#and like.. he think's it's hot but sometimes ollie just goes too far

[brownbearwrites]

I NEED to add more to your little felix and oliver fantasyyy

so just IMAGNE felix and reader just get THAT comfortable with oliver for him to be there EVERY night while you two are .. yk.. and he joins in sometimes too !!

but one night.. you stayed at the castle while felix and oliver were at a party. oliver got drunk and said something to felix which hurt felix more than it should ( this led to a physical fight between them )

a little later you find out about the fight and you successfully get there and separate them.

now u got two drunk men on both of your shoulders carrying them to your and felixes bedroom.

oliver and felix are still fighting but this time verbally. you get fed up with it and banish them to the couch.

and in the middle of the night you fell something heavy on your sleepy body. you open your eyes just a little bit and you see oliver and felix on top of you. they gag you with something and it just turns into a jealous fuck fest between you two !! ( with a little bit of after care ofc ) 💞

yes yes YES! they love you but GOD does it annoy them when you get in between them while they're squabbling — always trying to be a good little peacekeeper. Maybe they get in a punch or two alongside the snide remarks, Felix's eyebrow piercing bleeding down his face from where Oliver managed to get in a hit. You barely even register the astounded looks on the party guest's faces as you drag your two fully-grown but CHILDISH partners back into the house. Later that night, they turn their frustrations away from each other and onto you, dead-set on teaching you a little lesson on when to have them let at each other.

Of course, they'd still be trying to one-up each other the whole time, still a bit sour from whatever mean words had been said earlier in the night — the cut on Felix's face still stinging from where you cleaned him up earlier. It's overwhelming and intense, but GOD would it be hot to have them bicker over who makes you feel the best.

Of course, they make up not long after — it's hard to be angry at each other after a good orgasm (plus, it's not like they could ever live without one another, or you, for what it's worth)

[sopxhiea]

Disturbance

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: The scary gangster realizes that there’s only one creature that will not do as he says and his soft spot for the eldest girl grows into something else before he can prevent it.

Part 1

“She’s cranky.”

“Move away if you don’t want this kiss.”

He’s not going to say it.

Not when he watches you fiddle around with the buttons in your hand, the one your younger sister ripped off her jacket the same morning. He will not open his mouth when you come around to talk to him about some shipments and some things that don’t add up. Not even when you’re so close to him, standing right next to his seated form that he can smell the vanilla off you. 

Although everyone knows it.

The match was rather uneventful, a test of some sorts for the gangster to make sure he kept his hands to himself. He had behaved, asked after the girls and about you and you’d given him vague information while wearing what he thought seemed like a golden shower. He had gone out to gather himself a few times, leaving a confused pretty lady and snickering Ollie behind.

He was a man that got everything he wanted.

People never said no to him, most of the time they already knew what he wanted anyway but you just toyed with the gangster. A few smiles here and there, a slight touch on his arm and he was feeling some type of way already. He had dropped you off at your house after collecting your sisters and found his eyes searching for you in every little corner.

He was right fucked, as he’d put it.

It’s been a couple of months of you working for the gangster. The workload is significantly demanding and the more time passes, the more jobs he gives you but you don’t dare complain. Your sisters are all in school, some sort of daycare in the weekends whenever you have to work and he’s the one making sure you’re all taken care of. 

There’s less screaming in the mornings, as Essie has grown fond of the broad man who shows up nearly every morning with breakfast in his hands. She’s young, and even Lily doesn’t see the way he steals glances your way but Emily, the oldest is not blind and the gangster forgets that. Although he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

The bakery is hot with the changing season, hot to a point where short sleeves do not cut it anymore. The women at the front bakery store have told you to wear skirts, long ones with less garments underneath but you have decided on a dress, nothing fancy but something to get you by around the house as well. It almost hugs you too tight in some areas and you realize this once some bakers start giving you a look but are too afraid to flirt or even comment.

Since you’re off limits.

Apparently everyone knows but you. The workers, the bakers around the front, even Emily but she won’t say a word because she thinks Alfie will take away her going out at night privileges she’s earned by taking care of Lily. You climb the stairs, footsteps soft against the wood and he hears it, almost feels a lump in his throat but decides he’s too much of a man to feel light-headed around a woman, whatever that means.

You knock once and enter, don’t realize the way his eyes are ogling you in the dress you’re in. A smile is apparent on your lips and he knows what day it is. 

“Mr. Solomons-”

“‘s Alfie, lass.” he says, like a plea at this point to try and get you stop calling him by his surname. Not only does he want to hear you say his name but the formality does things to him where he has to shift in his pants.

“Mr. Solomons, Lily has that ballet recital today and I was wondering if I could leave early to get ready.” you say and he nods, looking at your eyes the entire time. 

He knows what day it is, since Lily has spoken of it so much and you realize the gangster remembers everything, well almost everything, they say. She’s been showing him some moves she’s learned for the recital every morning he’s around and all he’d do was to clap with Essie on his lap.

“When is it, pet?” he asks, the pet name stuck on you after months of working for the man and you don’t mind. If anything, it’s the evident mark on his soft spot for you but you don’t ponder on it too much. 

“Around 7, I think. Shouldn’t last too long.” you speak and he throws a light smile your way. His lips are closed this time as he watches you, head to toe and you wonder about how appropriate some things he does around you are.

That is not to say that you’re not oblivious but you’ve been around enough men to know the signs. The way he leans towards you while walking, the small nods he throws your way each time you’re around his perimeter and not to mention Essie telling you that Alfie had been calling you ‘the pretty sister’ for a while now. 

But you decide some things take time.

And you speak this time, before he can ang the slight glisten in his eyes do not help. “You want to come with?” you speak, and his eyebrows raise slowly.

He’s a smart man.

Taking care of his late employee’s girls as much as he could, that was smart. Offering them all his help and even visiting them in the mornings, that was smart. Hiring his pretty little daughter who happens to be an excellent bookkeeper to walk around in dresses, that was not smart. 

Going to the younger one’s ballet recital, that would not be smart.

He didn’t care for the talk around town, people loved to gossip and he knew it from being around the streets but he figured it would hurt the little girls and her. And he wouldn’t let that happen, it simply wasn’t smart. 

But he did want to see you in a different dress, all dolled up.

He wasn’t too proud of the dreams he’d been having, they were mostly daydreams but he’d caught himself envisioning you in too many scenarios that involved a lack of clothing and an expression of pure bliss. He knew the boundaries but the looks you would give him didn’t help.

“Lily would like it.” you speak and it’s the last blow.

And you know it.

Unlike what many would’ve thought, the gangster is not all he was told to be. Sure, he’s scary looking and very cruel to some but not to little girls. He’s soft, too kind at times you find out as you watch him play with your little sisters every morning. 

He doesn’t care, he realizes and the words leave his mouth before he can stop himself, although it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “I’m fuckin’ there, lass.”

------

He can hear the screaming.

He knocks once on the door and braces himself. The man has been to war, seen dead bodies with their brains all over the soil but this, this he has to get ready for. Emily opens the door with a scowl, which then turns into a smile when she sees it’s him. She’s wearing a pretty dress, hair done beautifully and Alfie wonders how the other ones are looking.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons.” she speaks, Alfie can tell you have taught her to speak that day but reckons he can do better.

“Aye, Emily, what did we say about ya’ callin’ me that, hm?” he asks, not swearing although it takes all his might to be careful.

“But Y/N said-” she says and confirms his suspicions. Alfie throws a smile at the young girl before stepping in and realizing the living room is empty, although the screaming has not stopped.

“Eh, your sister says a lot of things, don’t she.” he asks and sits down on his usual place on the sofa and Emily sits next to the gangster and nods. She’s changing by the passing day and Alfie feels like he can’t catch up.

“Good thing she’s pretty.” Emily says in all seriousness and it causes him to burst into laughter, laughter in which Emily joins her.

And that’s when you emerge from the bedroom.

Lily is holding your hand, wearing a purple dress with ribbons on her hair. Alfie can tell she cried from the hiccups that come and go but she has a smile on her lips now. Essie, on the other hand, is still crying as you hold her on the other side. Her dress is slightly different in color, looks wonderful nonetheless.

And there’s you.

Your dress is slightly shorter and completely different in color. The olive green material ends around just under your knees, with a generous look around your collarbones. Your hair is tied, a low bun which Essie threatens to ruin at any given moment. Alfie feels himself get stuck for a second but Emily slightly elbows him so that the brute can gather himself and speak.

“’ello, pet.” he speaks and Lily slowly approaches him, as she sometimes does and reaches for the beard. Alfie lets him, eyes traveling from the little one to you.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” you say, voice soft as you put Essie on the couch next to Emily so you can get your coat and theirs.

“Em let me in.” Alfie says and Emily nods, her youngest sister on her lap.

“Oh..okay.” you say and disappear behind the door. The entire time, Alfie is watching you go and Emily is watching him. She’s amused to say the least.

And that’s when Essie starts crying again.

You emerge from one of the rooms with all their coats. The little one is not coming with you, as your trusted neighbor has agreed to watch her for the night. You dress Lily and Emily dresses herself in their coats and Alfie clears his throat, making you look up at him and he signals Essie and her crying.

Although he’s far too used to it at this point.

“She’s just cranky, I don’t know why.” you say, clearly frustrated as you finally let go of Lily and reach for Essie to put her coat on.

“Tried the bribin’?” he asks with a smile on his lips and you shake your head.

“Well, if you’re talking about giving her sweets to shut her up....yes.” you say and he chuckles with a curt nod.

Then all of you get in the car, with Alfie’s hand on the small of your back and you carrying Essie. You don’t miss the way Emily looks at you, eyebrows wiggling each time she catches your eye but you just tell her to stay put. Then you drop off Essie, with much trouble and get to the recital with a gangster sitting next to you.

----

The recital goes on pretty smoothly, all cheers and smiles as Alfie lingers at the back. Emily claps for her sister, a smile on her lips as she does so but you excuse yourself a little after to get some air as they get ready for the next act. Alfie watches you walk towards the back part through the exit and decides Emily is old enough to take care of herself.

He finds you sitting on the pavement around the back part of the building, breathing deeply as you look around every now and then. He knows you need these moments. Moments of stillness without any screams, without Emily asking you for a dress or Lily’s chocolate covered hands. He knows you love them but the deed is much too strong for you.

“Y/N.” he says, cautious as he approaches you. You’re no longer sitting but leaning against the concrete block. 

“Emily’s inside?” you ask, your prior concern always being your sisters. He nods and speaks.

“Yeah, she ‘s.” he says and you nod this time.

You search his eyes then, for something that will tell you why he’s there. It’s easy to grow fond of him, you think, especially when you see him so much but there’s another side to the coin you don’t like to think of. The danger that comes.

“Something wrong?” you ask and see the heaviness in his gaze. You don’t quite know what it is, since he’s not a man easily read but you figure you know a thing or two by now. 

He shakes his head and then looks at you. There’s uncertain things swimming in your orbs much like him and he wonders if they’re the same things. Doubts and then turns his face to look at the sky. 

“There’s somethin’, yeah..” he speaks and you know better than to interrupt him.  “.....somethin’ I really wanna fuckin’ do.” he says and you nod, urging him to go on but he seems to stall for a second. He then speaks, he’s not looking at the sky anymore but you. “But see, pet, there are things yeah, fuckin’ things blockin’ my way.”

he says and watches you nod, understanding but then you stop and a smile graces your lips. It’s not mocking but not sweet either.

And then you speak, not afraid to counter his words. “I never took you as someone who’d stop just because there were....things blocking the way.” you speak and you half-know what he’s saying. 

He’s not the most subtle of admirers. You’re not bothered by it, quite the opposite if anything. You know he’s a man of power, known as cruel to some although you’d speak to differ. His lines are all harsh, you’re too soft compared to him so you don’t count on the opportunity of anything happening. 

He takes a step towards you, and then one more until he’s entirely too close. You don’t dare move and his eyes are locked into your lips. You are right, he thinks, he’s not a man that stops at anything just because he’s had a couple of doubts. But then, the doubts are worth taking into account if it’s you. He’s all harsh lines and your softness seems unreachable to him.

His eyes look at your lips for a solid second, his entire presence looming over you as you stay still. He’s tall, a bit too tall for you if you’re honest but you just crane your neck and he leans down slightly, you’d know what his lips would feel like against yours.

And then he moves and speaks. “Move away if you don’t want this kiss.”

He’s not a man of doubts, he gathers and yes, there is a lot at stake but he goes after what he wants. Alfie always has and currently, the thing he wants is standing right in front of him and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna pass up the opportunity to kiss the pretty lass.

His lips are soft, unexpectedly so as his hand finds your waist and resides there while the other cradles your skull with a gentleness that seems foreign to him. He kisses you softly before pulling away slightly to see if you’ve moved in any way but sees you staring at his lips, standing exactly still.

Then you reach for him.

He thinks he’s dreamed it until your lips peck his for the last time and you break the kiss. He sees the blush rising on your cheeks, lipstick smeared and hair slightly puffier than before. He doesn’t take a step back, stares down at you as you fix yourself too fast for him to realize what’s happening but he remembers you’re good at fixing people up.

You sigh, licking your lips once more to savor the feel of his lips before you speak. Your voice is breathy and he has to stop himself from assaulting your lips once more. “Come on, then. Emily will be waiting.”

And he follows you like your tail for the rest of the evening.

-----

He’s smiling like a damn fool.

It’s easy to realize that the big scary gangster is not all that cruel. Sure, there is a side to him that’s simply cruel. He’s not the most forgiving when it comes to some either but he also happens to be a huge teddy bear, you think as you watch him handle Essie after you’ve opened the front door to the house.

“Emily, can you take care of Essie for a minute?” you ask, not waiting for an answer from your sister before you drag Alfie by his sleeve to the kitchen. The girls stare at each other for a while before they all move to their rooms, except Lily who waits for you in front of the door.

You close the door, immediately after he enters the kitchen and look at him with a stern gaze. He’s making it obvious, all of it. The big scary gangster has had a stupid grin on his face ever since you’d kissed him and it makes you frustrated. 

“What?” he asks, still smiling a little as you stand in front of him, arms crossed and not amused at all.

“Are you going to stop smiling?” you ask, a slight mock to your words as you stare up at him.

He takes a step towards you then, his aim to trap you between his broad form and the door almost achieved before you escape his embrace by ducking under his arm. 

“Lass, come ‘ere.” he says with a tone you haven’t heard before and you don’t follow his orders, as much as you want to.

“Alfie, the girls are right outside.” you say, trying to take steps back each time he takes one towards you. Your back meets the cold wall then, a ‘shit’ passes your lips and he chuckles. His breath tickles your face. It’s not that you don’t want to kiss the gangster but the chance of Emily barging in to see the scene is too high to risk it.

But it seems as though he doesn’t care.

His lips are greedy this time, not as soft as they’ve been as he devours you within the short amount of time he’s given. You moan lowly at the way he’s kissing you and hear a thump against the kitchen door which makes both of you stop.

“Let me in!” Lily screams and it makes Alfie chuckle while all you do is glare.

Before you can open the door and pick your sister up, Alfie traps your small frame between the wall and him again and speaks. He’s not daft and knows how he wants to carry this out. His voice comes out muffled between his small pecks.

“We’ll talk once they’ve gone to fuckin’ bed, yeah, I’ll wait, pet.” he says, eyes greedy as he lets you go. You nod once more before opening the door and taking a red-faced Lily in your arms.

She doesn’t say anything at first but then speaks, connecting the dots a bit faster than you’d initially thought she would. She speaks as loud as she can and you swear she’s doing it on purpose.

“What were you doing?!” she says and finger points at Alfie but before he can answer you put her on the sofa and speak.

“Grown-up stuff.” you say and that seems to shut her up for the time being.

Emily then comes in the living room with Essie on her arms, Lily now sitting on Alfie’s lap as he tells the little girl a story about another dog he had. You watch him as his eyes meet yours in the middle of speaking, a childish glisten before he cradles her in his arms and speaks.  “Now, time for bed, innit.”

The rest of the night is filled with you running around as Essie screams and Alfie rocks her around. She doesn’t seem to mind the rocking until she almost throws up on him and it makes you laugh entirely too much for an accident. Emily takes care of herself, in bed before bedtime and you take care of Emily in the meantime. 

When you walk into Essie’s room, you see her on his arms as he rocks her back and forth, the little one sound asleep. You note the way she’s holding onto his bracelets and how he hesitates to put her in the crib. You give him a small nod and close the door behind you. He pecks your lips once more before taking your hand and dragging you away into your room and murmurs under his breath to not wake the little one. “Time for grown-up stuff.”

----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

A/n: Heyyy I hope you liked this chapter, do let me know what you thought and if you’d like to be added to the tag list !!

[hood-ex]

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

[codenamed-queenie]

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched. 

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire. 

So. Quarantine it is. 

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick - 

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days. 

Then he started to get twitchy. 

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.” 

“Dick, no.”  

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t. 

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass. 

Desperate for news of the outside. 

He thrives off of it like a starving man. 

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after. 

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason - 

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist. 

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking. 

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results. 

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it. 

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up. 

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done. 

Barbara - 

Self-quarantined with her dad. 

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive. 

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs. 

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together. 

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles. 

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony. 

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window. 

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background. 

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute. 

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen. 

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’ 

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe. 

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned. 

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim. 

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being. 

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out. 

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it. 

Cass - 

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate. 

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed. 

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far. 

But no one knows for sure. 

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel. 

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later. 

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic. 

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day. 

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’  mostly. 

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost. 

Steph - 

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first. 

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down. 

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable. 

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving. 

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks. 

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s. 

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic. 

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian - 

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house. 

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine. 

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds. 

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion. 

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time. 

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are. 

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time. 

Only that he is Out There. 

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had. 

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies. 

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat. 

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts. 

Duke - 

Did not leave the attic for two weeks. 

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement. 

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement. 

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement. 

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa. 

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally. 

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others. 

Duke has seen these people under pressure. 

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with. 

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

Febuwhump Day 27 - Shower Breakdown

Summary: Taking a shower in Epifania is a lot of work in of itself, but the Sheriff of the tiny town of Bakkskrash is nothing if not a very efficient man. He has to be, otherwise it would all crumble to dust...

[Out of all the prompts I've written thus far, this one turned out very personal in nature. I've been there bud. I know how much it sucks.]

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

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Preparations commence at the break of dawn. Starting with calculating the correct amount of water that will be needed throughout the entirety of their day. When there is no functional plumbing, a jug of water is worth more than it's weight in credits.

He has a system of course. One that requires taking inventory of their supplies and checking everyone's schedules. If he knows what they have to cook, he'll know how much water he'll need to use to cook it. If he knows what everyone will get up to, he'll know how much everyone will need for a quick wash.

And what they use for cooking and bathing, they'll reuse to dump down the toilet. Wasting water is illegal during Epifania's harsher draught seasons. So says he, and apparently he's the kriffing law (you save one measly mayor's daughter and suddenly you're in charge of a bunch of townsfolk...).

Dogma always makes sure there's extra, of course. He doesn't have to, but he makes sure. Because not everyone in town is able-bodied and capable of making the hike up to the fountain, and there is no way in Haran that he'll let someone go without water on such a hot planet.

He pulls a wagon full of empty containers behind him and carries his ad'ika in his little sling. Watches the ever stunning sunrise while Tulpa nestles against his chest in blissful slumber.

A good part of an hour is spent filling every jug, canteen and bottle he has to spare. Then the next few hours are home-deliveries of the life sustaining liquid.

He only stops when he reaches his and his vode's apartment, so that he can prepare his now very much awake ad's bottle. Once Tulpa is fed and he finishes chewing his toast, Dogma presses a kiss to the baby's forehead and leaves him in Olly's care. He and Rhythm have a busy day ahead of them.

Every droplet is carefully planned out, just as every minute on his work-schedule is thought out. The equations run in his mind even as he goes through the flimsy-work that never quite piles up on his desk because he and Rhythm aren't lazy like the last Sheriff and Deputy. They actually do their karking jobs and take pride in their organisation.

Some detours do occur on occasion.

Someone's tooka is stuck up a creaky old dry branched tree, or someone is missing their massiff. Sometimes cattle rustlers make a mess of the local farmer's day and they have to go out there and solve it (mostly through force, none of the folks on Epifania seem too keen on talking but they see their armour and back off for fear of ruffling the feathers of the local population of Mandos).

Dogma has learned to account for the unpredictable. It's the one skill he'd wished he had before, when he was in the 501st. Perhaps it would have made him more lenient towards his brothers in blue... Or perhaps not. He didn't think he'd ever know.

Both Sheriff and Deputy return home for lunch. One of Olly's hard-shelled boys (ironically named Turtle), has taken to cooking second best after Dogma. He's not great with things that require time-sensitive boiling, but he's learned to make one mean omelette. To avoid using water, he's used up a bit of blue milk that he's traded for earlier that day, and some of their leftover shredded cheese that needed to go before it got any more rank... Its a bit gooey, but the seasoning is divine and hides the cheapness of the cheese.

Once everyone's had lunch, Dogma checks up on the babysitting vod and asks for a quick sitrep. Satisfied that Tulpa hasn't given Olly any trouble, he then returns to his duties with Rhythm.

Theirs is an uneventful day in the end, and Dogma mechanically locks up their office before marching back towards the apartment. He and Rhythm rarely talk during the walk back. They speak throughout the day, sometimes reminisce when things are incredibly dull, and then spend their last on the clock minutes as Sheriff and Deputy in complete comfortable silence.

The apartment is bustling with activity at this hour. Tulpa is fussy and unwilling to feed unless he's in his buir's arms. Dogma diligently locates Olly and takes his pouting ad'ika from his tired kih'vod and proceeds to go about his nightly routine.

The culinary arts were never really something he considered he'd ever have an interest for. For a clone rations were all that they required to eat, and they were provided by the GAR. Sometimes, if they were lucky, they'd get food donations. But those were very rare instances and apparently the natborns were disgusted by the blandness of what they got to eat. Odd those natborns... A clone would never turn his nose away from a free meal.

Dogma cooks things in a very precise way. He's always been incredibly good at following instructions and measuring things by eye and feel of the weight. He's taken to learning how to season things, so as to boost his brothers's morale. He'll pretend it's got nothing to do with the fact he's gotten a taste for "real food" and that eating something without flavour like rations made him feel sick now...

He takes pride in knowing how to make amazing meals out of very little. As inclined towards following instructions as he is, there's also this soundness to altering recipes that he's taken to like a duckling to water. Substituting some ingredients made things either heartier or tastier and that was honestly quite amazing to him. He liked when it did both, just because the smile on his vode's faces was absolutely worth it.

Once everyone has eaten and the dishes are cleaned up, Dogma can at last finally shower...

Taking a shower in Epifania is a lot of work in of itself, but the Sheriff of the tiny town of Bakkskrash is nothing if not a very efficient man. He has to be, otherwise it would all crumble to dust. Dogma had been the one to take a hold of the situation after the Guard Remnant had escaped Coruscant. Had escaped the Empire's tyranny.

He'd been the one to look at all the vode he and Rhythm had reunited with and realised they were all in various states of shock. He'd been the one to take up suicide watch when he realised just how traumatised some of these troopers really were. He'd been the one to set aside his own grief and made sure that his remaining brothers, and this entire town of people that relied on him, were safe and sound. Protected and content.

If he cracked now... He didn't know what might happen...

So he heated up water for his quick shower in silence. Listened to the chatter in the other rooms. To the happy laughs and animated conversations, and the melodies of a well practiced guitar. He listened to Rhythm singing Tulpa to sleep with Olly's aid.

He listened to his brothers all around him, lets the water slip down his head and back, wash away the daily filth... And he suppressed the sobs that wracked his body with terrible shudders. Pressed a fist against his mouth and bit into his knuckles so nothing but soft wheezes dared slip out. It'd be hard to tell he was ever crying when his face flushed slightly from the hot water that he might have left a little smidge too hot.

Dogma was tired. Very very tired. But he couldn't break. Not now. Not when his family was finally happy.

He had to protect them.

[namjoonchronicles]

please | jm

↳ genre angst, established relationship

↳ words 3k

↳ summary there’s always setbacks in married couple. it had been quite clear that you and Jimin don’t see eye-to-eye about certain things and habits, but the secret to long lasting marriage, is how you fix what’s broken.

↳ warning mentions of miscarriage

↳ song taylor swift ‘champagne problems’, dean lewis ‘waves’, rihanna ‘complicated’, olly murs ‘you don’t know love’

Fast steps dashing across the hallway, the bathroom door blasted open. A pair of knees wearing damaged jeans, kneeling over the toilet. The toilet seat whacked open, hand gripping its sides dependently. He wretches. His torsos strained and his veins began to pop. Wet, frothy sound hits the water in the toilet bowl. You sped to the toilet, rubbing his back up and down, passing him a towel. But he wasn’t done. He continued to hold the toilet brims, vomiting every content in his stomach. The smell of alcohol wafted around the extent of the room. You hate to see him like this. It wasn’t a majestic view. With half his head buried in the toilet bowl, his ‘young & forever’ tattooed in the back of his arms, it wasn’t a pretty view at all. 

Flickering light on the hall. The stillness in the air. With the fridge light lighting the way, you pour a glass of water for him. When you return to the bathroom where he is, he is seated, backed away from the toilet bowl, leaning against the wooden cabinet door. Dirty blonde hair, loose white shirt and torned jeans, he wipes his mouth with the towel you gave. He glanced to the side where you stood idle, and flashed a cunning smile. Jimin dropped his gaze on his propped knee then let the back of his head hit the wood. Then he laughs, chuckling through his nose. But not in the way you know as happiness, more like bitterness. It reminded you everything Jimin is, was. He reeled you in with that same smile and that same pain. The way he charms, the way he spoke and the way he looked at you, he knew what he was doing half of the time, but this time, you took the time to figure out who, what he is. 

He had been feeling dreadful; half of himself all the time. Felt the need to fill the void inside him with as much alcohol he could, just to feel something. He comes home to you, but you’re not here. He needs the music louder than he thoughts so he frequented the clubs. He could have any girls he wanted in the place, but it wasn’t what he looked for. If anything, he was lonely but none of these companions would have suffice. He was afraid that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Isn’t it enough hurt he’s caused you? With you pulling away at every advances he made, and the stranger in the bed situation every time he returns home to you alone, he gets frustrated from the thing you couldn’t talk about. 

To make matters much worse, he’d rather live like his dying next to you than live without you. It’s a puzzling thing, love. How it gutted you out and filled you in. How it makes you feel alive and dead at the same time. The things you would do for the ones you love is limitless. Death of love. How it seemed inevitable. 

You put on a toothpaste on his toothbrush, help him clean up. Took his shirt off, unbuckled his belt for him, and had him shed his jeans. Jimin never once took his eyes off of you when you did this. But he didn’t say a word. If he did, he must have said it in his head. It felt like he was raking your brain apart to put himself together. If anything, love was disdained in this household. When was the last time you held him? Or spoke to him? Or kissed his lips or loved him? Those days felt so far away. As you put away his clothes into the front load washing machine to wash, you protest that love too; is putting away one's clothes, is taking care of them when they’re drunk and half loved. He stepped into the shower, stood under the running water.  The hot steams of the water wafting up the ceiling, and he sighed. Water cascading down every inch of his skin, through his hair, down his earlobes, along his jaws and under his chin. Dimples of Apollo and Adonis belt well defined, he leans his forearm on the wall and lets his thoughts run. He mulls over how it used to be; you would join him in the shower, and be quite inseparable. Why is it so hard to be like that again?

Jimin fishes out a plain T to go to bed in. Unlike the nights before, he refused to take his pillows out and sleep on the sofa outside. Tonight, he is determined to get in the same bed his wife slept in. 

When you returned to see him in the bed, eyes shut and curled in a ball and laying on his side, you couldn’t lie, you wanted to keep him safe. You wanted to chase away everything he might fear and save him from anything that’s eating him alive. But you hated him so much. His party life and the cunning charming smile he would throw others. And then, there’s the reckless spending. The relationship feels like it’s going nowhere. He is never home and you feel like a stone. He is only getting the attention he needs, knowing he couldn’t get any at home. How could you blame him? How do you churn out the hurt and start talking to him, instead of running polar opposites from where he is?

“Murderer,” he said. You turned to him.

“How did you live your life knowing that you’ve killed me?” His eyelids fluttered open, and staring straight at you.

The pain in his voice shot through your heart, welling up your eyes as you remembered the things you both had done in the past. 

“I’ve killed you?” you asked him in gentle whispers, through broken voices, “Do you not see where this relationship is not going? Your partying, your spendings? Your utter disrespect to the foundation of this household? I hate seeing you drunk and still you do it…” You roughly wipe your tears away with the back of your hand. 

He caught your hand, and stead, gently thumb your cheeks. His eyes glided on you. You switched to your back, eyes holding at the ceiling as he moved closer to you, the tip of his nose poking the skin on your neck, inhaling your scent. His hand snuck underneath your thin fabric, and his lips peppered kisses around the expanse of your neck and shoulders, jaws and cheeks. 

“Please love me,” he pleaded, with his entire being.

It must have been around mid-March, winter ended, and spring began. It was raining heavily, the raindrops splattered on the glass windows of the cafe you were in. The coffee half-drunken, sitting on its saucer by your right wrist. You were reading a piece on Franz Kafka, when blood dribbled down your philtrum and onto the pages of Die Verwandlung. You hurried to grab a tissue from under the saucer, causing the spoon to fall clattered on the marble floor and pulled the attention to you. The waitress came running to your side, squatting down to see if you’re alright. 

Now, at your close friends’ clinic, you patiently waited for her medical deduction of you. Her expressions are unreadable and the shame hasn’t subsided either, for you. You came to give her a gift you’ve bought her but she insisted to have her time with you by checking your wellbeing. Once she’s crossed out that you’ve been working hard, her furrowed brows and thinking forehead lines begin to soften. 

“When was your last period?” 

Blink. Blink. 

“Your acne resurfaced, you have been having mood swings, you also had headaches and you told me about a smell I couldn’t sense,” she pauses, and smiles triumphantly at you, “Your hormones are changing… I am suggesting… possibilities of pregnancy?” She leaned forward, and stuck her hand into the drawer under her desk and took out a fresh box of test kit. She tapped it on her table, and propped an elbow to rest her chin on her palm and grinned. She winked at you and now is smiling so widely. Too widely. You took the kit and stood up. 

“There’s a loo over here, if you want some company…” she giggled.

You begin with a sigh. 

“How long am I in, do you think? I drank coffee almost everyday…” you spoke through the walls, echoes on the tiles but your best friend heard them very well, then you resumed, “But it can’t be, could it?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one having sex, you should remember…” she shrugged, leaning against the counter as you sat on the toilet bowl. Your smile didn’t last very long, and noticing this, she asked you.

“Is there something wrong?”

Your friends knew how much you wanted kids, and with the possibilities of having one now, you looked pretty upset. 

“Jimin’s… Jimin isn’t fit to be a father,” you confessed and when you did, a weight seemed to lift themselves off of your shoulder. Then comes the waterworks. You cried easily these days and it became close to annoying. You cried at sad commercials, at dog videos and a sight of cute things. Your friend comes kneeling next to you as you wait for the lines to develop. 

She rubbed your back, in effort to calm you down. 

“He isn’t home till late, and I get it, it’s because of his job but I feel so lonely sometimes and I think he doesn’t care about that… he just goes out with his friends and starts drinking, and he won’t answer the calls I make. It’s been awhile since we even had dinners together. Last week, a girl called the emergency number on his phone saying he was drunk laying flat on the floor and needed me to get him home…” you covered your face and started crying harder, “And that’s not even half of the shit he does…”

Jimin recently emptied half of your joined accounts to buy a leather jacket and bag he wants to be a gift to his friend. When you approached him about it, he said he was going to recover the money soon. He said many things and did it time and time again, and sometimes, you wished you could scream in his face to tell him to stop. The money could have been for the future, it could have been a start for a piggy bank for kids you might have, and if Jimin doesn’t stop his uneventful spendings, you would be eating from scraps. And there was no gentle way to say this, but to give him the cold shoulders. You don’t want to cry in front of a man that feels that it is okay to spend without asking their partners first. Taehyung might have loved that leather jacket, but you would rather the fridge filled with half the cost of that jacket. You could really eat well these days.

When the double line appeared, you cried even harder in the arms of your best friend. She cried with you too. Closed the clinic for the day so she could be with you. And pour out your heart contents, like a dam broke and it comes flooding. There were so many things you wanted to say, and you held back all these while to save whatever that you could save. But there’s just so much tolerance you could give and there’s just so much you could take. 

“My darling,” your best friend said softly, “You’re talking in circles.” Maybe it’s because your life was going in circles. With Jimin’s recurrent attitude and you continue to persevere at every receiving end, succumbing to your hurt, it was going in rounds. 

The car comes to a stop at the lobby, and the windows wind down. Your best friend stroked your hand through the window and held them tight. 

“Talk,” she advised, “Tell him how you feel… Be strong.”

I can’t be strong and tell him how I feel at the same time.

The car sped off and you walked into the lobby. You walked into the lobby and suddenly felt cramping on your torso. You had to clutch over the handrail as you stood in the elevator, people coming in starting to support you, asking you what happened. They helped you call Jimin over but the calls don’t get through until their third try. With the loud music, Jimin couldn’t hear the phone. He went to remind himself that he had to track a new order of a bomber jacket he bought online to see how long it takes to get here when he saw your name flashing on the caller ID. He excused himself, brushing knees with three to four ladies on the sofa where he was before sprinted outside to catch the call. 

So here he is, arriving at the level and jogging to where you are. 

“Why are you leaving your wife alone when she’s unwell…” the crowd dispersed but it was clear that the comments were thrown by an uncle that was there. Jimin carried you bridal style and got the door open before laying on the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face. 

“It’s just the cramps…” you lied.

“Those monthly cramps right? Nothing serious?” He repeated. 

You nodded. He doesn’t look like he wanted to stay there any longer. He is rushing to get away it seems.

“So…” he drawled, “If you’re alright now, and there’s nothing serious, I should remind you that I bought a bomber jacket and it’s expected to arrive soon… I’m best going because the birthday boy is coming around midnight, you’re alright right?” He is already at the door frame, walking sideways, mashing his lips together and looking at the time and then his phone. His face shone by the light from the screens, his jawline, his attentions, how handsome he looked and you tried so hard to not break right there and then. You turned the other way and said that you’re fine. You clenched your eyes shut and you felt him breathing next to you, a faint scent of nicotine on his shirt and a light kiss on your hair. 

“Please love me…” you begged, placing your palm on your tummy where the baby is. Just as desperately.

It shouldn’t have been difficult to ask for affection with your significant other. And yet. It just had been a while since you spent time together. Asking for his time after a while felt awkward. But when he smiled, and he smiled so bright, you felt a tinge of confidence. It felt like he, too, was waiting for the invitation. 

“What’s the occasion?” He asked, with a shy smile. 

“It’s just been a while since we spoke…” you set out saucers and poured him tea. 

I want to tell you everything. Everything I have and all that I carry with me. I am going through a hard time, and I want you to be there.

“You’re pregnant…” his eyes became so round and his accusation turned into fact. Since you took the time to confirm them, he was certained. That you are indeed carrying his child. 

You hung your head low and began to sob. Jimin stood up immediately from his chair, he held your shoulders and his hand raised up to your neck, then he thumbed your cheeks to slowly lift your face up.

“I lost it, the night you left for Taehyung’s party…I didn’t know how to tell you,” you begin explaining frantically, but Jimin gathered your head under his chin and he softly held the back of your head, cradling you. You shuddered against his body, shivering like you’ve walked in the cold and finally found warmth. His eyes stunned and unblinking until tears wells up on its own. His nose turned red and he sobbed gently. As you grew limp in his embrace, he held you tighter, firmer--as if making up for the nights he couldn’t hold you close. Or when he is too occupied with things that aren’t his family. He was punishing himself for what he couldn’t control and things he couldn’t say. After the cramps you felt, there was blood on the sheet that you lay in. You’ve bawled alone on the bed, cradling the bloodied lump, knowing full well that you’ve suffered a miscarriage. 

You have lain in bed for the rest of the evening after the reveal. Jimin had been home and holding your hands and refused to be parted from you. He laced his fingers in yours and thumbed your knuckles while he smiles at the TV show. He even laid with you, holding your tummy and whispering gently, encouraging you to eat and giving out ideas on what to eat. He offered to cook and to tidy things up. He washed the plates in the sink and kept your body warm with his own. 

“It’s my fault,” he began, “If I was home more often, I would have noticed…”

“Jimin…” you protested weakly.

“I wasn’t as attentive as I should be, I will become better now…” he decreed, “Whether you like it or not, I will be home.”

“I’d like that…” you hummed to yourself, and it seemed he heard it quite clearly, because he smiled and returned to wipe the plates dry and arrange them on the plate drying rack. 

Maybe, you don’t always have to tell. Maybe, he could just see.

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Copyright © January 8th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, leave feedback :’) please

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

(Un)Wanted Part 3

Read on Ao3 

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden.

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks.

Word Count: 7,040

Words are fucking stupid if you ask Remus.

Mortals have no idea what they’re doing with them and half the time they just make shit up and expect everyone else to go along with it. They don’t know what words are supposed to mean and half the time they try and pin down something that can’t be made into a single word into one and it’s just a big mess. There is one exception.

 Feral.

 Remus isn’t quite sure what gave mortals this one stroke of genius but he’s grateful for it. Feral. Even the word sounds like chaos. Which is just Remus’s cup of snail intestines.

 Feral, or more accurately, going feral, is the closest thing a fae gets to absolute bat-shit. Which, in fairness, by mortal standards, isn’t that bat-shit. Oh, yeah, sure mortals don’t have nearly the firepower of the fae, but let’s be real, here folks, mortals perfected the clockwork of murder far better than any fae could hope to.

 Going feral means what little hold a fae has on this fucking stupid temporal plane is tenuous at best. It means that bits of their aura manifest in ways that quickly go beyond the pitiful visible spectrum that mortals can tolerate. It means shapes and colors and energies that aren’t meant to be seen by mortal eyes, all barely held together by a flexible container of mostly water. A body, if you prefer the un-fun definition.

 Going feral is the fine line between creation and destruction.

 Remus is the one who goes feral the most often, even though it’s not why you think. It’s not directly tied to emotion, not really. If it was, Patton would be going feral every two seconds. It’s not even tied to sheer raw power. As much as Remus hates to admit it, that’s probably Snakey, even if it is only through his role as Gatekeeper.

 No no no. It’s much worse than that.

 Sir Nerd-A-Lot was right when he said that each of their ‘rooms’ is a slightly different layer of reality, something mortals can’t understand because of the way they’re made in this world. Although Remus’s way of understanding it wasn’t some tender touching of hands or soft words of explanation.

 The rooms are different ways to see.

 L’s room is like a normal pair of glasses. Makes things sharper, easier to understand, clearer. Less ambiguity.

 J’s room is like looking through mist or fog. More gray areas, easier to twist the truth to what you want to see, easier to let your mind play tricks on you. Less easy to figure out exactly what’s going on.

 Patton’s room is like always being in that weird soft stage mortals always say they have when they’re really sleepy. Not tired, because of course not, words are stupid. Sleepy is soft yawns and smiles and too-long sleeves and adorable smiles that make Remus want to pinch their cheeks until they fall off. Tired is squinty eyes and muttered complaints and downing that mysterious brown liquid. Patton’s room is being sleepy, everything a little softer, sweet enough to make Remus’s teeth ache.

 His brother’s room is, uh, well. Remus really doesn’t know what makes his brother’s room that different from his when you get right down to it. It’s like…it’s like looking in two different mirrors. Princey’s room is like that mirror that always shows you what you’d like to see. It’s the one that makes your hair do whatever the fuck you want it to do or makes your eyes glimmer like whatever the fuck you want them to glimmer like. It’s dreamy and it’s whatever and Princey seems to like it. And yeah, okay, Remus isn’t too big to admit that his brother’s good at what he does, even if it’s a little boring for his taste.

 Remus’s room is like looking into a mirror and the mirror looking back into you.

 Remus doesn’t really give a shit about what mortals would rather tell themselves about what it is they really want or don’t want. He’s with Snakey on that one; mortals don’t really know what it is they want, and if they do, they rarely say it out loud. That’s okay. Remus can do that.

 Remus lurks in the darkness, where mortals would rather not look. He delights in the twisted little things that straggle across their brains. It’s so much more interesting, looking at the absolutely horrible things that drift through their little minds and how much it makes them squirm. He’ll never understand why they try so hard to pretend they don’t exist, they make things so much more interesting.

 And that’s the problem.

 Remus is tied to those dark little things and sometimes…sometimes those dark little things don’t stay so dark and little.

 Sometimes they come out and they’re darker in the daylight. Sometimes they take that darkness and force it somewhere it should never go. Sometimes they try and pretend that their darkness is other people’s fault.

 That pisses Remus off.

 Mortals hurt each other. That’s what they do. Sure, they also do a whole lot of other things but mortals feel. That’s what they’re built to do. So it’s inevitable that they’ll get hurt. But the darkness it takes to blame someone or something else for your darkness? That type of darkness makes Remus’s stomach curl.

 Literally. He can feel it squirming around in there.

 Or maybe that’s just the tentacles.

 Listen, mortal forms and mortal-like forms are so stupid, okay? There’s no place to put anything and Remus has to make do.

 When he goes feral, well…different story.

 Remus hasn’t gone feral in a while. Not really. Not like this.

 Not like the agony that was pushed into him by the snake, not like the ants that crawled around in his bones, not like the way it stripped him of himself, layer by layer, until he could only smile until his cheeks ached.

 There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.

 Then he’d showed up in the garden and seen. Seen this tiny tiny mortal that should never have this much pain. Seen the lines drawn in burned wood in its head, seen the fear that clung to the little thing like water clings to a dead leaf, seen the marks.

 And then they had been so cold.

 Mortals aren’t supposed to be cold. They’re fiery little beasties, even the prissy ones. Their blood runs hot and their little heads like to run themselves silly and they have an awful tendency to burn themselves up with just the slightest push.

 V shivered. V shook. V trembled and his skin had been so icy Remus had been teetering on the edge of going feral before he learned that other mortals did this to V.

 He hadn’t really tried to stop it after that.

 When he had V in his arms, it was better. He could feel V’s darkness scrabbling around inside his head, had been able to wrap his arms around it, hold it tight, feel so much and try and make it settle down.

 Double-edged sword, that was.

 Here’s the thing. Here’s the fucking problem.

 V’s carrying around darkness that isn’t his.

 Whatever monsters did this to him—he shouldn’t fucking call them monsters, monsters were better than this—made him carry around their darkness. Not his. Remus doesn’t even fucking know what darkness is V’s and what darkness has been made V’s. It’s like they picked one person, one person, and made them responsible for everyone’s darkness.

 Mortals don’t like darkness.

 Remus can’t imagine what they must have done if they gave their darkness a singular, corporeal, punishable form.

 Well, no. He can imagine. That’s the fucking problem.

 That’s the main reason why he pulled V aside and told him that, uh, maybe going to his room wasn’t the best idea. Don’t get him wrong, if V wants to Remus will sure as hell take him, that’s cool, but uh…might be a bad time. Thankfully, V didn’t seem too bothered by it, well…not more bothered. Remus wasn’t about to look a gift gulper eel in the mouth.

 Seriously. Uma likes to eat some weird shit.

 The lake is Remus’s favorite part of the forest, just because it’s the only place he really gets to work with his brother. Princey’s great at making everything else but like…it gets boring. Plus, they work better together anyway, even when they don’t agree all the time.

 V’s got a much better appreciation for his stuff anyway.

 Speaking of V, he’s sitting at the edge of the lake, knees tucked up to his chest, idly toying with a branch that drifted over to the shore. Remus paddles over, using his tentacles to keep him afloat as he cocks his head.

 “Find something interesting?”

 V shrugs. “It’s just a stick.”

 …yeah, but like…it could be something else.

 “Wanna play with it?”

 V’s brow wrinkles. “How do you play with a stick?”

 Ignoring the rush of what fucking mortal child doesn’t know how to play with anything and everything, Remus grins and whistles. A few seconds later the water’s surface stirs as something big trundles up to the surface.

 “Ollie!”

 The kraken burbles, wrapping Remus in an arm and giving him a light squeeze. Then it notices V, curled up on the shore, and hums, the water rippling all around it, as it moves toward the edge.

 “Be careful,” Remus scolds as it pulls him with, “don’t beach yourself.”

 Oliver protests lightly, before huffing and reaching out to lay one tentacle in the shallows. V smiles—Remus is so fucking happy V’s smiling now, okay? It’s so good—and waves. Oliver pokes the end of the tentacle out of the water and waves back.

 “Your name is Ollie?”

 “I call him Oliver,” Remus says, patting the tentacle still around his waist.

 “Hi, Oliver,” V says softly, “it’s nice to meet you.”

 The kraken rumbles happily, reaching out for V.

 “Hey!” Remus lightly smacks the tentacle. “Ask first!”

 “A-ask what?”

 “He wants to hug you.” Sure enough, the tentacle near V twitches slightly, water pouring off the sides as it raises out of the lake. V watches it move warily. “he won’t hurt you, V, he’s sweet.”

 Oliver burbles again.

 “You don’t gotta,” Remus says quickly, “if you don’t wanna.”

 V reaches out one hand, trembling slightly as the kraken reaches out to meet him. He pats the arm. Remus grins as Oliver gently taps him back.

 “You wanna play with him?”

 “How?”

 “Throw the stick.”

 “L-like a dog?”

 “You throw dogs?” At V’s horrified face, Remus bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Yeah, V. Ollie likes playing fetch.”

 V’s brow wrinkles adorably. “Really?”

 Remus grins. “Ollie!” The kraken turns its head to look up at him. “Toss!”

 The kraken rears back the arm and hurls Remus across the lake.

 “Wheee!”

 There’s nothing quite like being flung through the air and splashing down into a nice big body of water. Using his own tentacles to propel him back over to the other side, Oliver trills and reaches for him again.

 “Ask,” Remus chides lightly, only to giggle and pat the arm that curls around his waist again. “You just want to hug? Okay.”

 He turns to V, whose mouth is wide open. “See? Fetch.”

 “That…that’s not normally how fetch works.”

 Remus shrugs. “Ollie likes it.”

 “Do..do you like it?”

 “Yeah, I like it. It’s fun!”

 Oliver reaches out slowly for V, laying the arm next to him on the shore. V glances at Remus before carefully reaching for the stick and nervously offering it to Oliver. Oliver takes it and passes it to Remus who grins.

 “Ready?”

 V nods.

 “Ollie, toss!”

 This time, as Oliver hurls him across the lake, Remus chucks the stick as hard as he can away from him, laughing when Oliver trills and dives after it. As Remus swims back, he sees V scramble to his feet, peering anxiously into the distance.

 “Don’t worry,” Remus calls, treading water, “he’ll find it and come back. He always does.”

 Sure enough, not a few seconds later, and the water parts, revealing a very pleased Oliver and a stick clutched delicately in one of his arms. V’s eyes widen as Oliver holds it out, taking the proffered stick carefully.

 “See?” Remus beams. “Fetch.”

 “Fetch,” V echoes breathlessly, “good job, Oliver.”

 “You wanna do it again?” V nods. “Great. Chuck the stick at me.”

 “Wait, but...what if it hits you?”

 “I’m a fucking fae, V, and it’s a fucking stick. Chuck it at me.”

 Remus catches the stick even if he has to lift himself out of the water to do it. Oliver burbles and Remus nods, letting Oliver curl around his waist again.

 “V,” he calls, “you wanna tell him this time?”

 Glancing back and forth between the two of them, V nods. “Toss!”

 Oliver launches Remus with more enthusiasm than he has in a while. So much so that Remus laughs the whole way across the lake and the whole way back.

 “I think he’s trying to impress you,” he remarks when Oliver zips back and forth faster and faster.

 “I’m impressed.”

 Oliver lays the stick on the grass and reaches out for V. V pats the arm only for his eyes to widen when Oliver reaches further and rumbles.

 “He wants to pick you up, V,” Remus explains.

 “D-does he want to throw me?”

 “I’m sure he’d love it if you let him,” Remus says, quickly continuing when V balks, “but I think right now he really just wants to hold you.”

 V still looks unsure. Remus taps his fingers against the arm around his waist, thinking.

  Hmmm…

  Oh hey wait I’ve fucking got it.

 “V?”

 “Y-yeah?”

 “You wanna ride?”

 V’s eyes widen. “Ride?”

 “Yeah.” Remus gestures around. “Lake’s fucking huge, and there’s cool shit everywhere. Plus, Ollie likes you a lot and he’d be real happy to give you a ride if you wanted.”

 Oliver trills in agreement.

 “…okay,” V mumbles eventually, “can I…can I have a ride?”

 “Sure you can. You wanna swim out and let me help you up or you want Ollie to set you on his head?”

 “I—I can do it.”

 “Cool.” Oliver sets Remus on his head and Remus shifts around a bit, trying to work out where the most secure place for V to sit would be. He glances up when V carefully steps into the water, having removed his boots. Oliver shifts around slowly, arranging his tentacles into stairs that V can use to get up.

 “D-duke?”

 “Yeah?”

 “H-how do I get up?”

 “You can climb, climb his arms.”

 V tilts his head. “What if I hurt him?”

 It makes Remus chuckle. “V, you’re tiny. You’re small and light and you’re a mortal. You probably couldn’t hurt him if you tried, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing this if it was gonna hurt. You’re all good, climb up.”

 V climbs, slowly and carefully, always wary about where he’s putting his hands or his feet, until he steps onto Oliver’s head and sinks down next to Remus.

 “Good job!” Remus shuffles a little closer. “Ollie’ll go slow for you, but if you wanna hang onto something, you just lemme know, okay?”

 V nods. Remus pats the head under them.

 “Okay! You be nice, yeah? You’re carrying precious cargo here.”

 Remus bites back a laugh at V’s nervous squeak when Oliver rumbles, starting to move. He scrabbles a little for a handhold.

 “Here,” Remus suggests, flopping onto his stomach, “get low. Less chance of falling off.”

 V just curls into himself, trying to hold onto something. Remus frowns, then carefully sits up as Oliver finishes turning toward the rest of the lake.

 “You can hang onto me if you want,” he offers, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 “Can I?”

 “Mhm.” Remus shifts a little closer, opening his arms. “Or I can hang onto you.”

 Nothing feels better than the satisfaction of having V crawl into his lap, letting Remus cuddle him with his back against Remus’s chest, tentacles hanging onto Oliver. Oliver rumbles happily, lazily swimming around the edge of the lake. As they go, he can feel V start to relax, some of the tension seeping out as he slumps against Remus. Remus smiles, closing his eyes to just feel V not being so afraid, for once, feel that pain start to lessen, even if it’s just the smallest bit. Let a little bit of the darkness be chased away.

 By the time they’re back to the familiar shore, Oliver eases gingerly into the shallows and hums. Remus chuckles.

 “Good workout today, huh, buddy?”

 Another rumble.

 “Come on,” he mutters to V, “you want me to help you down or you got it?”

 “I got it.”

 Remus opens his arms and watches V climb back down just as gingerly, giving Oliver one last pat before sitting on the shore. An arm wraps around Remus’s waist and squeezes.

 “Yeah, yeah, I had fun too, buddy. You go eat something?”

 Oliver gives one last rumble and disappears below the surface of the lake. Remus hauls himself out and flops down on the grass beside V, stretching lazily. Snakey’s got a point with this whole sun-warmed surface thing. He can feel himself relaxing.

 “Thank you.”

 At V’s mumble, Remus opens one eye. “Sure, you’re welcome. You have fun?”

 “Mhm.”

 “I’m glad.”

 There’s another stretch of silence. Remus sits up, looking at how V stares at the lake. It’s one of the only times V’s brow isn’t furrowed. Remus decides he likes it better than way.

 “I like the lake,” V confesses quietly, almost too quiet for Remus to hear. “It’s nice.”

 The note of childish wonder in his voice makes Remus feel…weird. It’s not a bad weird, it’s not necessarily a good weird either though. It’s just…weird. Like there’s something fluffy in his chest, something that really wants to make V always sound like this.

 “Good.” Remus shifts a little closer. “What do you like about it?”

 V thinks for a moment, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I like the water.”

 “The water?”

 A small nod. “Water is good.”

 Something changes.  A little darkness colors V’s tone and Remus sits up a little straighter.

 “…’good?’” He tests the word out on his tongue. “Why is water good, V?”

 “Because it isn’t fire.” V curls in on himself. “Fire is bad.”

 The fluff is gone.

  Pain pain pain pain there’s flames rising higher and higher as the crowd grows more and more restless there are sparks and smoke and the wood burns slowly so slowly so slowly the flames creep higher and higher and the man holds a torch aloft and it burns it burns it burns it’s getting closer no please not now—

 “Duke! Duke!”

 Remus growls, the power seeping through him. How dare they, how fucking dare they, the darkness rolls off in waves, crashing, building, flowing higher and higher and higher and—

 “Shh, shh, you stay behind me, okay?”

 It runs deeper. Pushes. Pulls. Opens his mouth. Tilts his head back. The tentacles writhe. The lake trembles. So much. So much.

 “Duke, duke, I need you to listen to me.”

 …Princey?

 What’s Princey doing here?

 “Duke. Duke. You need to stop, you’re scaring V.”

  V.

 Remus growls again, closing his eyes and swallowing the darkness. It sinks into a pit in his chest and he swallows, pushing it back into the depths and away from him. Away from V.

 He growls, curling in on himself, willing the mass of tentacles to behave, settle down, holding himself tightly and trying to dissipate the extra energy.

 “Good…that’s it. Both of you just have a breather, okay?”

 Remus opens his eyes. He’s by the lake. There’s no one here to hurt anyone. He’s alright. They’re alright. He takes one more breath and the last of the mania settles.

  V.

 He looks over and regret burns a hole in his chest. The prince stands there, having pulled V behind him, one hand held out towards Remus, the other hovering protectively over V. V’s curled in on himself so tightly he can barely see him behind the prince.

 Fuck. He fucked up. Did he…

 “…is he blind?” Remus manages, unable to tear his eyes away from this poor poor thing.

 “No,” the prince says softly, “he’s not.”

 “Fuck.”

 “Yeah.” The prince looks at him with a soft fury. “Come on, Re, you know better.”

 “It hurts, Ro,” Remus mutters, unable to stop himself from slipping into the nickname, “it…it’s fucking painful.”

 “Does it hurt still?”

 “Like maggots crawling under my skin.”

 The prince winces sympathetically. “How do you think it is for V?”

 “I know,” Remus mutters angrily, “I’m pissed about that too.”

 They both stop, looking at V huddled on the ground, shaking and mumbling something. Fuck. Fuck, what has Remus done?

 They just fucking got him feeling safe, he just got comfortable asking for things, hell he’s just started being able to sleep in his room…did Remus fuck all of that up?

 “…ke.”

 Remus blinks, straining to hear. The prince does too, turning his head to look down at V. Neither speaks.

 “…ke…d…ke…”

 Remus’s chest clenches.

 “…duke…duke…”

 The prince drops to one knee, reaching out to gather V close. “It’s alright, V, breathe…shh, you’re alright, sweetheart, no one’s hurt.”

 “Duke…”

 “He’s alright, sweetheart, he’s okay.”

 “Duke.”

 The way V’s voice cracks hurts almost as much as going feral did. Remus watches helplessly as V rocks himself back and forth, his arms wrapped so tightly around himself that he can hardly see where one ends and the other begins. He keeps shaking his head, mumbling ‘duke’ over and over.

 The prince glances at Remus then back to V. “…do you want the duke, sweetheart?”

 “…d-duke…”

 Remus swallows. Please, please let this be right.

 “...V?”

 V keens, one of his hands slowly reaching out. Remus scrambles forward, almost knocking his brother out of the way. The prince merely huffs. Remus stares at V, hoping, hoping…

 “V, can you hear me?”

 “Duke?”

 “Yeah, V, it’s me, I’m—I’m sorry.”

 “Duke.”

 “Can I—“

 Remus doesn’t get to finish his sentence. V doesn’t quite throw himself into Remus, but it’s close. Remus wraps around him immediately, tentacles and all, curling in on V as V clings to him, tighter, tighter, tighter.

 “Oh, you two,” he hears the prince murmur distantly, “what will we do with you?”

 Remus doesn’t much care what his brother thinks right now. All he cares about is having V safe in his arms and alive and warm, holding onto him tightly. V keeps sobbing out ‘duke,’ over and over, slowly growing less and less frantic. The prince sits there, gently stroking his hand through Remus’s hair.

 It takes a while—much fucking longer than Remus would like—to finally get everyone to settle down. They slump there, on the ground, still curled around each other. The prince huffs a laugh, ruffling Remus’s hair before standing up.

 “I think you two,” he murmurs, “should talk, hmm?”

 Remus nods, still holding V tightly. The prince gives him a nod and vanishes back into the forest.

 “…V?”

 V shifts a little. “Mm?”

 “Can we talk about, uh, what just happened?”

 A few seconds pass and V scoots further into Remus’s lap. “…can we stay like this?”

 “Of course,” Remus says instantly, “we can stay like this. I, uh, I wanna apologize.”

 “For what?”

 Remus swallows. “Going feral. Scaring you. Almost blinding you.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “…I’m not mad at you.”

 “You’re not?”

 He feels V’s head shake against his neck. “It—I—mmphf.”

 “Take your time,” Remus says quickly, “I’m not gonna let go if you don’t want.”

 “Don’t…”

 He squeezes. “I won’t.”

 V is the perfect little weight in his lap. Soft, not too heavy, just this side of too warm, cuddling into him with the persistence of a snuggle-deprived jellyfish.

 Oh, V should totally meet the school of jellyfish. He’d love them.

 “…no one’s ever done that before.”

 V’s voice is so quiet that for a moment, Remus isn’t even sure he’s spoken. Then he shifts again.

 “No one’s ever done that for me.”

 “…go feral?”

 V shakes his head. “…be protective.”

 Oh, this is not the time to be making such broken, heartfelt confessions because Remus can and will get pissed all over again at everything and everyone that made V think he wasn’t worth protecting.

 “…oh, little monster…”

 If V doesn’t like the pet name, he gives no indication. In fact…V almost burrows into him. Remus tightens his grip again, rocking V back and forth the way he remembers Patton doing.

 “I—I’ve never had—“ V gasps against his shoulder— “I don’t know how—it—I—“

 “Shh, little monster,” Remus burbles, trying really really fucking hard to remember how to do this, “you, uh, you just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You don’t have to know things.”

 “—I don’t wanna be afraid,” V manages, “I don’t wanna be afraid.”

 “You don’t have to be, little monster, you don’t.”

 “Y-you—“

 “Hang on, little monster,” Remus interrupts gently when V’s breaths start to get faster again, “you gotta slow down, come on…”

 They breathe together.

 “…yeah?”

 “You make me feel safe,” V blurts, “and—and I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna not.”

 His fingers tap out an anxious rhythm on Remus’s back.

 “Feral is scary.”

 “Feral is scary,” Remus murmurs in agreement, “and, uh, I’m trying not to do it.”

 He pulls back and gently nuzzles into V’s hair.

 “Don’t wanna scare you.”

 “No one’s ever been angry for me before,” V whispers, “it’s…it’s nice.”

 “Well, I’m not gonna stop being angry at them,” Remus mutters, “but I will get better at not scaring you.”

 “I-it’s okay.”

 “No, it’s not, little monster,” Remus corrects gently, “the others are right. I could hurt you going feral way more than I would hurt anyone who deserves it. So I gotta be better about that. For you.”

 “For me?”

 Remus clutches him tighter. “For you.”

 He’s being serious. Absolute fucking stone right now. This cinched it. He could’ve hurt V really fucking bad by going feral right then. He knows he can’t risk that happening again, so he’s gotta figure his shit out real fast.

 There’s one person he knows will be able to help him.

 L raises an eyebrow when Remus appears next to his desk. “Well, this certainly is unexpected. Is something the matter?”

 “Yeah.” Remus shuffles. L’s room makes him feel like sandpaper. “I need your help not going feral.”

 L blinks. “Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I must highlight the fact that suppressing your nature is not a long-term solution.”

 “I’m not trying to stop it permanently. I just…” Remus twists his hands together. “I fucked up earlier.”

 L sits. “Tell me?”

 Remus explains what happened, from the fetch to the ride to learning that one of the reasons that fucking hurt so much was that they burned—

 “I see,” L interrupts stiffly, his own hands starting to clench, “and I am…proud of you, Duke.”

 Remus blinks. “Wait, what? Why?”

 “Of your restraint,” L mutters, “and of the fact that you recognized that this was a problem and you have come to try and find a solution.”

 Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Remus gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to relieve the extra energy. Going feral twice in one day is not a good idea.

 “Don’t do that,” L says.

 “Do what?”

 “Bite.” L taps the side of his mouth. “Not healthy.”

 Remus rolls his eyes. “it’s not like I’m gonna bleed out, L.”

 “No, you won’t,” L says, “but it’s still not a healthy coping mechanism.”

 “So?”

 “So—“ L crosses his arms— “you’re trying to be better for V. V will very much be hurt by something like that.”

 Ah.

 Fuck, that’s a good reason.

 “Okay,” Remus mutters, “okay. What can I do?”

 “What helps you calm down normally,” L asks, “when you go feral?”

 “Fuck, I don’t know,” Remus sighs, “I don’t—it’s not—it’s not like it’s happened recently!”

 “It’s V, isn’t it?”

 “What?”

 “V.” L motions for Remus to sit down, folding his hands in his lap. “V has…a lot of emotional trauma. You are perhaps the most linked with emotional trauma.”

 “Isn’t that Pat-Pat’s job?”

 L shakes his head. “Pat works with emotion, what is currently being experienced. You, however, and your brother, are more closely tied to memory.”

 “So…”

 “So you, more than any of us, even your brother, are being affected by this change.”

 “But it’s not his fault.”

 “No, and neither is it yours. It simply is.” Remus buries his face in his hands. “Not the answer you were looking for, I’m sure.”

 “Really fucking wasn’t.”

 “You didn’t answer my question,” L prompts, “what normally helps you calm down?”

 “Fuck, I don’t know! Calming down isn’t really my strong suit. That’s my birthday suit.”

 L pinches the bridge of his nose. “Focus, please.”

 Remus sits back in the chair. What helps him calm down?

 Well…

 “…safe,” Remus mumbles, “safe makes me calm down.”

 “When you feel safe?”

 He shakes his head. “When V is safe.”

 L makes a noise of understanding. “Your ‘going feral’ is caused by the pain you experience when V is under stress, caused by his past trauma. Thus whenever you can remind yourself that he is safe, and no longer in danger, it helps you snap out of it.”

 “But now I’m the danger.”

 “Are you trying to hurt V?”

 “What?” Remus leaps to his feet, the air crackling. L sits, impassive as always. “No!”

 “Are you willingly putting V in situations where you know he will be upset?”

 “What the fuck is—“

 “Are you?”

 “No!”

 “When you are in a place where you could hurt V,” L continues, still smooth as fucking glass in his chair, “do you try and distance yourself so you do not?”

 Oh. Remus gets it now.

 “…yeah.”

 “Then,” L says firmly, “you are not the danger you believe yourself to be.”

 Remus sits back in the chair slowly. “…said I make him feel safe.”

 “You do,” L says, “more than most of us do, I would guess. I imagine that…having someone be as protective as you are is something quite foreign to V.”

 “Shouldn’t be.”

 “No. It shouldn’t.”

 Remus scrubs his hands over his face, wishing that this was fucking easy, that they could just…wipe them all out. Make the fear go away. Make the scars disappear.

 But they can’t.

 “What can I do, then,” Remus mumbles, “it—it wasn’t so bad today because Princey showed up.”

 “Having another person helped?”

 “No, well, kind of.” Remus twists his hands together again. “…made sure he pulled V outta the way.”

 “Mm.”

 There’s a few moments of silence while L thinks, idly tapping a finger against his wrist.

 “I have noticed,” he says after a while, “that the times when you are most likely to ‘go feral,’ so to speak, coincide with times when V is experiencing particularly high levels of stress.”

 Remus nods.

 “You have also stated that when V feels safe, and perhaps when you are able to make him feel safe, you’re able to calm down faster.”

 Another nod. L’s fucking good at problem-solving.

 “Do you think, then,” L says, “that if we were to help you get better at calming V down, you would, in turn, be able to calm yourself faster?”

 “L, you’re a fucking genius.”

 L blushes too, did you know that? “Well, I…”

 “So what do I do?”

 “Right.” L adjusts his tie. “What do you know already?”

 Remus thinks. “He, uh, he likes to be asked before anything happens, including being moved or touched.”

 “Good. What else?”

 “…he doesn’t like loud noises, or bright lights.”

 “Good.”

 “No fire.”

 “Mm.”

 “He likes the lake?”

 “Does it help him calm down?”

 “…dunno.”

 L nods. “Anything else?”

 Remus thinks. What else, what else…

 “Having his eyes closed,” he says carefully, “helped before, didn’t it? Stopped him from getting super overwhelmed?”

 “That is possible,” L says, “but it is unlikely to be something you try first, as it would require a decent amount of cognitive awareness or physical contact to achieve, both of which are not frequent in times of high stress.”

 “What can I do, then?”

 “How likely do you think it is that you will be able to speak calmly?”

 Remus snorts. The corner of L’s mouth quirks up.

 “Mm. Then it might be better to try something else, then.”

 “Something else?”

 L tilts his head, looking at Remus with that stare that makes him feel like L can see through him. “I have also noticed that with you, V does not seem as…averse to physical contact.”

 Wait, what?

 “When you held him in the garden, when he first arrived,” L says, “and when you rubbed his back. He was not afraid of you, no more than he was startled. Admittedly, this was during a prolonged period of high stress.”

 “W-wait, you’re right, earlier, he—“ Remus wraps his arms around himself— “by the lake, he…he asked for me. He…”

 “He initiated contact?”

 “…yeah.”

 A soft smile comes over L’s face. “I’m pleased.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you, perhaps more than the rest of us,” L continues, “are very eager to protect V. So much so that it leads to…”

 “Going feral.”

 “Indeed. And if V chooses to seek comfort from you…” L raises his eyebrows pointedly.

 “…then…then I can do it that way.”

 “Correct.”

 L gets up, reaching for a glass of water. He holds it out to Remus who takes it carefully.

 “Why’s this so fucking hard?”

 “Because nothing like this is easy, Duke,” L answers, fetching a glass for himself, “for anyone involved. I, for one, am impressed.”

 “…by?”

 “You.”

 “Me?”

 “Yes,” L says, “and how much you have…decided to change your approach.”

 Ah. Yeah.

 Yeah, the last time they found a mortal that had been…mistreated—apparently, Pat-Pat had an issue with Remus calling it ‘super fucked up’ even though it was—they’d died just on the outskirts of the garden.

 “Not with V,” Remus mumbles, “I want V to stay. They were already gone.”

 A few moments of silence pass, then there’s a soft whoosh.

 L sighs. “You can come out, J.”

 J strides out of the shadows, part of Remus’s mind trying valiantly to convince him that he’s been there the whole time. He hasn’t, Remus fucking knows he hasn’t, but still.

 “Where’s V?”

 “With Pat,” J answers smoothly, “eating.”

 “Good,” L says, “difficult emotional experiences should be followed by food.”

 Remus winces. He can almost feel the fucking room get colder. J’s head tilts.

 “I’m sure I know exactly what you’re referring to,” he says softly, “and I wouldn’t appreciate an explanation.”

 L, the asshole, just looks at Remus. Remus sighs and explains again.

 J takes one deep breath and lets it out slowly. Remus bows his head, waiting. Then he feels gloved fingers carding through it and he shudders.

 “Did you need something?” he hears L ask.

 “I was out for a walk,” J says, still stroking Remus’s hair, “by the lake. Something felt…off. So I tried to find the duke.”

 “‘M here.”

 “I can see that.”

 “Needed L’s help.”

 “And did you get it?” Remus nods, not wanting to jar J’s hand loose. “Good.”

 “We do just have the theory, however,” L muses, “and no practice.”

 “I may be able to help with that.”

 Remus looks up when J’s fingers leave his hair. “I’m listening.”

 It’s later, much later, when Remus finally leaves L’s room. The forest is twinkling, his brother sitting crosslegged on his favorite stump. Remus hugs him tightly, thanks him for being there earlier.

 “Of course, Re,” his brother murmurs, “and thank you for being there.”

 “I will be,” Remus says, “I will be.”

 It’s not much later when Remus is walking back to the clearing and a scream rips through the air.

  V.

 The door is locked. It’s locked tight. Remus can’t push. He can’t push. He can’t ruin this.

 The scream keeps going.

 “V! V!”

  Keeps going.

 It aches. It aches and the longer it goes, the longer it hurts, the harder it gets for Remus to keep from breaking the door down. Then a flurry of footsteps and—

 “V!”

 Remus catches V as he barrels out of his room, barely having enough time to open his arms and catch his balance. V’s eyes, wide with panic, settle on Remus’s face.

 “V,” Remus repeats softly, “V.”

 “…duke?”

 “Yeah. Yeah, little monster, it’s Duke.”

 “…duke.”

 Remus eases them to the ground, keeping his arms firmly around V. He draws him gently into his lap, closing his eyes and burying his face in V’s hair, feeling V curl up in his lap, still shaking, still shivering. A bolt of pain shoots through his chest when he feels the raw cry against his throat and his arms tighten around V, trying in vain to take some of that pain and push it into himself. V so desperately needs to stay mortal, to stay V, to feel. The last thing he wants is for this to destroy V beyond repair.

 “It’s alright, little monster, I got you, you’re safe, I’m not going to let anything hurt you, shh, just keep breathing for me.”

 He keeps up the litany of calm reassurances and comforting noises, rocking V back and forth on the ground. V’s shuddering breaths echo in the still clearing. His hands and arms tremble violently against Remus’s back and he can’t tell whether it’s because they’re holding onto him so tightly that his muscles are shaking or if he’s panicking so much he can’t stop shaking. The monster growling inside Remus’s chest starts snarling when V shudders harder.

  No. Not now. He’s safe. Keep him safe.

 Remus breathes. Tells the beastie in his chest to pipe the fuck down. Wraps himself around V and holds him close.

  Safe. Safe. Safe.

  They’re safe.

 “...V?”

 V mumbles, burying his cold nose in Remus’s neck.

 “Hey, V,” Remus murmurs, “can we, uh, can we get you out of the forest? It’s gonna get cold before too long, little monster.”

 V nods, not moving.

 “…can I carry you then, little monster?”

 Another nod.

 Scooping V gingerly into his arms, Remus hesitates. He doesn’t want to take V into his room, not now, but he also doesn’t want to push V too far, to push his way into V’s room.

 “V? Little monster?” V moves a little bit. “Can we go into your room?”

 “…stay?”

 “Yeah, V, I’ll stay with you, little monster.”

 Remus carries him inside, gently sitting on the floor with V still in his lap when he flinches at the noise the bed makes. He uses his tentacles to hold them slightly off the floor. He keeps rocking them slowly back and forth, murmuring safe, safe, safe.

 “…safe?”

 “Yeah, V.” Remus swallows. “We’re safe.”

 “You promise?”

 “I promise.” He adjusts his grip. “…you wanna talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t.”

 V mumbles something.

 “I can’t hear you, little monster,” Remus murmurs, shifting a little, “can you say it again?”

 “…just names.”

 “Names?”

 V clutches Remus’s arms tightly. “…names they used to call me.”

 “Like what? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he adds hastily.

 V hooks his chin over Remus’s shoulder, still breathing hard. Remus glances around.

 “Can I get you something to drink?” V nods. “Still want me to keep hold of you?”

 “…please?”

 “Sure.”

 Tentacles are useful things. When V has a glass of water in his hands, Remus lets him sit back a little, drinking carefully as Remus runs his hands over V’s back. V’s eyes drift closed and he lets out a tired mumble.

 “Sleepy?”

 “Mm.”

 Remus hums, letting V collapse a little bit more into his lap. He turns V slightly so that he can keep hold of the water.

 “…said I was a demon.”

 “What?”

 “The…others,” V mumbles, fear and weariness warring in his tone, “said I was a demon. That I was…cursed.”

 Words are so fucking stupid.

 Mortals are so fucking stupid.

 “You’re not cursed, V,” Remus says firmly, “promise. We’d be able to tell if you were.”

 “…really?”

 “What the hell made them say you were cursed?”

 V hesitates, little ripples appearing in the water. Remus tugs him closer, murmuring safe, safe, safe.

 “…my eyes,” V whispers, “they said my eyes showed I was…evil.”

 Now that.

 That is truly the fucking stupidest thing Remus has ever heard.

 V giggles softly when Remus says as much, letting Remus stroke a hand through his hair and wrap his other arm firmly around his waist. He slips a hand slowly under V’s tunic, pressing against his tummy and rubbing.

 “Mm,” V hums, “…warm.”

 “Good,” Remus says, “good, V.”

 He shakes his head. So fucking stupid.

 “You’re not cursed, V. You’re not evil. You’re not a demon. Words are fucking stupid and mortals are stupid too.”

 “…they are?”

 “In big groups? Absolutely.” Remus sets his chin protectively on top of V’s head. “You are a smart one. And that’s good.”

 “I’m good?”

 The vulnerable shake in V’s voice coaxes Remus to guide V’s gaze upward.

 “You are,” he says firmly, brushing the hair out of V’s violet, violet eyes. “And your eyes are fucking stunning.”

 He chuckles when V flushes, trying to hide his face in Remus’s neck again.

 “Princey must’ve had fun with you, hmm?”

 “Still is,” comes the mumble.

 “He’s not hurting you, is he?”

 “…no, I’m just…not used to it.”

 Remus hums, closing his eyes. The arm around V’s waist squeezes tightly. At the breath that sounds almost torn out of him, V relaxes.

 “…is that what Oliver’s hugs feel like?”

 Grinning, Remus squeezes him tighter. “You want to find out tomorrow?”

 “…please?”

 “Of course, little monster.”

 V’s not cursed.

V’s not a demon.

 And V’s eyes are gorgeous.

 Words are just fucking stupid.

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[fishfingersandjellybabies]

In Your Father’s Eyes - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane, Alfred Pennyworth, little bit of Clark Kent and Tim Drake and literally everyone Pairing: jondami Summary: Of all the things and all the experiences they thought Jon and Damian would have, it certainly wasn’t this. But they’re all better for it anyway.  A/N: A commission for the lovely @heraldofsong! I hope you enjoy it. :) They asked for a bittersweety fluffy story about the Batfam’s reactions/reminiscing to Jon and Damian having a baby. I chose the middle name ‘Charlotte’ because according to the internet it meant ‘freedom’ or ‘free’ and I felt that described an adult Jon and Damian very well. Barry went with Lois downstairs in case Jon and Damian emerged while she was gone, he could rush her back up. Also, it goes without saying, the Flashes brought Steph, Cass and Kara back from the gift shop the same way. Jon is petrified of holding or even touching the baby sometimes. He eventually gets over that. Some vibes for this fic are ‘Mango Dream’ by Afternoon Bike Ride. 

~~

It was a quiet afternoon at the manor. The warm sun peeking through the curtains. Birds chirping outside. The contented crackle of flame in the fireplace as he and Alfred each sat in a recliner reading a book.

Then Tim called.

“Conner and I are on our way to the hospital. Just about there, actually.” He said urgently. “Damian and Jon were taken there by a group of Green Lanterns.”

“What happened?” Bruce demanded, jumping from his chair as quickly as his old bones would allow him. Alfred glanced up from his novel, closing it immediately.

“That’s the thing…I…I’m not sure.” Tim offered. “I’ve already talked to Damian. He said neither of them were really hurt at all. Just that he needs us there. All of us.”

That was enough for Bruce.

Tim said he’d already called the others, and was in the process of sending Bruce the hospital coordinates. As Bruce and Alfred gathered their coats and head to the car, Bruce’s phone pinged again with a text.

I think you might want to bring your credit card.

Bruce rolled his eyes at Tim’s instruction, but checked his wallet anyway.

The hospital wasn’t in Gotham, or Metropolis, but a smaller city in between. A medium-sized research hospital that the League used often. Out of the way, but staffed with the most skilled in the world, and able to keep a secret or two.

Bruce could already see the gaggle of Green Lanterns on the roof as they pulled in to the parking lot. But judging by their relaxed body language, just like Tim had said, there was no emergency.

So what…?

Lois and Barry were in the lobby waiting for them. She smirked when she saw them, crossing her arms.

“What’s happening?” Bruce demanded. “Are the boys alright?”

“Perfect.” Lois let her smirk become a wide grin. There was a giddy shriek from nearby, and Bruce glanced over. It came from the gift shop, where he could see Stephanie holding something up, showing a confused Cass and judgmental Kara. “We were just waiting here for you to take you to the right ward.”

“Well, I must say, judging by everyone’s attitude, I can’t imagine it’s the ICU.” Alfred quipped. Barry laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Nope.” Lois spun away, all but skipping as she led the way. “Barry, you ready to catch him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re heading to the maternity ward.”

Bruce froze.

“…What?”

Barry was instantly at his shoulder, an arm hovering against his back.

“Ms. Lane…” Alfred said slowly. Laughter from the gift shop again, and now Bruce could see what Stephanie was showing the others – baby clothes.

“Wild, right?” She nodded, urging them both to follow. “But it’s true.”

“Apparently the boys were on a mission with a few of the Lanterns, on some planet.” Barry explained as he gently pushed them along. “This planet has way more advanced in vitro fertilization technology than on Earth. Than in the whole damn Milky Way. But apparently a major part of the fight was in a science lab. And I don’t know if it was from blood from injuries or sweat from exertion or what, but somehow both their DNA got into one of the machines, and literally hours later, a baby was being born.”

“An…alien child?” Alfred asked.

“You’d think that, but no. One-hundred percent Damian and Jon. So, only twenty-five percent alien, Kryptonian, from Jon’s side.” Barry hummed. “It wasn’t like their DNA was being added to an already incubating organism. Its creation came about because their DNA got combined.”

“At least,” Lois interrupted. “As far as we know. That’s why we’re here. They’re getting the baby checked out.”

Suddenly, Tim’s text made sense. “We have…nothing for a baby at the manor. Do…you and Clark have anything from when Jon was born?”

Lois’s grin softened. “Not enough to have everything they’ll need. But enough for the first day or so. Clothes-wise, anyway.”

“They’ll…they’ll have to come stay at the manor.” Bruce turned to Alfred, mind already in hyper drive. “Their…their apartment isn’t big enough. Right?”

“They live in a penthouse, sir, not an apartment.” Alfred smiled. “But I’m sure if you asked they wouldn’t mind coming home for a while. Especially with all the foot traffic of new aunts and uncles that they can surely expect.”

“You already know which room Clark and I are staying in, right, Alfred?” Lois teased.

“Of course, Ms. Lane.” Alfred chuckled. Barry suddenly dashed forward, holding the door open for the three of them. “I’m already devising the floor plans for everyone in my head as we speak.”

And even with the three women in the gift shop, the maternity ward was a madhouse of Supers, Bats and Leaguers alike. Tim was talking with Dinah and Ollie, showing them cribs and mobiles on his phone. Conner was talking with Diana, Donna and the two Wally Wests. Lois was already rejoining Clark, who was speaking with J’onn. Jason had already grabbed Alfred and was gently pulling him towards Koriand’r and Roy.

Barry was stepping up behind him. “Has Dick been…?”

Barry pointed, but it was useless, since Bruce had just spotted him. He was away from the crowds, further down the hall, staring into one of the closed doors, his arms folded across his chest.

Bruce nodded and gave Barry a short grin. Barry gently squeezed his shoulder before disappearing into their friends. Bruce inhaled and slowly walked forward. Everyone immediately gave him passing congratulations, and he smiled softly to each of them in return.

Dick didn’t look at him as he approached, kept just staring into the door. Bruce silently stood next to him, and glanced inside himself.

Damian and Jon stood there, next to a plastic crib. They were in matching teal scrubs that barely hid the few bandages they each had across their bodies. Nothing serious, like everyone had told him so far, but still enough that made his heart beat a little faster.

Jon’s wrist hung over the crib, and Bruce could see tiny fingers clinging to his middle one. His other hand was around Damian’s waist, rubbing calming circles against his hip. His head was up, nodding at whatever the doctor standing across from them and the crib was saying.

Damian, surprisingly, was opposite. His head was down, watching the child. His hand was cupping the baby’s head, stroking gently across its tuft of dark hair.

Bruce couldn’t see any other features on the baby. Its face was blocked by its fat belly and gleefully kicking feet. The hand not latched on to Jon’s waved every so often, where he could see a tube connected.

God, he couldn’t even see it and he adored this child already.

“Can you believe it?” Dick suddenly whispered. Bruce turned his head towards him, but kept his eyes on the door. He heard the baby give a loud squeal. Watched as Jon glanced down and grinned, shaking his captured finger. “Damian’s a dad.”

“So it appears.” Bruce smiled.

“He wasn’t one yesterday. There was no plan for him to be one, yesterday.” Dick continued, practically in awe. “This is…incredible.”

“The universe is an incredible place.” Bruce agreed. “…How long have you been here?”

“About an hour.” Dick admitted. “Damian called me when they hit Earth’s stratosphere.”

“Did you get to see the baby at all?” Bruce asked. In his periphery he saw Dick shake his head.

“They were already in there by the time I got here. Jon came out for a hot second to ask me to bring Lois to the ward when she arrived. But otherwise I haven’t talked to them.” Dick sighed. He shifted nervously from foot to foot. “…It’s almost laughable.”

“What is?”

“Damian’s the first of us to be a dad.” Dick smiled wistfully. “Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Need-Anybody’, Mr. ‘I’m-Not-A-Family-Person’, Mr. ‘Jonathan-and-I-Are-Too-Busy-To-Raise-Children’…and he’s the first of us to have a kid. A biological kid.”

“A biological child conceived and born in hours, from what I was told.” Bruce murmured. He chuckled. “Quite a…peculiar birth. Just like him.”

They lapsed into a silence then, as they continued to watch through the door. They could see both Damian and Jon conversing with the doctor, and suddenly, said doctor was lifting the baby from the crib, taking it out of view. The baby clung to Jon’s finger for as long as it could, even pulling a little as it was pulled away.

Almost immediately, Jon turned to Damian, and the two began to speak softly to each other. Damian’s face looked tired, nervous. Jon’s looked similar, but he smiled anyway, cupping Damian’s face in his hands. Damian clung to his wrists, closing his eyes as he leaned into one of the hands.

“…Do you remember when he was little?” Dick asked softly. “So tough and angry. I’d ruffle his hair and he’d try to cut my arm off.”

“He was a little…prickly.” Bruce smiled warmly. “Focused on nothing but Batman’s mission, and being the best. But you freed him from that viciousness.”

“I had help.” Dick laughed, watching as Jon leaned down and kissed Damian, before the two engulfed each other in an embrace. “Don’t sell yourself so short, old man.”

“Don’t sell yourself short either, Dick.” Bruce bumped his elbow into Dick’s side. “For as much as I loved him at the time anyway, much of his growth was because of you.”

“…Look at him, B.” Dick whispered after a moment. Bruce actually glanced at him now, and saw tears in his eyes. “Look how much he’s grown.”

Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, gave a squeeze as he glanced back towards the door. Damian was twenty-seven now, Jon twenty-four. Both tall and muscular, though Jon slightly more so, and both perfect mixtures of their parents. Each with their own lives, their own identities, creating their own legacies, their own destinies.

But right now all Bruce could see was the children they were. The friends forced together by their fathers, but almost instantly inseparable. The kids who were stronger than any man, and whose favorite game was to climb a life-sized replica of a tyrannosaurs rex that was nestled in a cave, and eat lunch in its mouth.

Damian said something and Jon laughed. Damian’s eyes lit up and his cheeks turned red as Jon kissed his forehead.

Bruce smiled too.

Friends from childhood. Lovers in adulthood.

And now, fathers.

Clark’s baby was a father. His baby was a father.

“I’m so proud of him.” Dick murmured, voice trembling in joy. “He’s just so happy, Bruce.”

Dick turned away, embarrassingly wiping at his eyes.

“God, don’t let him see me like this.” Dick laughed weakly. “It’ll ruin my chances of being the baby’s godfather.”

“It’s endearing.” Bruce promised, turning to look at him. “If nothing else, it’ll heighten your chances. Besides, you’ll still be its uncle no matter what.” A smirk. “And grandpa, depending on who you ask.”

“Oh god, Bruce no.” Dick laughed, wiping faster at his eyes. “I’m too young to be a grandpa.”

“How do you think I feel?” Bruce asked incredulously. “I just got told by Superman’s wife twenty minutes ago that I’m a grandfather!”

Dick looked over at him, eyes soft, the crinkles around his eyes more noticeable with his smile. “You’ll be a great one, Bruce. The very bes-”

There was the sound of a doorknob turning, a latch unhooking. Dick and Bruce both spun back around towards the door to the exam room to find it opening.

Suddenly, the whole hallway was silent, save for a light whooshing, electric noise. Clark was there instantly, Lois in his arms. Conner appeared with Tim, Jason was just finishing pushing his and Alfred’s way through the Justice Leaguers, and the Flashes were each dutifully helping Stephanie, Cassandra and Kara to their feet.

They all waited with baited breath.

It was Jon who was opening the door, and held it open for Damian to walk through. Damian, who had a swaddled bundle tight in his arms, stepped tentatively into the hallway. As soon as he was through the threshold, Jon was at his side, a protective arm around his back.

When Damian glanced up with his wide, shocked eyes – he looked at Bruce first. Then Clark, then Lois, then finally landed on Dick.

“I…” He croaked. Closed his mouth, cleared his throat. Let himself smile slightly as he returned his gaze to Bruce. “We…we have a daughter.”

He turned the baby outwards slightly. Her eyes were closed, but skin was the perfect mixture of Damian’s tan tones, and Jon’s pale colors. She had Jon’s wild curls, but very clearly Damian’s nose and eyebrows. There were immediately a few gasps and coos among the nearby Leaguers.

“Healthy?” Clark asked. “She checked out okay?”

“Completely perfect.” Jon exhaled in excitement. “Doc said she looks like every other baby he’s ever seen, all the way down to the DNA.”

“Anything about…powers?” Clark pushed.

“Dad.” Jon rolled his eyes. “She’s only a few hours old.”

“The doctor told us to monitor her as she grows, and go over your, Jon’s, Kara’s and even Conner’s personal histories.” Damian explained instead. “And if she does at any point present powers, it will likely follow the same timeline as the rest of you.”

Lois stepped forward, gently pressing her hand to the baby’s head. Like always, she asked the question everyone else was too nervous to.

“What’s her name?”

Jon and Damian glanced at each other, and Jon let out a light laugh.

“Martha.” Damian whispered, looking straight at Bruce, with a quick glance to Clark. “Martha Charlotte.”

“Hello Miss Martha Charlotte.” Lois cooed, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head. Martha just yawned, and curled back into Damian’s chest.

“Whose last name?” Dick asked gently, taking his turn to step forward. “Martha Charlotte Kent? Martha Charlotte Wayne? Hell, Martha Charlotte al Ghul?”

Damian smirked and Jon looked heavenward as he mumbled, “To be determined.”

Dick laughed as he looked between the two men. He let his laughter die out and asked, “You two nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?” Jon countered incredulously. “I mean…jeez, I’m still afraid to hold her!” He leaned into Damian’s back. “What if I…I don’t know, squish her, or something?”

“You won’t, Beloved. I promise.” Damian teased, leaning back to kiss at Jon’s cheek.

Dick smiled, and couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and pressed his temple against Damian’s, looking down at Martha. She gave a contented sigh.

“I am so, so, so proud of you, Damian.” Dick whispered, squeezing Damian’s arm. Lois nodded in agreement as she ran a hand through Jon’s hair, before returning her attention to the baby. “”I am so proud of you both.”

Damian let himself smile, let himself exhale in what almost sounded like relief as he leaned into Dick. He stood there a moment, let Dick and Lois fawn over the baby, before glancing up again. Clark was watching with a bright smile, one almost too big for his face. Waiting excitedly for his own turn, but clearly quickly losing his patience.

Then he looked to Bruce. Bruce who had just been staring silently since they stepped into the hallway, eyes wide, lips parted. A faint, awed smile was etched gently into his face, and it made Damian’s own smile widen. He slowly stepped away from Jon, Lois and Dick and towards his father, angling towards Clark in the process to include him too. “…Father?”

Bruce looked up at his face, the adoration clear in his old blue eyes.

“…I have a daughter, Father.” Damian breathed, looking towards Martha. She smacked her lips sleepily, and Damian’s smile, impossibly, grew. Let himself smile wider than Bruce had ever seen. “And I just…she is already my whole world. I…I’ve never loved someone so quickly.”

“That’s what having a child does to you, son.” Clark smiled.

Damian’s grin faltered, just slightly. “I’m sure it was not this way when I arrived in your life.”

It was a self-depreciating joke, made to downplay Damian’s importance to every single person in this hallway. But Bruce didn’t take it. Bruce didn’t dare play into the darkness that still plagued his youngest’s mind.

“On the contrary.” Bruce hummed, taking hold of his elbow. “I might have loved you even quicker.”

Damian snorted and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he just kept looking at Martha, shifting his hand to run across her tiny cheek. His voice was barely a breath. “…I have a daughter.”

“And she looks like you.” Bruce noted, poking at Martha’s nose. She scrunched it up and shook her head. Damian laughed, and held her even closer. “…I’m so happy for you.”

Damian looked up then, almost in surprise.

“You’re going to be a great father.” Bruce whispered, squeezing Damian’s elbow. “The best of any of us.”

Damian turned back towards his husband just in time to see Dick grab Jon and wrap him in the biggest hug he could. As Dick released him, Jon glanced over at him. “…And he will be an even greater one.”

Jon, who of course heard the whole conversation with his powers, grinned sheepishly.

Damian giggled as Jon stepped towards him, and kissed his forehead, then leaned down to do the same to Martha. A moment later, he allowed himself a deep breath. “Well. You ready?”

Jon glanced over his shoulder, towards their waiting brothers and sisters, to the entirety of the Justice League waiting behind them. He exhaled sharply. “As I’ll ever be, today.”

Dick laughed as he and Lois helped pushed the new parents forward. As Clark stepped closer to Bruce and hugged him in quiet glee.

“Welcome to the family, Martha.” Dick grinned, gesturing out to everyone, before looking down at the sleeping newborn in Damian’s arms. Damian and Jon looked happily at each other. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Break Up

(Story Post)

“What about Ben? Yeah, I—No, but—” Jeffrey sniffled. “Well go then! Don't come back!” Nathan was just coming out of a meeting with Korsgaard when he caught the end of Jeffrey’s phone conversation. Jeffrey was in the hall carrying Ben strapped to his chest and after hanging up the phone, he just pressed his head against the wall and sobbed. “Whoa, hey…” Nathan rushed over quickly and placed a hand on Jeffrey’s back. “…What’s up? What happened?” Jeffrey flinched but relaxed when he realised it was Nathan. He quickly wiped his eyes. “It’s Bler… He just broke up with me…” “No way.” Nathan wasn’t surprised at all considering how little Bler seemed to be involved with his family based on what Jeffrey had shared in group, but he still felt bad for the boy nonetheless. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

“He did it through text too!” Jeffrey sniffled, holding up his phone. Ben was visibly getting upset as Jeffrey did, but he didn’t cry. “Who breaks up with someone over text?!” “You were just on the phone though…” Nathan remarked. “He texted me during my counseling, but I called him as soon as I saw it after…” Jeffrey said. Nathan didn’t even think young adults made phone calls anymore, but he didn’t bring it up. Instead he searched his pockets and found one of the twins’ toys, a little squishy octopus, and handed it to Ben. He hoped it would entertain him enough in the moment to keep his attention off his father’s breakdown. “…Break ups are difficult. Not to mention, it must be even harder when you have a baby between you… If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.” Jeffrey slumped his back against the wall and wiped his eye again. “I… I just don’t know what to do…” Nathan nodded and rubbed Jeffrey’s shoulder. “Who’s picking you up today?” “No one…” Jeffrey answered. “Ollie’s at work until later and Korsy’s in, like, Montana or something… I took transit.” Nathan shook his head. “I’m not letting you go on transit like this. How about you have dinner with us? Then when your cousin gets off work, he can get you. Or Dax’ll drive you.” Jeffrey hesitated for second. “That’d be cool, I think… Thanks…” “I’m on wolf cycle which means I’m eating in the cafeteria this week which is good for us because we don’t have to go all the way home, but it also means you can’t stay too late,” Nathan explained. “But I’m headed to my room right now if you’ll join me.” Jeffrey nodded. “Sure.” Nathan offered to carry Ben for the way down and Jeffrey took the break thankfully. He was quiet the whole time as he was guided down to the resident floor, but he wasn’t crying anymore which Nathan hoped was good. Ben watched Jeffrey the whole time with his big wide eyes, almost like he was studying his father. When Jeffrey noticed, he pulled a silly face for him and pet his head. When they got to the room, Nathan let them in with his key. Wano, who had been watching the twins, got up from the floor by their play pen and came to the door. The tall stranger overwhelmed Jeffrey and he stepped back a pace before Wano was standing over him. “Who is this?” Wano asked, tilting his head as he scanned Jeffrey’s face. He glanced at Nathan and then pointed to Ben. “And this. This is not yours, Nathan.” “No, this is Jeffrey and his son Ben,” Nathan said. “He’s in my pregnancy group.” “Uh, Nathan… Who’s this guy?” Jeffrey asked. Then he lowered his voice. “You’re not sleeping around on Mr. Olivier, are you?” “What? No!” Nathan patted Wano’s arm. “This is Wano. He’s under my care at the moment.” “So… You’re fostering him?” Jeffrey asked. “Sometimes it feels that way…” Nathan chuckled. “But, no. It’s sort of like a sponsorship. He stays with us to get some more time outside of APID.” “But this is APID,” Jeffrey said. “Yeah, he still has to come back when I’m on my cycle, but when we’re home, he gets to come live with us,” Nathan said. Wano was still looking Jeffrey over. He pointed to Ben again. “You made this?” Jeffrey’s pride took over and he grinned. “Yeah, baked him myself.” “So, you are a parent?” Wano asked. “That’s right,” Jeffrey said. “Recently single parent.” Nathan watched how Jeffrey’s eyes flicked down Wano’s torso and a sudden realisation of what he might’ve just started filled him with worry. “You’re ra bit small, though,” Wano commented. “How do you fit a child inside? You’re not as tall as Nathan. He can fit two children.” “I think most pregnant people on Earth are usually closer to Jeffrey’s height or shorter actually,” Nathan said. “But I guess you haven’t met many parents here yet, have you?” “You and the fish,” Wano said. He looked at Jeffrey again and nodded. “You are closer to the fish size. I understand. Probably only one baby at a time then. That’s fine.” “I bet I could handle twins,” Jeffrey said, placing his hands on his hips. “No problem.” “Really? That is admirable,” Wano said. “I cannot carry children. I can only plant seeds.” “That’s totally fine by me,” Jeffrey said. “Okay, you know what, I’m really hungry,” Nathan said to try to slow the roll on wherever that conversation was going. “How about we go to the cafeteria now and I can text Dax to meet us there?” “Alright,” Jeffrey said. “Is Wano joining us?” “Of course,” Nathan said. “Wano, could you help me get the twins in their carriers, please?” Wano nodded and went to grab them. Nathan handed Ben back to Jeffrey so he could carry one of the twins while Wano took care of the other. He didn’t have to message Dax as the teacher came strutting down the hall to meet them at the door. “Hello!” he saved waving. “Looks like I’m not too late! Hello, Jeffrey. It’s nice to see you again.” “Hi, Mr. Olivier!” Jeffrey said quickly. “Or, uh, Dax, right?” “Of course! I'm not your teacher anymore. Just call me Dax,” he insisted. “Okay cool. Feels kinda weird but I guess I'll get used to it…” Jeffrey said. “Jeffrey’s cousin can't pick him up until later, so I invited him to have dinner with us,” Nathan explained. “Sounds good. I'll put my book bag down inside and then we can head over,” Dax said. They went down to the cafeteria all together and chose a table to sit at. Nathan left the twins with Dax while he took Jeffrey up to get food first. While they did that, Dax and Wano set up a highchair for Ben too. “The food's really good here,” Nathan said as they lined up. “If you don't have dietary restrictions, it's pretty much a buffet. Desserts are portioned out for the residence, but you can have mine.” “Do I have to pay for any of this?” Jeffrey asked. “No, no. It's free for anyone with entry into the facilities,” Nathan said. “Just tap your APID card at the end over there.” “Cool. Nobody told me there was free food…” “Yeah, it’s great. How old’s Ben? Can he eat solids?” Nathan asked. “Oh, yeah. He's big into Cheerios and yoghurt,” Jeffrey said. “And he’s ten months old.” “Ooh, a birthday soon, nice,” Nathan said. “They should have some options for Ben at the end by the desserts.” “This is pretty cool. I might come here more often,” Jeffrey said. “So uh, where’s Wano from?” “Um, Eclul. He’s Eclulan,” Nathan explained. “Listen, about Wano—” “Are they all purple like him?” Jeffrey asked. “More or less,” Nathan answered. “I’ve seen darker shades, but they don’t really vary in hue like Yulinians.” “Bler’s species wasn’t very different from us,” Jeffrey said. “His skin’s tiny bit green and his eyes are big, but that’s about it. Ben mostly just got his hair and eyes.” “Good for fitting in, I imagine,” Nathan said. “If that’s what your going for anyway.” “Yeah, when I go out grocery shopping with him or something, sometimes little old ladies come up and tell me my son has such beautiful eyes,” Jeffrey said. “But he could’ve also got that from me, ‘cause I used to get a lot of compliments on my eyes. You know, since they’re a little pink.” “They are a really nice colour,” Nathan considered. “Is that the fairy side?” “Ollie says so,” Jeffrey said. He looked back at their table. “I don’t think I could date another Prilarian…” “May be for the best,” Nathan said. “I think the best thing after a bad break up is to have some time to yourself. I didn’t even think I could ever date again after my last break up. But I guess, that was for more personal reasons.” “Maybe… Maybe not,” Jeffrey said. “And I’m thinking about Ben here. He needs a dad.” “Well, is Bler not going to be around at least for his son?” Nathan asked. “Nope. He has to go back to Poland,” Jeffrey said. “He said Canada deported him back there because it’s where he landed and he has a criminal record or something… He doesn’t think it’s worth it to try and fight to come back because he could be deported off planet… Korsy warned me this could happen because it happens a lot to Prilarians since they tend to ignore the law. I just think Korsy hates him. He’s probably the one who got him kicked out…” “Wow, that’s… Well… I don’t really know anything about Prilarians,” Nathan said. “Yulinians seem to be the majority at APID.” “What about Eclulans? Are there a lot of them?” Jeffrey asked. “I think they’re like a far second,” Nathan said. “Yulinians are mostly here to work as ambassadors in their fields but Eclulans are mostly here to make a better life for themselves. The thing is that most of them are pretty stubborn and typically come to Earth under false VISAs because they won’t admit they’re refugees of war on their planet.” “So, they’re runaways?” Jeffrey said. “That’s kinda hot.” “I don’t know about hot, but it means a lot of them get deported,” Nathan said. “Wano himself is in the middle of getting deported which is why we insisted he stay with us so he can see a bit more of Earth before he goes.” Jeffrey frowned. “Oh no… You’re fighting it, right?” “Yeah, but all we could get so far was an extension,” Nathan said. “It seems like he might have to go back to Eclul and reapply to return. It’s hard to know he’ll be safe though if he goes back.” “Oh…” They got their food and headed back to the table. Jeffrey smiled to Wano as the Eclulan got up to get his dinner with Dax. Nathan wondered if Dax was picking up any of this, or if Wano was even aware of how interested Jeffrey was. Jeffrey got Ben out of his carrier and placed him into the highchair. He put out a bowl of dry cereal for the baby to try and Ben seemed more than happy grabbing from it and shoving pieces in his mouth. “What do you do for fun?” Nathan asked as he started to eat. “Play video games mostly,” Jeffrey answered. “I'm starting to stream. I'm hoping I can build up some fans again and make some money. Reggie's helping.” “Again?” Nathan asked. “Yeah. I used to livestream when I was pregnant with Ben,” Jeffrey explained. “People paid to see me getting bigger. They seemed to know before I did that I was pregnant though. I was just trying to gain weight. Turns out I'd been wasting my time since my fairy genes won't allow it. But I got Ben out of it, so there's always that.” “I see…” Nathan said. “So you've stopped making those types of videos?” “Yeah. APID pretty much made me delete my account,” Jeffrey said. “I did give birth to an alien on camera, so they wanted to shut that down pretty quick. I do miss it though. I really enjoyed being big and round and just so tight and full… I was hoping Bler would give me another child but it seems that's not likely…” “You want to get pregnant again?” Nathan asked, a little more worried. “Of course! Don't you?” Jeffrey asked. “Not even a little bit, no,” Nathan said. Jeffrey waved a hand. “That's fine or whatever, but I want to be pregnant again so bad. I loved just how big I was, just waddling everywhere. And I want Ben to have a sibling to play with.” “Don't you worry about that getting in the way of your ambitions?” Nathan asked. “That is my ambition. That's why I want to do the gaming thing,” Jeffrey said. “Gaming is something you can do from home and you don't have to worry if you're pregnant. It's not like there's a boss that needs you in the office or whatever. It's flexible. You're your own boss. You create content whenever you feel like it and make bank.” Nathan wasn't sure Jeffrey was being too realistic. “That's if you get really famous, right? Until you start making that money, if you're supporting a family, you need a day job too. It costs a lot of money to raise children.” “Well, that's why I don't want to do it alone,” Jeffrey said. “The sooner I start dating again, the sooner I find someone who can support myself and my kids. It’d be much harder alone.” Nathan reached over and took Jeffrey’s hand. “Listen. I still think it'd be best for you to take some time to yourself. Process your break up before you jump into anything you'll regret.” Jeffrey frowned and took his hand back. “I appreciate your opinion, but I didn't ask for it.” The others came back at this point but before sitting down, Dax tapped Nathan's shoulder. “Oh, I got the meat lasagna instead of the veggie. I’m gonna go back up. But Nathan, they had your favourite bagels out. Did you see?” Nathan looked up at his partner a bit confused but he saw the insistence in Dax's face and realised he wanted him to come with him. “No, I didn't see. If they're my favourite I should get one.” Nathan got up and grabbed his plate. “We'll be right back.” Nathan and Dax drifted off back over near the buffet and Dax dropped a hand on his shoulder. “What's going on here?” Dax asked. “Are we on a double date?” “Oh god, I hope not…” Nathan sighed. “So, you're getting that vibe too?” “Less of a vibe, more of a big blinking billboard,” Dax said. “Wano has been very explicit about how he'd like to bed Jeffrey and fill him with offspring.” “Ew… Now that Bler's officially dumped him, Jeffrey seems to be ready to jump into bed too,” Nathan said, starting to panic a bit. “I didn’t realise they’d be like this. This is all my fault for inviting Jeffrey to dinner.” “No, no. You were just being nice,” Dax said. “This happens, I guess. They're young. Or, actually… How old is Wano?” “Physically? I don't know. Emotionally, ten. Maybe thirteen, tops.” “Mm, well… They are adults. There isn’t much we can do,” Dax pointed out. “If they both like each other mutually, then it isn’t really our place to try to break them up.” “But if they do get together and they do have a child, what then? From what I know from our group sessions, Jeffrey already barely has the means to support Ben and Wano is literally getting deported. And, I mean it's not breaking them up if they haven't gotten together yet, right?” Nathan said. “It's prevention.” “I think at this point it's breaking them up,” Dax said, pointing past Nathan. Nathan turned around and sighed. Jeffrey had slid around to sit beside Wano and they were feeding each other their dinners. “Fucking hell…” Nathan groaned. “Well, Wano has to stay with you so technically, they shouldn’t really have much of a chance to be alone, right?” Dax said. “And when he's alone in the house, he has to watch the kids.” “You’re right…” Nathan was still a bit unconvinced. “But I’m still worried.” Dax pursed his lips. “Well, if you don't want them to start making out in front of the kids, we should probably get back.” “Yeah.” They rejoined the table and Nathan sat across from Jeffrey now that they were on opposite sides. “Hey, um. Have you let Ollie know you’re here with us?” “Oh, not yet,” Jeffrey said pulling out his phone. “I'll text him now.” “Who is Ollie?” Wano asked curiously. “My cousin,” Jeffrey said as he typed. “I can't drive but he picks me up all the time.” “Cousin?” Wano inquired, unfamiliar with the word. “Yeah. My mother's sister's son.” “Ah. You are blood.” “Yep.” “Wano, you ate all your green beans,” Dax remarked. “Good job.” “They were not disgusting,” Wano said. “Very tolerable.” “I'm glad to hear it,” Dax said. “Yes, Jeffrey made them enjoyable to eat,” Wano said. “He made spaceship noises.” “Oh...” “Shit, it doesn’t seem like Ollie can get me tonight…” Jeffrey interrupted after receiving a text message. “Dax'll drive you then,” Nathan said. “Right, Dax?” “Sure,” Dax confirmed. “I'd be happy to." “‘Kay,” Jeffrey accepted. “You guys are so chill. I always figured teachers were really boring and dusty, but you’ve always been pretty cool, Mr. Olivier. Or, Dax. Sorry.” “No, that's alright and thank you,” Dax said. “Let me know when you're done eating and then we can head out.” “Is there a rush?” Jeffrey asked, sliding his hand onto Wano's knee. Nathan tensed when he noticed. “Well sort of. You know, I have my condition. Too late and it could be dangerous for you.” “Does Wano stay in your room while you guys are living at APID?” Jeffrey asked. Wano shook his head. “I have my own room. It's smaller, but the wi-fi is good and the bed is nice.” “Well, if it gets too late, then I could hang out in Wano's room,” Jeffrey said. “No, no… Uh, doesn't Ben have a bedtime you wanna stick to?” Nathan mentioned. “Yeah, I guess.” Jeffrey patted Wano's leg. “Another time then?” “Yes. You can see my rock collection,” Wano said. “Ooh, are they really hard?” “Yes, they are rocks.”

[ranboounlabeled]

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink?  Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria: 

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok???  Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning!   Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls*  Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface]  Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day]  Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

[wiinterrose]

          ( xavier serrano , male , he/him, 23 ) omg ! i was walking yonge street downtown , and you’ll never guess who i saw . 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 ! i just saw a post about them on sixsecrets ! i think it said something like “ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝟓 𝐀𝐌 : 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?” . isn’t that wild ? i guess it makes sense through , since they’re apparently 𝐃𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒 and 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 . but i’ve heard they’re also 𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 and 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 ! i’ll just stick to giving them the benefit of the doubt . i mean , it’s not like i know them personally — they’re a famous 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 / 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄𝐑 ! you know , i’ve actually heard rumors that ██████████████████, but they’re just rumors … i think . i dunno . if you happen to run into them , tell them i’m their biggest fan ! ( ollie , they / them , 21 , est )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

— mikey was born and raised in winnipeg because i think it’s funny when characters are from winnipeg. if you’re from winnipeg i’m so sorry. definitely was born on the coldest day of that year ( so like some point in january )

— but because of those long, cold harsh winters, mikey found himself in a dance studio a lot. his aunt was a dance teacher and with rather absent parents who meant well but both had long hours at the local hospital, he spent a lot of time with her. he fell in love with dance pretty early on, always having a certain fluidity and grace even when he was young.

— random but he also played hockey up until he was like 16 or whatever because he’s canadian and i’m not stupid. it happened. he can still skate tho. in a slightly different life he probably would have been a pretty good figure skater huh 🤔🤔🤔 but anyway...

— also feel like it makes sense that he did gymnastics. and trained in classical ballet.

— he went to university of toronto for college, studying kinesology and dance, and danced at one of the prestigious studios in the city.

— his big break moment was when in his sophomore year at ut, he made it onto the second season of world of dance in early 2017 ( lets pretend that show has been on longer than it has bc i don’t want it to be the first season of it sldk ). he made it all the way to the finals and quickly become a fan favorite along the way. though he ultimately placed second and missed out on the million dollars, that was the beginning of many doors opening for him. ( for those who, might have the vaguest clue what i’m talking about : i’m highkey feeling like, michael dameski style which is an idea i had after i named him michael so don’t @ me for him having the same first name ).

— millions watched that show, including some prominent agents and scouts who were able to help him launch a professional dance career : something he never thought he’d see himself actually doing. his first big gig was making the dance team for some singer’s north american tour, and he ended up not returning to ut to pursue a professional dance career full time. since then he’s danced in a few music videos for some uber famous musican ( same one he went on tour with or not idk ?? also a wc ?? maybe ?? ), a tv show, couple movies, and other various gigs around the city. he works part time at a studio when he has time, and has been honing his choreography skills as well.

— he makes enough dancing, but certainly not enough to make him RICH. no, that come from an impromptu vlog he did while on tour with aforementioned singer. having already garnered a following from world of dance, he soon rose to youtube fame as well, something he never could have predicted. i feel like his videos are very just, day in a life with various random challenges mixed in, and various workout and flexibility tips. he also still does pieces and duets with other prominent dancers just for fun too. his natural charisma and attitude really just carries him through easily lmao.

— mikey developed a bit of a habit of sleeping around when he left for college, all the newfound freedom was just intoxicating and well. he was hot so. it wasn’t like it was hard alsdkjf. that stuck around well into his blossoming dance career. nothing that was enough to be scandalous, but he made his way around. and then a year and a half into this unforeseen new life, he met matthew glass.

— he’d had a couple serious relationships before, one in high school, one his freshman year of college but neither of them could hold a flame to what he felt when he was with matt. perfection wasn’t something mikey believed in, but he almost did with what they had.

— it was like for over a year and a half he lived in this insane dream, and then mikey and matt broke up and he was devastated ( behind closed doors and with curtains pulled tightly shut ).

— he then proceeded to broadcast how perfectly fine he was doing by going back to his old ways and sleeping around obsessively, this time with very little regard as to how many headlines he was making. as far as coping mechanisms go, i guess sex is better than alcohol ?? not to say he wasn’t also drunk at times l o l.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂

— mikey is a... how do u say... im gunna write manwhore bc it’s accurate so pls don’t take offense. inch resting bc i’ve written smut like once in my eight year rping career but that’s what he decided he was gunna be and who am i to deny that.

— very bi. very much does not care. if the world didn’t know he was before, it definitely does now lmao. he hasn’t come out in the sense he’s like posted a video about it and said “i’m bisexual” but it’s pretty obvious from the media and maybe he has gotten asked in interviews and has just shrugged and been like does it matter ?? i’m sorry he’s not the vocal bi ally we need. perhaps we will work on that.

— hasn’t dated anyone since matt bc he’s highkey lowkey still hung up on him but no one needs to know that right. outwardly, he’s very much the same : seemingly happy, but he’s a lot more careful with his heart and letting people close to him. if anything he’s become a bit of a two-way mirror, always seeing out but never really letting people see in, just what they want to see.

— probably goes without saying but extremely flexible. idk if any of you know who juuse saros is but apparently he can twerk in a split and i’m not saying mikey can but like. he just might be able to...

— straight up does not get cold. never wears more than a hoodie, probably danced shirtless in the middle of winter just fine. at least being from winnipeg is good for one ( 1 ) thing.

— i feel like people call him flower. idk guys. maybe im just thinking too much abt hockey goalies.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

— he tends to be extremely underestimated as he comes across a bit dumb and generally has a pretty positive outlook on life which people confuse for him being naive when that isn’t the case. but he’s found he can use that it his advantage and that sometimes, people will tell him things they think he can’t understand but he hears and remembers everything. it’s helped him out of a few difficult situations before.

— i feel like he has a bit of ethan dolan’s personality & dumbass energy idk guys...

— live in the moment kind of dude. his motto is probably like : you just gotta know what you want to do next. i mean looking back on his life it’s been pretty crazy and that’s only solidified his outlook that like, you really can’t control too much. just let it go where it takes you.

— people do like him though and they like talking to him for whatever reason. generally has pretty trustworthy vibes but he’s more slippery than he comes across. he’s a selfish person at heart and always has his own best interests in mind, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first.

— extroverted. i think ??

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

— 6′1″. chocolate brown eyes. curly brown hair. he has a lithe but extremely fit build due to his career. his core strength is especially impressive. 

— he has a monochromatic lineart tattoo of a rose on his left forearm / wrist and a butterfly ( again monochromatic & just lineart ) on his right shoulder. small scar at the base of his neck by his ear from an unfortunate hockey accident.

— needs glasses but usually only wears contacts unless he’s in his apartment late at night.

— he’s not overly fashionable, going more for comfort than how he generally looks. on a regular day, he’s probably got the whole... college athlete look going if you know what i mean. a big fan of mirrored aviator sunglasses. wouldn’t know what dressing up meant even if it slapped him in the face.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

first and foremost i want to say that i like to vibe and brainstorm with people to come up with unique connections between our characters but here are a few ideas:

— the singer whose tour he danced on — singer whose music videos he’s been in — mayhaps even actors for that tv show / movie he was in ( v small role but whatevs. maybe they just Vibed yknow ) — flirtationship 😔 — always ye ol good hookup l o l — we keep running into each other idk maybe we should talk ??

TAKEN CONNECTIONS PAGE HERE

𝐎𝐎𝐂

          hey guys, i’m ollie. my intros are either written really eloquently or a big mess bc im trying to rub together a couple braincells at 1 am and whatever comes out, comes out. no need to guess which category this one falls into lmAO. anyway, i’m a slow plotter bc i’m easily overwhelmed trying to do too many things at once but i swear i will try to get to as many people as i can. and yeah this entire character is inspired by my love of world of dance don’t @ me... if u made it all the way down here u should watch this bc 😳 & mikey has the same athleticism and strength.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 17

@goodomenscelebration - Theme Prompts

Continuing to post as many as possible in one evening!

If you missed a chapter, they are all available on AO3!

CW for briefly described but very bad injuries; and for creepy abandoned towns

For those who need a reminder: “Crowley” is our Crowley, while his “mirror image” is the Alternate Universe version. “Aziraphale” (or the “Guardian of Humanity”) is the Alternate Universe angel, while “Kasbeel” is ours, in disguise.

I apologize for that being confusing.

Holiday

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley’s mirror image slumped against the wall, looking blankly at the space between them.

It was the only thing he ever asked. He never spoke of his own Aziraphale.

At first, Crowley had thought it was a trick. He’d kept his responses vague, evasive. What do you want me to say? Smug bastard with white wings. The mirror image had simply nodded.

Over time, Crowley started telling stories from their past, short ones, ones he thought over carefully, to ensure they wouldn’t reveal too much.

He likes oysters, way too much. Just. Salty, briny disgusting oysters, and he’ll eat a dozen of them in one sitting. Slurps them, too.

He can’t stand Charles Dickens. No idea why. Might just be that his customers are always asking for him, but I think they met once.

He’s been trying to learn to pull a coin from someone’s ear for over a century. Still drops the damn thing half the time. Isn’t it only supposed to take ten thousand hours to learn a skill? He’s coming up on a hundred thousand hours I think, and he still can’t get the fingers right.

And then, somewhere along the way, he stopped even guarding himself that much.

“He helps people,” Crowley said, turning his leg, which was still stiff and sore from the last torture session. The floor around him was black with demonic blood. “Even…when it’s really not worth it, even when there’s something way more important going on. One time, we were at this little restaurant in Italy. I turn my back for a minute, and there he goes, off washing dishes. He hates doing that sort of stuff, you know, always leaves them in the sink until I take care of it. But the girl in the back had been sick, and he sent her home and took over the job himself. Didn’t even use miracles, by the way, and couldn’t figure out how the machine worked, so he did it all by hand.”

“What…” the mirror image asked. “What was the more important thing?”

“Oh, uh, I’d been planning to ask him something. Not important what. We picked up the conversation later, but, um, he really ruined my first attempt.”

--

A hundred and forty miles to London.

Alone, Kasbeel could fly the distance in just under five hours. He would be exhausted, but he’d had a lot of practice the last few years.

He was not alone.

A Roman legion could walk twenty miles a day, setting up camp every night and breaking it in the morning. They could have made it in a week. Harold Godwinson had crossed from Yorkshire to Sussex in a little more than that.

But Kasbeel wasn’t leading an army.

He was leading nearly three hundred tired, hungry humans, most of them young, through enemy territory. Where they could be spotted at any moment and taken from him.

He took a deep breath, and walked through the crowd.

“Patrick, how’s the leg? Healing well? Ollie, make sure you hold onto Jennifer’s hand. Mrs. Sherwood, that’s not too many children? Please let Mrs. Kumar know if you need help. Amiyah, why don’t you move up to the front where we can see you? Alex, please, stay with your group, I don’t want to ask you again.” He greeted as many as he could, clasping shoulders, grasping hands.

When he reached the front, Lyla was waiting. She’d arranged her hair to hide the Mark on her cheekbone, as many did if they could. He bit his tongue and didn’t say anything. It was her choice.

“Are we ready to go?” she asked, tilting her head towards the highway, cutting south towards London.

“I believe so.” He glanced at the sky, black, filled with stars once more. It was comforting, and frightening. What else would change? “Let’s get as far as we can before sunrise.”

--

Ishliah had never seen the world before the apocalypse. Just barracks and training until the day the war started, then fighting, and fighting and fighting.

What spread before her now was almost incomprehensible. Little short plants growing everywhere from the ground, a vibrant, impossible green. And the taller ones – the trees – reaching almost to the top of the wall, branches spreading thick with fruit. Little animals sat in the branches, singing, not as varied or interesting as the singing of angels, but music nonetheless.

All that, and the sky above, brilliant blue again – it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Ishliah of the Seventh Battalion. Welcome to New Eden.”

She turned, and her heart stopped in her chest. That face – she knew him, would never forget it, though now he was in uniform, flaming sword in hand. But the pale curls – the round face – the blue-grey eyes…

“You…” she managed, weakly.

“That would be the confirmation I need.” He stepped closer, still smiling. “I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth and Guardian of Humanity. I believe you met someone claiming to be me, three years ago, according to your report.”

“That…it really was…you?” Her hands began to tremble, and she wondered if this was what fear felt like. She never felt it on the battlefield, but this was much, much worse.

Ishliah had lied in that report.

“No, it was not.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And I don’t believe many others understand what you truly witnessed. I don’t fully understand it myself, but I mean to. Now. You said this angel…” a screen appeared in his hand and he scrolled down, lips pursed as he read. “Here it is. He took you into a hidden room and tortured you for information? Is this true?”

“Yes?” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. There was a great deal of pain and…he asked me questions…”

Something caught her eye down in the garden. A group of humans, being led to a smaller walled area not far away. The human in the lead was shouting, and they all seemed to be bound together on some sort of chain.

“Even here we have our troublemakers,” Aziraphale said, with something like regret. “Sometimes the children don’t grow obediently as we’d hoped, and sometimes the Retrieval teams make mistakes when identifying the Elect. Not often, but we have been very busy lately.” He nodded towards the smaller walled section. “The holding pen is their last chance. Gabriel will arrive in a week to deliver the final Judgement on them.”

“And…if they’re found wanting…?”

“They’re cast out, of course. Far from here. The Eastern Gate, you understand, is purely ceremonial.” He gestured to the outer wall beside them.

Ishliah glanced down to see, not quite directly below them, a single stone missing from the completely smooth face of the wall. It hardly looked large enough for even a young human to slip through. She checked the inside curve of the wall. No breaks there – the missing stone didn’t even reach all the way.

She looked up again to find the Guardian scrolling through her report with pursed lips. “Ishliah. I wonder if, perhaps, you weren’t completely honest in what you said?”

She clenched her jaw, the fear suddenly reaching a height she had never suspected. Was this why traitors deserted? She would do anything not to feel this way again…

But the Guardian merely smiled, stepping close, lowering his voice. “My dear. Do not worry. What you witnessed was…truly extraordinary, and of course you thought no one would believe you. But this is no longer an isolated incident. There have been…other reports, curious ones, and yours doesn’t quite line up. But if you tell me the truth now, all will be forgiven.”

Her eyes slid again to the holding pen. “All?”

He rested a hand on her back, turning her away, until she faced him and only him. “Now, Ishliah. Tell me about the angel.”

--

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley tried to sit up straighter. His leg had healed, but now there was some great gaping gash across his stomach, and the way his manacled arm hung kept stretching the wound.

“He’s a complete hedonist. Foods. Wines. He goes to the barber every month. His hair doesn’t grow, he’s never had a beard, and he never even changes his look. I have no idea why he does it, except to have someone wash his hair and buff his nails. But he always comes out smiling, like he’s found the secret to peace on earth.”

“Nh,” the mirror image said. Crowley looked up to find he had a hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his neck. But it hadn’t sounded like a noise of pain. “I…uh, yeah. I know the look.”

“He likes to spoil me, too, when he has a chance. Trying to cheer me up, I think. I don’t tell him when it works, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. One time in Rome, there was this place with oysters—”

“Stop.”

Crowley looked across the cell, but his mirror image might as well have lost interest, tugging himself towards the corner to sleep.

--

After three days of travel they reached Burton-upon-Trent.

The gang of wanderers divided into teams to explore, looking for supplies: food, medicine, clothing, shoes, anything that could be used as a weapon. Kasbeel and Lyla walked together with Squad A down the empty street, hot with the kind of blistering heat that only comes on a sunny day. Barricades were put up here and there, signs of the Marked painted on the walls, but no one came out to challenge them.

“I don’t like this,” Lyla muttered. “I don’t want to fight, but…where is everyone?”

All of the villages they’d passed had been abandoned. Apart from the angelic patrols, England was apparently empty.

Kasbeel shook his head. “The Sainsbury’s should be up ahead. Why don’t you…” he trailed off, looking at a few unbroken windows up the side of the street. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I have something to investigate here.”

Two hours later, Squad A emerged with four shopping trollies loaded with cans of soup, vegetables, powdered milk – everything they thought might still be edible after seven years. Lyla doubted it would last them more than a day or two.

No sooner had she stepped into the overly-bright day – she’d forgotten how painful the sun could be – then she heard a shriek, a high-pitched scream of a small child.

She spun, grabbing a can of food, ready to throw it at whatever angel, demon or human threatened her people –

The wanderers had gathered in the parking lot of the carwash across the street, and jets of water filled the air. She could still hear the children shrieking, but everyone else looked relaxed, calm, many of them smiling.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, prepared to push her way through the crowd, but they parted, pressing her forward until she saw the set up.

Four chairs, padded and high-backed, stood in a line across the parking lot. In each one, a child sat, dripping wet, while behind them the adults scrubbed and combed their hair, snipping with delicate scissors. They passed a hose up and down the line of chairs, rinsing the children off.

On one side, Alex had mastery of a single hose, waiting until a chair was free. “Next!” Ollie ran up, bouncing eagerly for his turn. Alex turned on the hose and drenched him, from head to toe, while the little boy shrieked, jumping up and down in the water. “Alright, you’re clean, go get your hair cut.”

On the other side, Kasbeel had set up a small table with two chairs. He sat on one side, and delicately rubbed at Mickey’s nails with an emery board, a pair of glasses she’d never seen before perched on his nose. “Ah, Lyla, you’re back. Join the queue, but be careful, many of the older customers are finding Alex’s methods a little intense.”

“What are you doing?” Lyla shoved at the table, causing little bottles of nail varnish to rattle. “You could have been helping us find food, and instead you’re – you’re wasting time!”

“I most certainly am not. Time is a precious commodity, you know, and ought never to be wasted.” He put down the emery board. “Do you want a color, Mickey? I think the pale pink would look wonderful.”

And Mickey – tough, stoic Mickey, veteran of five battles in the demonic army, Mark emblazoned on his brow for all to see – asked, “Can I try the gold? I like the way it shines.”

“Of course. A wonderful choice.”

“Look at me!” Lyla slammed her hand onto the table again. “What is wrong with you? We need to get everyone ready to move, we’re still weeks away from London. We don’t need—”

“My dear, you most certainly do need.” Kasbeel pulled off the glasses, brows snapping down. “Look at our people. They’ve been living in the mountains, in the dirt, covered in their own filth. It isn’t right.”

“So what? Who cares how we look? Humans lived like that for thousands of years. Our ancestors didn’t need to be pampered, they survived with the bare minimum—”

“Oh, no, who told you that?” Kasbeel shook a jar of nail varnish and began applying the first coat to Mickey’s nails. “I was there, and I can tell you. People bathed. People spent hours on their hair, and their eyebrows, and their nails, and elaborate henna tattoos, although I wasn’t able to find any supplies for that. It isn’t about wanting to look good, or to impress anyone. It’s about taking care of yourselves.” He blew a breath across Mickey’s nails, encouraging them to dry. “Being clean, being groomed, it makes humans feel human again.”

Lyla’s lip curled in disgust. But she looked back at the crowd, the smiling faces, the way the kids splashed in the puddles with bare feet, the way the adults laughed behind the stolen salon chairs, passing the hose back and forth. The teenagers all tugged at each other’s newly-short hair, running their fingers through it, marveling in how light it felt on a hot day.

She hadn’t seen her people like this. Hadn’t seen anyone like this. Not in so very long.

“Fine. If that’s what you want. And since we’re clearly going to spend the rest of the day here, I might as well look for a place to sleep. Something that’s actually necessary.”

She stormed up the street, past the shattered windows of the salons and nail parlors, past the Sainsbury’s again, and around the corner. She kept walking until the sounds of the crowd at the carwash were long gone, then just stood, quietly, in the street.

She wanted to scream, until the knot in her stomach was gone. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she couldn’t find the voice for it. So, she just stood there, in the street, fists clenched.

Until Kasbeel’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it, my dear?”

“Talk about what? I told you – I’m – I’m looking for a place for us to stay.”

“There were plenty of townhouses in the other direction, you know. And I’ve already sent a team to explore them. Unless you think a, er, door stripping establishment would make a better place to spend the night.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m mad, I feel like I don’t have any control over my mind. I’m just – I have a million thoughts racing in my head and I can’t even slow down long enough to actually think any of them, I just know we have to keep moving.”

“You’re afraid,” he told her. “You’re stressed, and although I forget it sometimes, you are still very young. I shouldn’t ask so much of you.”

“I can handle it!”

“Yes, you can. You handle it very well, taking care of the others, taking care of your brother before that. But, you know,” his hand rested under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It’s perfectly alright to take care of yourself, too. Indulge a little. Let yourself be happy. They deserve it. You deserve it. And it will make you feel better.”

“I just…I’m not sure I can relax anymore. What if they come for us while we’re all standing around, or—”

“If they do, I will be ready. I promise. I have not let my guard down for an instant.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, rubbed her back like a child. “That fear you feel. You know if the angels come back, there’s nothing you can do, but you want to be ready anyway. Your mind is telling you to find a solution that doesn’t exist. I’m sorry. But there is something you can do, I think.”

“What’s that?”

“There are many of my former colleagues who believe that anything which makes humans happy is a sin. I believe it is always worth indulging, just a little, to show them how little you care.”

--

“Oh. And one other thing.” Gabriel wasn’t happy. He often wasn’t happy these days. Bringing about the end of the world, it seemed, was more complicated than anyone had expected.

Aziraphale kept his face carefully blank.

“We have reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south, but the scouts can’t seem to get near it. Vanishes every time they try. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

“Yes. I’ve been following up on these rumors for some time. The circumstances appear to me, well, nearly incomprehensible.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “It would appear these humans are being led by a rogue angel, posing as a scout or a messenger.”

“Rogue? You mean a deserter?” A brief flash of anger in Gabriel’s eyes, but it quickly vanished, smoothed over by something calm and patient. “Well. At least my best agent is already on this. Glad you took the initiative. Now. Tell me about the angel.”

--

The mirror image didn’t say anything today. He wasn’t a mirror image, either. He’d angered the angels who had come in earlier, refusing to cry out as they hurt him. Shoftiel had left him as a serpent, coiled mutely on the ground, and then they’d turned to Crowley.

“I can tell you about the angel,” Crowley offered. His throat was still raw from the screaming. They hadn’t even asked any questions, simply given him back his wings and broken every bone in them. It hurt, worse than almost anything else in the last three years. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

The serpent lifted his head, then let it fall heavily.

“He…he…” Crowley closed his eyes. It was so hard to think of a story. Not just the pain. His mind longed to be blank. “He is so soft. Like a cloud, like a warm blanket, like a pile of feathers. And that’s all most people ever see of him. A fool and a pushover and a – a – a lazy pleasure seeker who likes his books and his chair and his food. It’s what he wants, though. He wants to be soft.”

He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, ignoring the way his wings felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass.

Far away, an angel led a troop of humans down the motorway. He laughed as he walked, carrying one of the youngest on his back. In the week of travel, they’d grown dirty again, their nails had lost their color, their clothes become faded and stained. But they still smiled, still tossed their heads, running fingers through their hair. The young woman beside him had hers cropped almost completely off, exposing the Mark on her cheekbone.

Suddenly, the angel stopped walking, his eyes locked on the sky above. None of the others had heard or sensed anything, but he knew what was coming. Three hundred humans gathered close in the shelter of his wide white wings, and his eyes took on the color of steel.

“But then…when he needs it…when the things he cares for are threatened…he isn’t soft at all.”

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Nine

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos@sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

hello hello! so here i finally am with chapter nine of lpg!! thank you all so much for staying interested in my fic during my two month disappearance hiatus! i’ve said time and time again how this fandom has the greatest community of readers in the world and i absolutely mean it. love you all<3

and also, thank you so much to my fabulous beta @thestarwhowishes for her help!!

enjoy!!

----

October 30 - 4 years after

Nesta realizes, as she readies herself for the day, that while Cassian had just arrived, and Elain had sprung herself and then Feyre on her, this is the first time for her children that she knows they are going to be meeting people for the first time. She wears her own regular gown, a light grey shade with purple trim, but vaguely wonders if she should choose something special for her children.

It’s a ridiculous thought, of course. The children don’t need to make a good first impression. Her sisters will love them anyway. And that doesn’t matter either, because that’s not what this is about. It’s for her sisters’ benefit.

But...perhaps it would be nicer...if they wore some of their newer clothes today....

Gilameyvan clothes, of course. Nothing anyone would wear in the Night Court. And nothing properly fancy; they’re toddlers with a whole day ahead of them.

But new. Nice. Nicer than what they usually wear.

She doesn’t want to think why she chooses those outfits for them, but they’re smart and they notice. Nicky asks her, and Avery and Ollie look at her expectantly.

“We’re...going to the park to meet some new people today.”

“New neighbors?”

Nesta smiles. “Not everyone is our neighbor, Nicky.”

“Why not?”

“Go get your coats,” she says.

Her children don’t argue; their attention spans too short to ever register when she distracts them with the ever-alluring proposition of going outside.

But they still remember, and they ask her when they’re all out the door. “Are we going to the park to meet our new neighbors now?”

“They’re not neighbors, Nicky,” Ollie reminds him.

“Who are they?”

“They’re...” Nesta hesitates. “Your aunts.” She prays to the forgotten gods with all her might in that moment, that they won’t ask what an aunt is.

But they are three, and they never stop asking questions.

“What are aunts?” Avery says.

Nesta steels herself, taking a deep breath before opening her mouth to answer--but Ollie beats her to it.

“They’re Mummy’s sisters,” he says, and his voice is nonchalant and nothing in his step nor in his siblings’ change as they walk down the pavement.

But Nesta falters. “How...do you know that, Ollie?”

“Ollie’s very smart, Mummy,” Nicky says earnestly, and she can’t help but smile despite the burning feeling in her throat. She and her sisters may have not spoken for years, but her children love each other.

Avery says, “I think I’m smarter. But Ollie’s better at coloring.”

“I think we’re all very smart,” Nicky says.

“You are,” Nesta says, laughing a little.

And so once again she is spared from finding a way to answer a question she can’t. She knows her luck won’t last forever, but it’s good enough for now.

They chatter on mindlessly between themselves (mostly Avery and Nicky) and on the way to work, her mind wanders to Cassian and her sisters and back to Zeyn in Sugar Valley, leaving her so distracted she walks right into him.

He laughs, easy and familiar. “Head in the books?” he asks, teasing.

She tries to smile but can’t. “My sisters are coming to meet my children,” she says.

His grin falters. “Oh,” he says. He bites his lower lip, which is so odd to see him do, because it’s normally one of her quirks. “Is...Cassian...still here?”

“He’s...yes. He comes and goes.”

“Comes and goes,” he repeats.

“I mean, he tells me. He has to go and, you know...military business.” Nesta isn’t sure why she’s making excuses for him.

“Right.”

“We schedule it.”

“Right.”

“Zeyn,” she says. She reaches her hand out and takes his; squeezes it.

He squeezes back, and her insides clench along with it as guilt takes hold. On whose behalf, she isn’t sure.

“I just need to do what’s right for them,” she says softly. “You know I can’t...deny them anything.”

“Of course,” he says. And his tone and demeanor are understanding, but Nesta think she can see a glimmer of something in his eyes.

“He’s not...a bad male,” she says, hating how the whole conversation is going. “I wouldn’t let him know them if he were.”

“I know,” he says. And here his eyes are firm. “I know that more than anything you’re a loving mother. But Nesta...just make sure this is the right decision.”

His words echo Amorette’s and Adil’s and Miri’s and she still manages to hear something different each time.

----

November 16 - Year of

Over a month had passed since she had entered Illyria, and she had settled into a routine that she couldn’t quite call comfortable--it was Fae, after all--it was no longer painful.

She did not have to avoid her sisters or any of Feyre’s friends because they were not there, and she did not feel bad about ignoring her sisters letters (left on the kitchen counter for her by Cassian) because she was still too angry at them. No one in Illyria initiated conversation with her, but they had grown used to her presence. They were not comfortable around her either, but they no longer balked in the streets.

Cassian’s very presence still irritated her, obviously, but he did seem busy with whatever it was he had to do around the camps and did not spend so much time bothering her. In fact, he seemed content to continue that strange newfound civility between them and no longer stood at her door, alternating between begging and annoying and pleading. If she saw him in the morning or in the evening, he would ask her how work was going, if she would join him for a meal. She answered him the same every time.

She didn’t like it. She didn’t like ignoring everything but she knew she wouldn’t like the alternative either. The thing she still desired most of all was to disappear, for her life to be undone, to never have happened.

It was not a perfect second, but she was making do.

Perhaps the most peculiar part of this latest version of her life was the camaraderie she and her employer shared.

They did not share meals every day, but sometimes they did, and Emerie would walk Nesta at least part of the way back to Cassian’s house every evening. They didn’t always talk, but the silence wasn’t grating. It was easy. It was...fine.

Fine was a lot for Nesta. It had been a long while since she’d had fine.

One day, as Nesta was finishing up her bookkeeping for the day, Emerie said, “Are you coming tonight?”

Nesta looked up. Emerie never had too drastic an expression on her face, and her only tell that she was asking a question was her chin slightly jutted out and her right eyebrow slightly raised. “What?” she said.

“To the bonfires.”

“What bonfires?” Nesta said, and it was a mark of how she valued this shaky relationship and respected Emerie that she did not immediately say no, for Nesta hated bonfires. It was always too cold outside, but standing by the fires was too hot, and she hated the smell. And there were always little children running around, which made her anxious. A little boy in her village had once gotten monstrous burns on his face at the bonfires celebrating the Summer Solstice.

“It’s just to have them,” Emerie said. “Not really a holiday. There are separate bonfires for females.”

“What do they do?”

Emerie shrugged. “There are some females with fire magic. They make shapes in the flames. There’s music. Food.”

“Sounds delightful,” Nesta said flatly.

“You should come with me,” Emerie said. “There are smoked desserts.”

Nesta pursed her lips. She didn’t want to go, obviously, but...if Emerie was asking her....

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

Emerie didn’t smile, but she nodded, and her expression looked a bit less severe.

---

October 30 - 4 years after

The day is over all too soon, and her children are clamoring to go to the park and meet her sisters from the moment she picks them up from nursery.

“I want to go right now!” Nicky says. “I don’t want to go home first!”

“We have to go home and eat first, Nicky,” Nesta repeats herself. “I don’t have any food with me.”

“We can take a snack to the park!”

“We can take a snack to the park, but we still have to go home and get the snack.”

“Why didn’t you bring the snack with you?”

“I came here from work.”

“Why?”

Nesta normally entertains Nicky’s why game, but she’s too anxious to today. Instead she says, “Let’s go, you three.”

“What are our neighbors’ names?” Nicky says.

“They’re not our neighbors, Nicky,” Avery reminds him.

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t live here!” Ollie says, rather suddenly. Nesta hides a smile. Perhaps she isn’t the only one who doesn’t feel like playing Nicky’s game.

“All right, let’s go,” she says, herding them along.

“What are their names, Mummy?” Avery says.

Nesta swallows. “Elain and Feyre.”

“Is Appa coming?” she asks.

“Maybe...but we’ll see him for dinner.”

“He’s not coming to the park?”

“Maybe, Nicky.”

“Don’t ask why again!” Ollie says. He sounds almost angry.

Nesta looks down at him in surprise.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?”

“He’s always asking why about everything and I don’t like it!” Ollie starts tugging on his golden brown hair with his fists.

“All right,”  Nesta says, gently taking his hands. “Avery, Nicky, why don’t you go ahead? Not too far.”

She ushers them along and picks Ollie up into her arms. “Hey,” she says to him softly. “What’s wrong.”

Ollie won’t meet her eyes. He shrugs and tries to twist away, but she holds him firmly.

“Did something happen at nursery today?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want a nap before going to the park?”

Ollie shrugs again, but his eyes start to blur with angry tears.

“Oh, Ollie,” she says, hugging him close to her. She strokes his hair. “What’s wrong, my angel?”

“I don’t know!” he sobs. “I don’t want to go to the park.”

Nesta shifts him so she can see his face as she begins to understand. “You don’t want to go to the park or you don’t want to meet your aunts?”

He shrugs again.

“Why don’t you want to meet them?” Her heart skips a beat. “Do you...are you sad you met Appa?” She’s almost too scared to ask.

“No,” he says quietly, and exhales in relief.

“What’s the problem?”

Ollie rubs his eyes and says quietly, “I don’t want you to go.”

Nesta frowns. “Go?” she says. “Where do you think I’m going to go?”

Ollie’s eyes well up with tears again. “I don’t know!” he says. “You’re going to go and leave us with Appa and our new aunts.”

“Oh, Ollie,” she says, bringing him closer to her again.

“Like how you leave us with Amorette sometimes,” he says, slightly muffled.

“Just for a few hours, angel,” she says. “I’m never going to leave you for more than that.” She puts him down and crouches so that she’s eye level with him. “I know it’s...a lot of new people you’re meeting.” She brushes hair out of his eyes and wipes his cheeks. “But I’m still your mummy and your still my baby and at the end of every day, I’m going to be the one to tuck you into bed...all right?”

“Do you promise?” he says tearfully.

Nesta smiles at him. “I promise.” She kisses him on his forehead. “Let’s go catch up to your brother and sister, all right?”

She takes his hand and leads him forward to the end of the pavement were Avery and Nicky are waiting. Avery takes her other hand and Nicky takes Ollie’s.

“Do your eyes hurt, Ollie?” Nicky says sympathetically.

“No.”

“Not anymore?”

“No.”

Her sons keep their hands linked even when they reach they pavement again, and chatter amongst themselves, and so she says to Avery, “How was your day?”

“Good, I played with Emilia and Zehra outside and then I went back inside and....”

Before long they are at home again and she’s packing snacks for the park while they play in the living room, and then there’s a knock on the door.

“I want to open it!” Nicky cries and rushes towards it. She can hear him open it and laugh as Cassian walks in and lifts him up.

They clamber around him and he herds them into the kitchen. “Hey,” he says, walking in and setting Nicky down. “Ready to go?”

Nesta slips the bag she’s packed over her shoulder and keeps her expression blank and voice cool. “Ready. Go get your coats,” she tells her children, and they dash outside.

Cassian steps closer to her. “Nesta,” he says. “I...really appreciate--”

“Let’s just go,” she interrupts. The sooner this is over the sooner her heart rate can go back to normal.

Or not. But one can hope.

---

November 3 - 1 year after

Sorting through the books and dusting the shelves proved a harder task than keeping books for Emerie, because Emerie at least tried to keep her shop neat. The staff at Sugar Books clearly made no such effort.

There was no system, which Nesta knew must have affected sales, because people didn’t come into a shop for any book; they wanted something specific. And if there was no aisle for their preferred genre, and they didn’t have the time to sift through the mess to find what they wanted....

So even though it was not strictly Nesta’s job, she found herself drawn to sales. She’d try and figure out how much they were spending on books and how much they were making, but she didn’t yet know enough to guess and she wasn’t familiar enough with the marketing people to ask.

It was...enjoyable, she guessed, to just try and figure it out. She missed working with numbers.

Dusting was easily the worst part of her job. It had always been her least favorite chore and there seemed to be so much of it to do. On every shelf, between every book, even inside some of them.

But the highlight of her day, her distraction that she still had not received her sisters’ reply and everything she had left behind, and the reason she was most excited for the job was the reading. She had not been around so many books in over a year, and she had missed it terribly. There were so many things she had not yet read.

So whenever she could, in between dusting and jotting out ideas for sales, she’d pick out something that looked interesting enough and start reading. Adil had helped her set up a bank account and she was going to be staying at the inn until she could afford to rent an apartment (the female at the bank had set her up on a payment plan), and it was rather strict, so she knew she wasn’t able to afford any books now. But she had a list of some she’d like to buy, one day. Perhaps in a year or so, when she was already living properly on her own, and had started paying off the inn.

She was reading one such book, in a quiet corner of the shop, when one of the less pleasant aspects of working at Sugar Books appeared and interrupted her.

“Hi, Nesta!” chirped Zeyn. “What are you reading? Is that a J.M. Polister? He’s good, but I like his sister more. They’re twins. Twin writers, isn’t that something?”

Nesta gritted her teeth. “Hello, Zeyn,” she said, closing her book.

He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Am I annoying you?” he said, laughing. “Sorry. I know you don’t like when I talk so much.”

Nesta never knew what to say when he said things like that. She never really knew what to say to the people in Sugar Valley in general. They were all so...nice. She wasn’t used to it.

“Oh, not at all,” she said. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Dusting? Let me help you.”

“No,” she said firmly. Then she said, “You have your own work to do.”

Zeyn said, “Oh...you’re right. I’ll come help you dust later. It’s not fair to make you do it all.”

“I’m being paid,” she said.

He laughed and walked away.

He did that often. Laughed at things she said.

He wasn’t horrible, but he was...irritating. No, not even irritating. Not in the way he used to irritate her. Just...slightly bothersome. Someone she could do without. A bit of a pest. But harmless, on the whole.

Nesta didn’t have time for harmless. Not right now. Perhaps...one day...if she ever felt that way again....

She didn’t think she would. She had another male’s mark on her, like it had been branded into her soul and the thought of ever being with anyone else sickened her to her core and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to stomach it.

This was a different pain than before. When she had been with all those males before, it had been, at first, in anger. Having meaningless sex to prove she could. Whom exactly she was proving it to, she wasn’t sure.

After that, it wasn’t exactly power she had found in it. But it was more proof. Proof she owned her body, proof it was still hers, even if it was different. Reclaiming herself.

Sometimes it was just to do something.

But then she’d ruined that outlet, by having sex that was by no stretch of the imagination meaningless. And now she thought that every time she felt a hand on her, she’d think of him, and it’d hurt.

So she did not encourage the irritating deer-satyr male. She honestly didn’t like him that much, anyway.

Even if he did bring her coffee sometime.

---

October 30 - 4 years after

Elain and Feyre are waiting for them at the park when they arrive.

Cassian can’t tell what Nesta’s thinking the whole way there. She keeps her face normal, or what normal is for her around the children. It’s still so odd to see her so...happy. Even during those few months between them, when they were...even then she was reserved.

But she is quick to smile. The triplets don’t see her upset, he doesn’t think.

He’s good at keeping his expression schooled how he wants it to, of course. So grins easily, swings Ava and Ollie’s hands as the walk.

But on the inside, his stomach is flipping around. It’s like everyday with his children and Nesta is better than the last, but harder, too.

This is so important. It has to go well.

Elain leaps up when she sees them. Feyre stands up after her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Are those are neighbors?” Nicky says.

“Aunts, Nicky.”

Nicky only laughs. “They look like Mummy!”

Cassian’s eyes dart to Nesta, but her expression has not changed.

“Hi,” Elain says softly, when they reach them. She looks at Nesta and then Cassian and then crouches down, so she is eye-level with the children. Ollie shrinks into Nesta’s leg. “I’m Elain.”

“And I’m Feyre,” Feyre says, joining Elain on her knees.

“You look like Mummy!” Nicky says again, sounding delighted.

Feyre and Elain look up at him, and his lips quirk upwards. “He says you look like Nesta.”

“You must be Nicky,” Elain says, smiling at him. “And you’re Avery...and you’re Ollie.”

Cassian watches Ollie clutch Nesta harder. She bends down and cradles him close to her.

“Why don’t you go and play?” she tells the other two.

Feyre, Elain, and he look towards Nesta. “You can join them,” she says. “Ollie and I are going to sit on the bench for a bit.”

They watch Nesta go and have a whispered conversation with Ollie. She peppers kisses on his forehead here and there.

“She loves him so much,” Feyre says, her voice so faint he doesn’t think she realizes she spoke aloud.

“They’re so beautiful,” Elain says. “I...is Ollie okay?”

“He’s a bit shy,” he says. “I’m sure that’s it. Come, let’s...why don’t you two join Ava and Nicky?” Because he’s not sure Ollie’s fine and he wants to sit down with him, too.

“What, just go and...?”

“Just join them over there,” Cassian says. “Help them on the slides. Or the swings. Climb up in with them. Ava will probably tell you what to do.” He smiles and nods at them encouragingly. He guesses they’re feeling about as nervous as he was the first time he played with them.

He sits down next to Nesta on the bench. “Hi, Ollie,” he says.

Ollie peaks out from Nesta’s neck. “Hi,” he says, his voice tiny and matching Nesta’s accent.

“Do you know, your Aunt Feyre can fly too?”

Ollie looks up at Nesta and she nods at him. “It’s true. She can.”

“Do you want to show her how fast you can fly?”

Ollie shrugs. He still has not let go of Nesta, and he feels a rush of gratitude towards her--she does not rush him, does not make him do things he is scared of, and then he feels scared, because what if he is afraid forever? He won’t love him any less, but what will happen to him? His world is terrifying; what if Ollie can’t ever be a part of it? Assuming this goes well, assuming Nesta lets. And dear Mother, what if this doesn’t go well? What if--?

“Why don’t we all go?” Nesta says, cutting into his spiraling train of thought. “I think Avery and Nicky want you to come play with them.”

Indeed, Ava looks completely content to command her aunts around, but Nicky has turned to call Ollie’s name.

Ollie mumbles his assent and they stand and walk over to where the rest of their party is.

“Ollie, come stand over here,” Ava says. “Behind me.”

“You ready to go?” Nesta whispers to him. “All right, then.” She sets him down and he climbs to Ava.

“What was wrong?” he says to Nesta.

“Later,” she says, under her breath. She is watching them all intently, eyes darting between her sisters and her children.

Elain seems thrilled, eagerly participating in whatever game Ava has created for them, though she clearly cannot understand half of what she says. Feyre seems more anxious but plays along as well. Briefly, Cassian wonders if she and Rhys have spoken of children, if they are trying or if they want any soon. He sees a vivid vision in his mind’s eye of sharing a Solstice morning with gifts and food in the riverfront home in Velaris, Nesta at his side and Feyre and Rhys and half a dozen children running around and his heart lurches. It’s a scene from one of Nesta’s human books, where people have cousins and big houses and--

He cuts himself off. He needs to get a grip on himself; this is getting ridiculous.

“They’re having fun,” he tells Nesta.

“Hmm,” she says, non-committal.

He hides a grin: it is going well. Nesta does not intervene, she only watches them, and he decides to stand by her side. She doesn’t mention anything about that, either, but she doesn’t push him away and she doesn’t leave herself.

His thoughts turn to the male. Zeyn. He’s in love with her, but is Nesta in love with him?

It doesn’t matter. That...that’s not what he’s here for.

Isn’t it, though? some wry voice inside his head says. Isn’t that exactly what you’re here for?

The sun has nearly sunk out of the sky when Nesta calls, “All right, five minute warning.”

“I’m going to run all the way over there!” Nicky yells back. He shoots off to the other side of the park and Ava follows, holding Ollie’s hand.

Elain laughs. She and Feyre rejoin them.

“Well!” she says. “That’s quite a workout they gave me! Are they always like that?”

“Like what?” Nesta says, voice cool.

“You know,” Elain waves her hand. “Energetic.”

“They’re three.”

“We didn’t mean in a bad way,” Feyre says. “We just...we haven’t been around children.”

“Well, that’s how three-year-olds are.”

“We know. Well. Now we know.”

Feyre looks at Cassian. He wishes she wouldn’t--he knows she doesn’t expect or want him to think of her as his High Lady in a situation such as this one, but it’s in his blood and he can’t help it.

But Nesta at his side is in his blood too. They know all too well what happened last time with both of them on either side and no one wants a repeat of that.

Luckily, Elain speaks again. “Do you play with them, too, Nesta?”

Or perhaps unluckily.

“Of course I do,” she says through gritted teeth.

“No, no,” Elain says hurriedly. “I meant, at the park. I just--because you didn’t--here, I mean--”

“They are  perfectly sociable,” Nesta says, clearly struggling to keep her voice normal. “Where do you think they learned that?”

“No, I’m sure, I just...I only meant...” Elain looks to Feyre for help.

“Oh, well, we don’t remember you ever liking to play outside when we were little,” Feyre says.

Cassian winces. That was the wrong response.

It’s easier for Nesta to be cold with Feyre than it is with Elain. “You’re aware of the fact that I’m their mother?” she says, her tone icy.

Elain pales.

“Of course,” Feyre says quickly. “We weren’t--just, we don’t really think of you--”

“Well, you’ve not known me as a mother, have you?” Nesta says, and her voice grows higher-pitched as she talks, like it always does when she’s angry.

“No--that came out wrong--we’re sure--we know you’re--”

“Please Nesta,” Elain begs. “This went so well, we had so much fun, please don’t...”

“Don’t what?”

Feyre and Elain fall silent. They look lost, Feyre searching Nesta’s face wildly, as if she can read the right thing to say on it.

But Cassian knows. The best course of action to take with Nesta is to stay quiet.

For a moment, he thinks they won’t say anything. They’ll part ways slightly upset, but Nesta will hear the children chatter about how they had fun and they’d like to play with their aunts again and she’d let them. Perhaps a bit bitter, but they would have more time to work at that.

And then Feyre blurts out, “It’s just odd to think of you as Mother.”

Her faces bleaches, and Cassian knows she regrets it as soon as she says it.

Nesta had told him of their mother. That was the exact wrong thing to say.

“Nesta, wait, I didn’t mean--”

“We’re leaving,” she says immediately, marching over to call back the children.

“Oh...shit, I didn’t mean--”

“Why would you say that--”

“I’m sorry, Elain, I didn’t mean--gods, Cassian, you’ll tell her?--oh, I know I--I didn’t mean it, I swear, she just looks so much like her! And watching her stand over there--”

“You shouldn’t have said anything!” Elain says, angrier than he’s ever heard her. 

“I know, I didn’t mean it!” Feyre looks as though she’s about to cry. “I know she’s...I mean...I’m sure...”

Cassian rubs his face. “All right,” he says. “I will...I will go and....”

“I’m sorry, Cassian,” Feyre says miserably.

“I know,” he says, voice heavy.

“I’m an idiot,” she says. “I...I’m so sorry. Tell her...at least tell her to let Elain see them again.”

“I’ll...let you know,” he says. “I’ll...I’ll...I’ll see you.”

He doesn’t linger to hear Elain berate Feyre anymore or Feyre’s apologies. He knows Feyre regrets it and he’s sure Nesta does too, but with Nesta, that’s not the point. The point is doing the wrong thing in the first place.

He can’t begrudge Feyre, though. And he hopes Nesta will forgive that, because if she doesn’t, then, well...what prayer does he have or her forgiving him?

---

November 16 - Year of

Nesta wrapped her cloak tighter around her, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the fires. She’s far enough away that she can’t make out the words of the young girls watching the shapes some of the older females are making in the flames, but she could hear their laughter.

“Here,” Emerie said, appearing at her side and thrusting a steaming bowl towards her. “It’s...smoked hazelnut.”

“How do you say hazelnut in Illyrian?” she asked, taking it from her.

“Luz,” she replied. “Come by the fire.”

They walked side-by-side, closer to the gaggles of young girls, and, sitting down, Emerie said, “Can you see the colors?”

“What?”

“In the flames,” she said, gesturing. “The white.”

And she could see, the white that tinted purple and blue deeper in the pits. “It’s fire,” Nesta said.

“There’s a story,” Emerie said.

Nesta had always loved stories. She didn’t say anything; merely looked on.

“It is said there was an Illyrian female,” she said, “who one day grew tired with her people and stole magic from the fires of her camp. When the people found out, they threw her in the pits, but the fire resisted burning her. Her bones are still inside. That’s what makes the flames white.”

Nesta was quiet for a moment. “That’s a horrible story. And you don’t tell it well.”

“If it’s such a horrible story, why does it matter how well I tell it?”

“You could have made it better.”

“These mountains are too cold to grant every female a happy ending.”

“A story doesn’t need a happy ending to be good,” Nesta said, “but you might have drawn it out a bit more. Spoke of her magic. You might have at least given her a name.”

“She has no name,” Emerie said. “Like you said, it’s fire. It’s white. She never existed.”

“Then why did you tell me the story?”

Emerie shrugged slightly. “It was told to me.”

They are quiet for a few minutes.

Nesta broke it first. “It has potential. A fire witch...whose spirit lingers on.”

“Are you a storyteller, then?”

“No,” Nesta said. Long ago, she had told her sisters stories before bed, or on rainy days, but so many years ago...she doubted Feyre even remembered. “I like to read.”

“Here, that’s more or less the same.”

“There’s no library or bookstore here.”

“There’s no need.”

“What makes you a warrior race?”

Now Emerie was quiet. “Just how things are.”

Nesta ate some of her luz. It didn’t sit quite right with her. She didn’t know why.

---

October 30 - 4 years later

Cassian is waiting for her in the living room. He leaps up from his seat when she enters. She ignores him and walks past him into the kitchen.

“Nesta,” he says, following her. “I--I know that didn’t...I know it didn’t go well.”

Nesta bites her tongue. She feels as though she is about to burst. She’s feeling so much, she doesn’t even know what she is feeling.

“Do you...understand...what my children are to me?”

“Yes--”

“Do you understand what I have sacrificed for them?”

“Yes, Nes--”

“No, you don’t! You think you can just waltz in here, come and go back to Velaris as you please, while I stay and--do you know what every day is like? It is not two hours at the park. You haven’t seen them sick. You haven’t seen any of them throw a tantrum! You haven’t seen them cry!” To her horror, as she says the words, Nesta can feel her own eyes start to burn--and is that something silver shining in Cassian’s, as well? “You have no idea, and you have no right--”

“I know, Nesta--”

“I am a good mother--”

“Nesta, I know! I’m sorry! I--you’re right; they shouldn’t have come.”

Nesta has opened her mouth to say more, but she promptly closes it. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. If she’s entirely honest with herself...she’s not quite sure she even believes her own words.

“And I...I stand by you, on your decisions,” he says, his voice weak. “I just...I want to be in your lives.”

He takes a step closer as Nesta starts to move back, but he takes her hands and pulls her closer to him. She doesn’t move away.

“Please, Nesta,” he says. “I’m sorry...for rushing this...you were right, this was...bad timing. Please don’t send me away, too.”

Nesta looks away. “I’m not going to send you away,” she says, and her voice is soft. “I want you to be with them.”

He looses a shaky breath. “All right. All right. Good. Thank you. That’s...all right.”

He doesn’t let go of her hands and Nesta doesn’t pull away. She slowly moves her eyes back to his face.

He catches her gaze and locks her in. “We’ll take a step back,” he says. “My...endgame...hasn’t changed. I still hope that you’ll want the same one day. But...on your time. I know you’re a good mother. I know...I trust you with them.”

She once might’ve picked a fight at his word choice, but she finally admits to herself: she does want to be a single functioning unit. Where their children are concerned, of course. So she instead she pulls her hands away and starts walking out of the kitchen and says, “You can...sleep in the guest room, if you’d like.”

He can’t stay forever, she knows. He’s not going to stop being the General Commander. She doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay; not this time and not any other times in the future. She doesn’t even know if he can be able to come at any set pattern. There’s only one way to ensure that, and she refuses to think about it.

So she’ll take what he can give them. At least for now.

---

Chapter Ten

[fanforthefics]

Sidgeno (question - what other pairs do you do?) emergency services au pls and thanks ❤️🙏

1) Zhenya does not have a crush on the intimidatingly polite and attractive and efficient paramedic. He wants that noted, because he is pretty sure everyone forgets, when he comes out of a burning building where he just heroically saved 2 people and a cat and probably the whole city, if he’s being honest, and all he gets is Sasha coming up to him with a shit eating smile and a cooed, “Your favorite doctor is here!” Which, fine. Maybe Sidney is Zhenya’s favorite paramedic who comes to their scenes, because he is hot and efficient and sometimes Zhenya’s gotten him to talk about hockey when Sidney patches him up and his hands are brisk and capable over Zhenya’s skin and sometimes that makes Zhenya think about where else he’d bring that impressive competency, but none of that is a crush. Zhenya tells Sasha as much. Sasha just laughs at him and tells him his hair is a mess before going to bother someone else. Zhenya does quickly pat at his hair before he goes over to Sidney to get checked out, because it’s always important to look his best. 

2) Sidney definitely has a crush on the hot firefighter. He gets plenty of his own teasing for it on the ambulance, but Geno is tall and solid and has a great laugh and an easy confidence that draws Sidney in. Of course, because Sidney’s Sidney, that crush generally manifests in him being even more awkward than usual around Geno, and only sometimes mumbling out something about hockey while making sure to patch him up as quickly and well as possible, so Sidney can go bang his head against a wall and see if Flower will buy him a hot chocolate in exchange for being a failure as a human being. 

3) this dance has been happening for close to a year. Obviously they don’t always work together, but they do enough that it’s becoming a Thing. Both sets of friends have bets. The paramedics and the firefighters have a joint pool. They all work stressful jobs and need some comedic relief, and watching their colleagues turn into hopeless messes around each other really works for that. 

4) Everything gets infinitely better–from their friends’ point of view, at least–when the firefighters get a call and show up only to find Sidney sitting outside his house in only pajama pants looking very irritated at his house, which isn’t in a good way. “It’s the oven, it was not my fault, and I don’t want to hear it,” he grits out, as the firefighters go in, where they discover that it was the oven, that it was highly debatably Sidney’s fault, and that there is no way the house is going to be livable any time soon. “You tell him,” Sasha tells Zhenya, and Zhenya has a minor but comprehensive freak out about going to talk to Sidney when he is wearing pajama pants that are low enough that it is a real possibility that those are the only things he’s wearing. Zhenya is in no way capable of handling that. He definitely cannot both handle that and tell Sidney bad news. Zhenya blames those pants, and the way the look on Sidney’s face turns from irritation to devastation when he’s told that he is now homeless, for why he suggests Sidney come crash with him. He can’t imagine what Sidney’s excuse is for saying yes (it’s the firefighter uniform and how Geno looks streaked with sweat and ash, and the way he’d been kind telling Sidney that his house was a lost cause). 

5) No one can figure out what that does to the pool. Olli insists that he wins everything because he said they’d move in together. Everyone else calls bullshit. 

6) Living together goes surprisingly well. There are a lot of kinks to work out, from the logistical–Geno takes long showers and Sidney did not always calculate for that–to the emotional–it had never quite occurred to Zhenya before that being a paramedic didn’t just mean showing up to burning buildings, it also meant going into the middle of gang wars to pick up gunshot victims, and he doesn’t have a great time realizing that. But they figure it out. Zhenya learns that those pajama pants Sidney had been wearing were officially his worst enemy. Sidney learns that not even his awkwardness can stand up in the face of Geno’s determination to make him settle in. Sidney’s protestations that he’ll find somewhere else to live as his house gets fixed fade away with nights when they both come home too wrung out and adrenaline-drained to sleep and sit in front of the TV trying to remember how to be human again. Zhenya figures out the best tea to have ready for Sidney when he comes home with a pale face and drawn eyes after seeing too much pointless violence. Sidney realizes that after a night of bad fires Geno just wants someone to sit with him quietly and let Geno hug them. They make plans for dinner when Sidney patches Geno up after a fire. They learn each other, piece by piece, and until calling what they feel for each other crushes is far too small. 

7) It comes to a head one morning when they both come off shift at the same time. It wasn’t anything special for Geno, but Sidney had had a call where the guy’s wife was in the ambulance with them, holding his hand and begging him to hold on, and the guy shouldn’t have lived, probably, but he’d held on. It makes Sid think, after calls like that. He’s not generally one for thinking, but he does sometimes. So as Geno makes them both breakfast (Sid is not allowed near the oven) Sidney looks at him, and thinks about who he might hold on for, and then when they’ve finished eating breakfast Sid clears the plates and sits down next to Geno and reaches out to cover his hand with Sid’s. Geno looks at him, surprised, and Sidney smile back, trying to convey everything he feels through that instead of words. Geno’s eyes go wide, and he smiles too, and flips his hand over to interlace their fingers. 

8)  They refuse to give a firm date for when they got together, and the pool dissolves into chaos. Sid and Geno are very pleased in their revenge. 

9) Sidney never does get around to moving back into his house. The pajama pants have been promoted to Zhenya’s best friend. 

[yearsblog]

Olly Alexander used his advance from his Years & Years record deal to do something he never could when he was a jobbing actor; he paid a man to make a small cut behind his left ear and pin it back with the help of a slender piece of metal. He’d had his eye on the procedure for years and only wanted the one ear pinned back because it stuck out more, and that reduced roughly 50 per cent of the cost. The pinnaplasty took 15 minutes and made him feel two things simultaneously.

“I was almost embarrassed by how overwhelmingly confident I was afterwards,” he says, looking up at the sun. “I thought, ‘God, is it really that simple?’”

The other thing he felt was a curious shame. “I had this weird moment… did I not love myself enough to just keep the face I was given?” He strokes the steely inside of his ear absent-mindedly. “Then I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll fix my teeth next.’”

If you’ve seen Olly smile, which he does often, you’ll have noticed he never got that procedure to ‘fix’ his teeth. At some point, the 27-year-old realised that certain things, even if they seem imperfect to you, don’t need fixing. Now he wants the rest of the male population to have the same realisation.

Alexander’s first big break came as an actor – a small role in Skins followed by a part in posh-boy drama The Riot Club in 2014. When he was still in school, he loved practising photoshoots and posing in front of his mirror at home, acting as if he was on America’s Next Top Model:

“I wanted to capture the glamour; it looked so cool.” His early experiences doing actual photoshoots, however, shattered the illusion. “I had such low self-esteem back then,” he says, citing a shoot he did when he was 17 for Teen Vogue’s ‘Young Hollywood’ issue. “The people were lovely but it was sort of traumatising,” he says.

“I was with Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Kaya Scodelario, Matthew Beard. Everyone went on to be massive. Anyway, it was weird. Having your picture taken when the onus is on you looking hot. That’s quite… stressful when you’re someone who doesn’t…”

He trails off and swirls his Aperol Spritz, which has been served in a goblet so thick and round it could happily accommodate a goldfish. Following his ShortList shoot, we’ve walked to a beer garden in southwest London. “It’s taken me almost 10 years to feel like I know the process isn’t about me. I can take myself out of the equation regarding whether I look good or not. It’s never been about that.”

If ‘Young Hollywood’ felt vapid and hollow to Alexander, his fortunes reversed as a pop star; he has thrived in a conventionally conservative pop landscape (Sam Smith, Shawn Mendes) and become a Technicolour, power-clashing, maximalist cannonball in the process.

The campaign to promote Years & Years’ second album, Palo Santo, focuses on a dystopian future ruled by androids, where a human (Alexander) is made to perform for their entertainment. As such, he dyed his hair a striking blood red and has spent this year serving Camden-cybergoth meets Berlin-sex-palace looks. He’s a young gay pop star, treading new ground within his industry – there’s not really a blueprint for what that looks like. That’s a lot of pressure for him to carry on his slight frame.

He thinks for a moment.

“I haven’t even considered that.”

“I get a real thrill for being ‘overtly queer’ in my aesthetic. I used to be scared of people thinking I was gay but now I’d be shocked if they didn’t.”

Years & Years’ arrival was hard to miss. Alexander, with bandmates Mikey Goldsworthy and Emre Türkmen, won the BBC’s Sound of 2015 poll, voted for by industry insiders and critics. Their first album, Communion – filled with throbbing, sinewy bangers about lust and desire, bruised hearts and man-on-man emotional power-plays – debuted at number one.

Two years later, Alexander fronted a documentary for BBC Three, Growing Up Gay, exploring the intersection between his sexuality and his mental health that felt instrumental in getting more men to discuss their own wellbeing. Alexander says he had identified his own concerns with the state of his mental health by the age of 13 and has always been vocal about it. He is an open book, frank and forthcoming. Whether it’s his sexuality, the changing nature of masculinity, or the state of austerity in the UK, Olly Alexander will always have something to say.

I ask him how his seismic rise has impacted his self-esteem. Does being adored on social media help pave over your insecurities, or does it amplify them?

“That all felt terrifying, to be honest,” he says. “It felt entirely possible that my real self would be a huge disappointment to all these people who were putting me on a pedestal. And if I met anyone who knew me online… it would be so horrifying. They think you’re one thing but you feel so far away from that. And then I would have these thoughts about people making judgements on me or my personal life, who my ex-boyfriends were. I had a negative reaction to it.”

Does it still bother you? “I’ve made peace with it. Our recent success… I had been planning it for so long,” he says. “I feel like I’ve gotten away with something. The lyrics, the short film, the costumes… it all felt like it was too weird to happen. Sometimes I think I have to be more ‘extra’ to get this kind of thing through [to people]. You have no idea how many conversations happen where the utterance, ‘Is it too gay, though?’ comes up. Nobody would say it to my face because they know I’d flip out. But it happens.”

He says he’s baffled by the way that queerness and sexuality is associated with being inappropriate for children. At last month’s BBC Radio 1’s Biggest Weekend, where he dressed in a bejewelled green one-piece that shimmered in the sun, he says he was criticised for his performance because it was “too erotic and too saucy”.

He agreed. “But it’s no different to Demi Lovato or Stefflon Don or Liam Payne. They all simulate sex on stage and they say things in their songs that are very erotic, they gyrate and wear revealing outfits. People don’t bat an eyelid, but as soon as I go on stage it’s a case of [he adopts a shrill, Helen Lovejoy tone]: ‘Think of the children!’’’ He pauses for a second. “I am thinking of the children. Young people need to see a queer person being comfortable in their body.”

In a New York Times profile earlier this year, country star KD Lang said that queer people were welcomed by the wider world only until their eroticism posed a threat. Keeping your head down, neutralising your sexuality and blending in is what LGBTQ people need to do to garner acceptance, or so goes the theory.

Alexander says that if his queerness feels more obtuse and radicalised, then it’s just a by-product of growing more comfortable with himself. “It’s less conscious, or direct,” he says. “There was never a moment when I said, ‘This is what I’m going to set out to do.’”

But with age comes a bit of stubbornness – and that’s a good thing.

“I get a real thrill for being ‘overtly queer’ in my aesthetic. I used to be scared of people thinking I was gay but now I’d be shocked if they didn’t. I’d hesitate to say I had a more developed sense of self, though, because how I look doesn’t take into account my mind, or how I develop internally.”

“Sometimes I wonder about the guys I had these sexcapades with, who identified as straight, and I wonder where they are now, in their own journey.”

The first single from Palo Santo was ‘Sanctify’, a seductive paean to male sexuality, with a thumpy, rumbly drum beat that sounds like Britney Spears’ ‘Slave 4 U’ if it was appropriated by robots in the near future. It’s about the fallacy of lust and the fleetingness of human contact; unashamedly sexy and confrontational.

It’s also about straight men, many of whom Alexander has collided with at various points in his twenties.

It was something that always happened to him, he says – guys who identify as straight hooking up with him – and he always writes about what he knows. I tell him I always found it flattering.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re touching on a complicated area for a lot of gay men. And I suppose for everyone else involved. It’s good to interrogate your desires, to unpack why people feel drawn to one another. You’re attracted to who you’re attracted to at the end of the day.”

If he had to guess, he says those straight men found him “alluring”. And he’s interested that some men who don’t identify as gay might be happy to sleep with men who are.

“We’re talking about how men express desire for one another. I find the exchange fascinating – what each person gets out of it, or what it makes each person feel. With ‘Sanctify’, I wanted to write something about the journey of coming out. It’s so drawn out. You come out to your friends, family, then the world, again and again, in hotels and on holiday and to cab drivers. And that can be painful. Sometimes I wonder about the guys I’d had these… sexcapades with, who identified as straight, and I wonder where they are now, in their own journey to understanding their sexuality.”

But he also believes you can identify as straight and still hook up with guys. “At the end of the day, these are just words we use to try to best describe ourselves. They’re not perfect.”

It’s late afternoon, and the sun is casting long shadows across the beer garden. Alexander is reflecting on how lucky he feels to have addressed his mental health at such a young age; it has left him with a toolbox full of ways to cope in all kinds of situations. “I believe we all encounter these problems,” he says. “Some people get to their fifties or sixties and realise there are aspects of their mental health they’ve never addressed.”

His control over his own mental health came in degrees; at school he was in and out of counselling due to an eating disorder, and was bullied by his peers because of his sexuality. Due to his early acting career he had enough disposable income by the age of 20 to fund a private therapist, and he admits he wouldn’t have been able to rely on the support offered by the NHS.

“It’s overbooked and slow, you can wait 12 weeks to see someone on the NHS, and that’s failing people. If you’re at crisis point, you need help urgently.” His own budget allowed for his private therapist for about six months.

“The situation is quite dire,” he says. “Who knows what will change? We have a government that has implemented austerity for the past eight years and has cut services for mental-health provision.” What about public campaigns aiming to de-stigmatise talking about mental health? Everyone from Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson to Prince William has begun conversations about theirs.

“Talking is a great place to start,” he says. “But if there’s nowhere else to go after that, then the development of dealing with your mental health will stall.

“You feel a bit raw and exposed from [talking about] this kind of thing,” Alexander says, shrugging. “But I’ve arrived at a place where I feel pretty on top of my mental health. I get asked about it a lot. I’ve had moments recently where it almost felt like I was on a runaway train, and the train’s left the station and it’s hurtling towards hell, and I can’t get off, I’ve said too much, and I think, ‘Oh God, oh God,’ and I panic.”

He thinks for a minute. Maybe it’s the sun but we both feel exhausted.

“But this is relaxed and I feel in control. Sometimes I wish I’d kept that Pandora’s box shut, but not today.”

Palo Santo is released on 6 July

[ollyarchive]

"I used to be scared of people thinking I was gay": Olly Alexander on men and their feelings

The Years & Years frontman talks to Chris Mandle about sexuality, masculinity and mental health

Olly Alexander used his advance from his Years & Years record deal to do something he never could when he was a jobbing actor; he paid a man to make a small cut behind his left ear and pin it back with the help of a slender piece of metal. He’d had his eye on the procedure for years and only wanted the one ear pinned back because it stuck out more, and that reduced roughly 50 per cent of the cost. The pinnaplasty took 15 minutes and made him feel two things simultaneously.

“I was almost embarrassed by how overwhelmingly confident I was afterwards,” he says, looking up at the sun. “I thought, ‘God, is it really that simple?’”

The other thing he felt was a curious shame. “I had this weird moment… did I not love myself enough to just keep the face I was given?” He strokes the steely inside of his ear absent-mindedly. “Then I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll fix my teeth next.’”

If you’ve seen Olly smile, which he does often, you’ll have noticed he never got that procedure to ‘fix’ his teeth. At some point, the 27-year-old realised that certain things, even if they seem imperfect to you, don’t need fixing. Now he wants the rest of the male population to have the same realisation.

Alexander’s first big break came as an actor – a small role in Skins followed by a part in posh-boy drama The Riot Club in 2014. When he was still in school, he loved practising photoshoots and posing in front of his mirror at home, acting as if he was on America’s Next Top Model:

“I wanted to capture the glamour; it looked so cool.” His early experiences doing actual photoshoots, however, shattered the illusion. “I had such low self-esteem back then,” he says, citing a shoot he did when he was 17 for Teen Vogue’s ‘Young Hollywood’ issue. “The people were lovely but it was sort of traumatising,” he says.

“I was with Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Kaya Scodelario, Matthew Beard. Everyone went on to be massive. Anyway, it was weird. Having your picture taken when the onus is on you looking hot. That’s quite… stressful when you’re someone who doesn’t…”

He trails off and swirls his Aperol Spritz, which has been served in a goblet so thick and round it could happily accommodate a goldfish. Following his ShortList shoot, we’ve walked to a beer garden in southwest London. “It’s taken me almost 10 years to feel like I know the process isn’t about me. I can take myself out of the equation regarding whether I look good or not. It’s never been about that.”

If ‘Young Hollywood’ felt vapid and hollow to Alexander, his fortunes reversed as a pop star; he has thrived in a conventionally conservative pop landscape (Sam Smith, Shawn Mendes) and become a Technicolour, power-clashing, maximalist cannonball in the process.

The campaign to promote Years & Years’ second album, Palo Santo, focuses on a dystopian future ruled by androids, where a human (Alexander) is made to perform for their entertainment. As such, he dyed his hair a striking blood red and has spent this year serving Camden-cybergoth meets Berlin-sex-palace looks. He’s a young gay pop star, treading new ground within his industry – there’s not really a blueprint for what that looks like. That’s a lot of pressure for him to carry on his slight frame.

He thinks for a moment.

“I haven’t even considered that.”

“I get a real thrill for being ‘overtly queer’ in my aesthetic. I used to be scared of people thinking I was gay but now I’d be shocked if they didn’t.”

Years & Years’ arrival was hard to miss. Alexander, with bandmates Mikey Goldsworthy and Emre Türkmen, won the BBC’s Sound of 2015 poll, voted for by industry insiders and critics. Their first album, Communion – filled with throbbing, sinewy bangers about lust and desire, bruised hearts and man-on-man emotional power-plays – debuted at number one.

Two years later, Alexander fronted a documentary for BBC Three, Growing Up Gay, exploring the intersection between his sexuality and his mental health that felt instrumental in getting more men to discuss their own wellbeing. Alexander says he had identified his own concerns with the state of his mental health by the age of 13 and has always been vocal about it. He is an open book, frank and forthcoming. Whether it’s his sexuality, the changing nature of masculinity, or the state of austerity in the UK, Olly Alexander will always have something to say.

I ask him how his seismic rise has impacted his self-esteem. Does being adored on social media help pave over your insecurities, or does it amplify them?

“That all felt terrifying, to be honest,” he says. “It felt entirely possible that my real self would be a huge disappointment to all these people who were putting me on a pedestal. And if I met anyone who knew me online… it would be so horrifying. They think you’re one thing but you feel so far away from that. And then I would have these thoughts about people making judgements on me or my personal life, who my ex-boyfriends were. I had a negative reaction to it.”

Does it still bother you? “I’ve made peace with it. Our recent success… I had been planning it for so long,” he says. “I feel like I’ve gotten away with something. The lyrics, the short film, the costumes… it all felt like it was too weird to happen. Sometimes I think I have to be more ‘extra’ to get this kind of thing through [to people]. You have no idea how many conversations happen where the utterance, ‘Is it too gay, though?’ comes up. Nobody would say it to my face because they know I’d flip out. But it happens.”

He says he’s baffled by the way that queerness and sexuality is associated with being inappropriate for children. At last month’s BBC Radio 1’s Biggest Weekend, where he dressed in a bejewelled green one-piece that shimmered in the sun, he says he was criticised for his performance because it was “too erotic and too saucy”.

He agreed. “But it’s no different to Demi Lovato or Stefflon Don or Liam Payne. They all simulate sex on stage and they say things in their songs that are very erotic, they gyrate and wear revealing outfits. People don’t bat an eyelid, but as soon as I go on stage it’s a case of [he adopts a shrill, Helen Lovejoy tone]: ‘Think of the children!’’’ He pauses for a second. “I am thinking of the children. Young people need to see a queer person being comfortable in their body.”

In a New York Times profile earlier this year, country star KD Lang said that queer people were welcomed by the wider world only until their eroticism posed a threat. Keeping your head down, neutralising your sexuality and blending in is what LGBTQ people need to do to garner acceptance, or so goes the theory.

Alexander says that if his queerness feels more obtuse and radicalised, then it’s just a by-product of growing more comfortable with himself. “It’s less conscious, or direct,” he says. “There was never a moment when I said, ‘This is what I’m going to set out to do.’”

But with age comes a bit of stubbornness – and that’s a good thing.

“I get a real thrill for being ‘overtly queer’ in my aesthetic. I used to be scared of people thinking I was gay but now I’d be shocked if they didn’t. I’d hesitate to say I had a more developed sense of self, though, because how I look doesn’t take into account my mind, or how I develop internally.”

“Sometimes I wonder about the guys I had these sexcapades with, who identified as straight, and I wonder where they are now, in their own journey.”

The first single from Palo Santo was ‘Sanctify’, a seductive paean to male sexuality, with a thumpy, rumbly drum beat that sounds like Britney Spears’ ‘Slave 4 U’ if it was appropriated by robots in the near future. It’s about the fallacy of lust and the fleetingness of human contact; unashamedly sexy and confrontational.

It’s also about straight men, many of whom Alexander has collided with at various points in his twenties.

It was something that always happened to him, he says – guys who identify as straight hooking up with him – and he always writes about what he knows. I tell him I always found it flattering.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re touching on a complicated area for a lot of gay men. And I suppose for everyone else involved. It’s good to interrogate your desires, to unpack why people feel drawn to one another. You’re attracted to who you’re attracted to at the end of the day.”

If he had to guess, he says those straight men found him “alluring”. And he’s interested that some men who don’t identify as gay might be happy to sleep with men who are.

“We’re talking about how men express desire for one another. I find the exchange fascinating – what each person gets out of it, or what it makes each person feel. With ‘Sanctify’, I wanted to write something about the journey of coming out. It’s so drawn out. You come out to your friends, family, then the world, again and again, in hotels and on holiday and to cab drivers. And that can be painful. Sometimes I wonder about the guys I’d had these… sexcapades with, who identified as straight, and I wonder where they are now, in their own journey to understanding their sexuality.”

But he also believes you can identify as straight and still hook up with guys. “At the end of the day, these are just words we use to try to best describe ourselves. They’re not perfect.”

It’s late afternoon, and the sun is casting long shadows across the beer garden. Alexander is reflecting on how lucky he feels to have addressed his mental health at such a young age; it has left him with a toolbox full of ways to cope in all kinds of situations. “I believe we all encounter these problems,” he says. “Some people get to their fifties or sixties and realise there are aspects of their mental health they’ve never addressed.”

His control over his own mental health came in degrees; at school he was in and out of counselling due to an eating disorder, and was bullied by his peers because of his sexuality. Due to his early acting career he had enough disposable income by the age of 20 to fund a private therapist, and he admits he wouldn’t have been able to rely on the support offered by the NHS.

“It’s overbooked and slow, you can wait 12 weeks to see someone on the NHS, and that’s failing people. If you’re at crisis point, you need help urgently.” His own budget allowed for his private therapist for about six months.

“The situation is quite dire,” he says. “Who knows what will change? We have a government that has implemented austerity for the past eight years and has cut services for mental-health provision.” What about public campaigns aiming to de-stigmatise talking about mental health? Everyone from Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson to Prince William has begun conversations about theirs.

“Talking is a great place to start,” he says. “But if there’s nowhere else to go after that, then the development of dealing with your mental health will stall.

“You feel a bit raw and exposed from [talking about] this kind of thing,” Alexander says, shrugging. “But I’ve arrived at a place where I feel pretty on top of my mental health. I get asked about it a lot. I’ve had moments recently where it almost felt like I was on a runaway train, and the train’s left the station and it’s hurtling towards hell, and I can’t get off, I’ve said too much, and I think, ‘Oh God, oh God,’ and I panic.”

He thinks for a minute. Maybe it’s the sun but we both feel exhausted.

“But this is relaxed and I feel in control. Sometimes I wish I’d kept that Pandora’s box shut, but not today.”

Palo Santo is released on 6 July