at once he was falling into darkness, the wind and snow no longer anywhere to be seen or heard.

Absolutely silent.

When Y/n stopped falling he hit the ground with a groan. He didn’t know how long he was falling or even how he survived the fall. He slowly got up, his hands shaking a bit as he slowly took in his surroundings. Blue and purple surrounded him, stars littered the dark sky above him. Where was he and how was he going to get out? The hairs on the back of Y/n’s neck rose as he heard the faint sound of something making its way over. He quickly stood up, his legs and arms shook as he did so. He pushed through as he slowly ran away from whatever seemed to make its way over, not too keen on meeting the inhabitants of this strange land.

-

Y/n wasn’t sure how much time passed since he fell down here. Time seemed to move differently than it did back in Snezhnaya. Was he even in Teyvat anymore? He didn’t know. It felt like months he’s been here but his body didn’t seem to reflect that. He hadn’t felt hungry, thirsty, or tired since he fell, however long ago that was now.

The creatures that roamed this land were much different from the ones he saw up in Snezhnaya. They could use the elements without visions, or at least he didn’t think they had any. He never stayed around long or close enough to see any so as far as he was concerned they didn’t. He was determined to stay undetected as long as he could, not sure how long it would be before he could make it back to Snezhnaya, or if he even could. But sadly his presence was eventually found by the creatures and beings from this place. He ran and ran, seeking a place to hide and wait for them to stop searching for him. Y/n was even more cautious now, looking over his shoulder constantly. Scared what would happen if they happened to get their hands on him.

Oh god, his family. How long has it been? Did they think he was dead? lost to the snow, frozen somewhere? Attacked by some creature? His heart ached at the thought of what his family must be going through.

Y/n slowly curled up, trying to silent his sobs. He just wanted to go home. And as if Celestia heard his wish, he felt the cold wind of Snezhnaya blow against his back. Snow falling onto his head. He lifted his head, his tired eyes open to see the white snow that covered the land. A sob broke through him as he quickly got up but quickly froze when he heard the sound of snow crunching under someone’s feet.

-

Y/n was supposed to be home hours ago. Ajax looked at the clock, a pit formed in his stomach. Something was off. He got up from where he was sitting in the living room and walked to the front door. He grabbed his coat and left the house silently, not wanting to disturb his sleeping family.

The air was quiet as he made his way towards where Y/n was supposed to be with his friends. The farther Ajax walked, the pit in his stomach grew deeper. Something about the air seemed off. Seemed to set off warning bells in his head.

The abyss. It all came rushing back. Ajax hurried his steps, hoping what he feared was not true. That you were safe and sound. Just as his panic started to grow more, he saw a figure sitting in the snow. The familiar figure stopped all the thoughts in his head as he stopped and stared. He hesitated for just a moment before he started to rush in his brother’s direction.

Y/n flinched when Ajax got close, his heart breaking. The fear in his brother's eyes as they might. Ajax stopped in his tracks, his heart felt like it broke into a million pieces. Ajax slowly kneeled down and opened his arms, his brother only hesitating for a moment before throwing himself at Ajax. Y/n craved the touch of someone after being alone for so long. He sobbed into Ajax should as he shushed him.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. I got you.” Ajax whispered into his brother's hair. Anger started to form in Ajax. Why did his brother have to go through this? What did he do to deserve falling into the abyss?

Ajax slowly stood up with his brother in his arms. Carry him like he did when Y/n was just a baby. He rubbed Y/n’s back in soothing motions as he slowly started to walk home.

“It’s okay, we’ll get through this.” Ajax whispered to him as they walked away from the pit in the ground, oozing with an evil that Ajax hated with all his heart.

Hello! I kinda forgot how to write while writing this… hope it’s not noticeable. I’m also trying to like my writing style and be happy with it and not just quitting when i’m not instantly in love with it :p. i also write this in one sitting… anywhooo i also set up a ko-fi but do not feel like you have to send anything!! my writing is completely free and for fun (as much fun as trying to write with writers block is). Im not to sure how the abyss works even after reading through the wiki so i probably got something wrong but who cares and im also behind in the main story quest…. i’m not actually sure if people reads these notes but sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

[deadghosy]

How the Slytherin boys react to child! sibling reader ignoring them

Ft. Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

Warning: google translated Italian

I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

Riddle brothers

Tom thought the cause of this was because of Mattheo. So he brings the alleged culprit to you.

“Mattheo. What did you to upset them?”

“Man I didn’t do shit!”

It was worse when you didn’t come for dinner. Now Tom was actually worried along with Mattheo. So they sat you down, you guys talked and it was all good.

Mattheo and Tom however acted too nice to you after the whole ignoring situation…

Like too nice.

It creeped you out a lot.

Blaise Zabini

You ignored him cause he didn’t get you want you wanted.

“You wanna be petty? I’ll be petty to you too you git.” He says as he starts to ignore you as well.

This went on all day. But the first one it broke was him as he sighed and went to your room.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I went to buy what you wanted. I realized I spoiled you too bloody much.”

And that’s all it was for you to crack and smile at him.

Theodore Nott

All aboard the annoying express!

He’s talking the native language you both speak until you break and yell at him to shut his trap.

“Cmon lil sis/bro. Perché sei arrabbiato con me? Cosa ho fatto di sbagliato. È stato perché ho mangiato i tuoi avanzi? Giuro che ti prenderò di più.” (Cmon lil sis/bro. Why you mad at me?? What did I do wrong. Was it cause I ate your leftovers? I swear I’ll get you more.)

You huff at him which made him smirk at you breaking.

“Ehi, pensi che io possa avere il tuo cibo per domani?” (Hey, do you think I can have your food for tomorrow?)

“NO!”

Lorenzo Berkshire

He just rolls his eyes at you.

Cmon now, why be angry at him was there’s always a 50/50 percent chance he actually didn’t do anything to you

“Cmon…stop pouting and talk to me. I’ll listen to you?” He says sitting beside you only for you to turn your head away from him.

“Fine. Be that way cause guess who isn’t getting ice cream.”

“WHAT?!” Lorenzo smirks seeing you break

“THATS WHAT I THOUGHT! Now cmon.”

[knyontop]

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

Victor Criss: what do you have?

Sibling!reader: A KNIFE! (Patrick gave them one)

Victor Criss: NO!

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

[writinginatree]

Sugared Blood

Relationship(s): Lost boys & vampire!reader (Dwayne's pov)

Summary: Forcing you to stay home on Halloween, the boys have to get creative to keep you from sulking all night.

"Sweetie, you can't live off of candy."

You glared up at Dwayne from your place in your favorite old armchair, demonstratively shoving another piece of whatever candy your hand found first into your mouth.

He sighed. "I'm not saying you can't have candy. In fact, you can have as much as you want, as long as you promise to thoroughly brush your teeth before we sleep. But human food can't sustain you anymore. You need blood."

You just stuck your chocolate-stained tongue out at him, which earned you a laugh from Paul, who was using the distraction Dwayne provided to steal some of your candy for himself. The whole bag was stolen, anyway, since David had deemed trick-or-treating too dangerous for you.

Hunters were especially vigilant on Halloween, knowing many creatures saw it as the one day in the year they could show their true faces, and after the almost-disaster that Michael had brought on, David was refusing to take any chances. You had cried, raged, sulked, and pleaded with him, all to no avail. Maybe next year, he'd told you, but Dwayne was almost certain you would be staying home next year, too. And the year after that, and the next, and every other Halloweens that would follow. As much as he wished you could have your fun, Dwayne had to agree that safety came first, and unfortunately for you, that meant laying low when people on the street whispered about things lurking in the dark.

Despite begrudgingly accepting you had to stay home — not like you really had a choice, anyway — you were still very much unhappy with David and his overprotectiveness. All night, you'd done nothing but gorge yourself on candy and insist Dwayne read you scary stories, refusing any and all suggestions of other things to do — including drinking the bottled blood the boys kept for you.

They'd stocked up on the precious liquid a few nights ago, since Dwayne had suggested you'd feel better about having to stay home if they stayed in, too. Though everyone had agreed on the sentiment, all solidarity went out the figurative window this evening, when upon waking up, David had discovered he was out of cigarettes. The huge bag of candy he'd brought back with him to bribe you hadn't earned him your forgiveness as he'd hoped, nor did the Stephen King book covered in bloodstains which made it very clear how David had gotten it.

Dwayne held the bottle of blood out to you again, but you just pulled a face and continued eating candy.

"Come on, you've got to be hungry. Going on a hunger strike won't make David change his mind either," Dwayne tried to reason with you.

"I'm not hunger striking," you argued. "I'm just only having candy today. I don't want to drink blood all the time."

"You can't live off of candy."

"Sure I can."

"No, you can't. You're not human anymore. You're a vampire, and that means you need blood to live."

The way you drew a face, scrunching up your nose, drew you curious looks from all of them, even getting the attention of David, who'd been pointedly avoiding you all night in hopes of you forgetting about your grudge until tomorrow. But this sudden dislike for blood was more than a little peculiar. You'd never had a problem with the consumption of it, even when you'd been newly turned. Usually Dwayne or David went to feed with you alone, keeping things tamer than when they went without you, but despite your youth, it hadn't taken you long until you seemed to take as much joy in killing as the rest of them. So what was the issue now?

"What's wrong with blood?" Marko voiced the question going through all of their heads.

"Well, nothing, really..."

"But?"

"I just don't like having the same thing all the time," you whined, crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat to glare at them. "I can't stand it anymore. Can't we, like, make anything from the blood? I mean, vampires have been around for ages, and you're telling me none ever came up with some nice recipes because they got bored of having plain blood every day?"

"Y'know, I think the kid's got a point," Paul said. "We could totally come up with something more fun than boring old blood."

"Blood-candy!" you insisted, a chant Paul and Marko instantly added their voices to.

Dwayne shared a sceptical look with David. While they had added a small cooking corner in the cave since you joined them, it had turned out that despite your shared love for human food, none of you had much talent for producing anything actually edible. Trying something as complex as making your own candy — with blood as a special ingredient, no less — was bound to end in chaos. Still, if it kept you from further sulking, they'd let you try.

Not that there was any stopping the feral blonds, anyway, now that you'd put the idea into their heads. They were already on their feet, merrily letting you drag them to the cave's little kitchenette.

Dwayne and David had no choice but to follow, and try to keep the three of you from setting the whole cave on fire.

Bouncing excitedly on your feet, you threw a disarray of bowls, knifes and spoons onto the counter. "I bet we could make chocolate filled with blood!"

"Hmm, I guess," Dwayne said. "But maybe we should start with something a bit simpler, don't you think?"

"Fiiine. Then let's— Let's try making, like, a bloodshake!"

"A bloodshake?"

"Yeah. Like a milkshake, but with blood. That should be easy, right?"

"Alright, let's try," Dwayne agreed.

You clapped your hands. "Okay, what should we put in there besides the blood?"

"Milk," Paul and Marko answered as one.

"Duh. What else?"

"Cinnamon?" Dwayne offered, hoping to keep it simple.

"How about a banana to make it a bit thicker?"

"Yes to both."

"And some cocoa powder," Paul said.

You nodded. "And vanilla extract."

"Do we even have a blender?" Marko interrupted.

"Uhhh..." You scratched the back of your head, looking around. Since there was no electricity in the cave, you also didn't have any electrical kitchen equipment. "No?"

"Right, that's a no to the banana then."

"Right."

"Anything else then?" Paul asked.

Dwayne quickly shook his head, and David said, "Let's not add too much stuff, or it'll just taste like a mess."

Dwayne was half expecting you to contradict them, just to spite David, if nothing else, but apparently that grudge was now finally forgotten. You emptied a bottle of blood into a big mixing bowl, then added what Dwayne estimated to be about two cups of milk. He wanted to tell you that maybe you should measure out the ingredients to get the 'shake' to taste like you wanted, but you were already throwing in seemingly random amounts of the spices you'd agreed on.

When all ingredients were swimming in the bowl, Paul handed you a whisk, and you stirred everything together, droplets of the liquid splashing onto the counter and your arms with every circle the whisk made. Dwayne sighed internally. Cleaning up the mess would probably fall to him. Paul and you couldn't be trusted to do it properly, and David was too proud to bother with housework, which left only him or Marko, who much preferred causing chaos over eliminating it.

Once you deemed everything sufficiently mixed — minutes more than would have been necessary, if you asked Dwayne, which of course you didn't — you lifted the whisk from the bowl to lick it clean, only to have Paul snatch it away and do so instead of you.

"Hey!"

Paul only grinned and stepped out of your reach.

As David placed five mismatched glasses on the counter, Dwayne snatched the ladle to take filling the glasses upon himself before you could make an even bigger mess.

Since Paul eagerly started gulping his down as soon as he was handed it, Dwayne supposed the result had to be at least sort of edible. Then again, Paul's preferences in taste could be very questionable sometimes, so the first sip Dwayne took was small, just in case.

"Hey, that actually tastes good!"

Marko was right. The 'milkshake' was better than Dwayne had dared to hope.

"Could have used some sugar, though," you said.

David shook his head, and Dwayne found it fine as it was, too, but neither of them wanted to argue with you. They watched in silence as you dumped one spoon of sugar into your glass, then a second. After stirring and taking another sip, you added a third, and tried again.

"Ahh, perfect."

"Are you trying to fuck up your teeth?"

"My teeth are doing just fine," you argued. "They love sugar."

"Right..."

"Anyway, can we try making blood-chocolate now? And you have to tell me another scary story while we do. Please!"

Dwayne found himself unable to do anything but nod. This was going to be a long night, but as long as you were happy, that was fine.