#and ways to be safe and healthy with them

[ahqkas]

♯ I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO MY DAD . . . for teaching me everything he knows ( dick grayson & jason todd as dads ! )

— fem!reader as mom, fluff, not edited, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

dick was always great with kids; his natural warmth, patience, and humor made him a magnet for them, even before he became a father. he often thought back to his days as robin, remembering how bruce wayne took him in and gave him stability, and he wanted to offer that same feeling ( and definitely more ) to his children.

when you two first talked about having kids, he was equal parts excited and nervous about it. dick worried about balancing family life with his vigilante responsibilities, but he couldn’t wait to start a family with you. he knew that no matter what, you’d face it together

your first child, a boy, inherits your husband’s bright energy and natural charisma. from the moment your son was born, dick was a hands-on dad. midnight feedings? no problem. diaper changes? a breeze ( well, almost ). he approached fatherhood the same way he approached everything else—with passion and a healthy dose of humor

he’s not just the dad who builds the coolest blanket forts or makes pancakes shaped like bats; he’s the dad who listens, encourages, and shows up, no matter how tired he might be after a long night of patrol. even when exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his kids come first. if his son wants to show him the new drawing he made, dick will sit down and marvel at it as if it belongs in a gallery. if his daughter has a nightmare, he’s at her bedside in seconds, stroking her hair and whispering how she’s okay and nothing’s gonna hurt her while he’s here until she drifts back to sleep

he’s the dad who remembers every detail about his kids’ lives—their favorite bedtime stories, their least favorite vegetables, the songs that make them smile—and makes sure they feel seen and heard every single day. when he’s with them, he’s fully present, setting aside his worries about blüdhaven or the weight of his world. to them, he’s not nightwing; he’s just dad, their safe place, the person they know will always be there no matter what

he teaches your son how to ride a bike, holding the seat steady as those wobbly first attempts make an appearance. “you’ve got this!” dick encourages his son, jogging beside him. when the first scrape happens—knees meeting pavement in a blur of surprise and pain—he’s there in an instant, crouching down with the kind of gentle urgency only a dad can master

his strong arms wrap around his son in a hug that says, i’ve got you, even as tears well up in the young eyes. he’s quick with jokes to soothe the sting, brushing dirt and pebbles off tiny palms. “hey, you know what? you’re officially a biker now. all the pros have scars to prove it.”

it doesn’t matter if he’s running on just a few hours of sleep or if his legs are sore from the night before. he’ll stay on that sidewalk all afternoon if it means helping his son find the courage to get back on the bike

when your daughter is born, it’s as if a new light ignites in dick’s heart, one that’s softer and warmer than anything he’s ever felt before. from the moment he holds her—tiny, delicate, and swaddled in pastel pink—he’s utterly smitten by the baby. his breath catches in his throat as her little fingers curl instinctively around one of his. it’s the smallest thing, but to him, it’s everything. he gazes at her with an awe that rivals the first time he stood under a gotham sunrise after a long patrol as robin

every little thing she does—every yawn, every sleepy coo, even the way she scrunches her nose—melts him completely. he’s the first to volunteer for late-night feedings, cradling her against his chest while whispering soft lullabies. “it’s okay, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if the sound of it alone could shield her from the world

she’s the spitting image of you, but she’s got dick’s sense of curiosity and mischief. as she grows, it’s clear she’s a daddy’s girl through and through. dick spoils her with affection, often carrying her on his shoulders or letting her “style” his hair, even if it means showing up to patrol with hair ties

she’s the one who always convinces him to stay for “just one more bedtime story,” and dick can never say no to those puppy eyes. he does all the voices, acting out scenes with a dramatic flair that leaves her giggling uncontrollably

family movie nights are a regular occurrence. dick lets the kids pick the movie, even if it means sitting through the same animated film for the fifth time. he doesn’t mind—he’s just happy to have everyone snuggled up together

. . . JASON TODD !

jason never thought he’d be a dad. gotham wasn’t kind to kids, and in his darker moments, he felt like it had swallowed the boy he used to be whole. he worried his own traumas—nights spent cold and hungry on the streets, the ache of betrayal, the sting of abandonment—might cast shadows over the kind of father he’d want to be. how could he teach love and trust when his world had been built on survival and second chances?

the thought of holding a child, so small and fragile, scared him more than any villain ever could. what if he didn’t have it in him to be the kind of dad they deserved? what if his sharp edges cut too deep, or worse, he failed to protect them from the city that had failed him? jason had spent so long fighting his way through life that the idea of creating a safe, warm space for someone else felt like trying to plant flowers in a wasteland. and yet, the thought of building something good—something untouchable by gotham’s darkness—stirred a longing in him he couldn’t ignore.

when you told him you were pregnant with your first child, he was stunned silent for a solid minute. then came the slight tremble in his hands as he cradled your face and whispered, “we’re really doing this?” you swore you saw tears in his eyes, though he’d deny it later

he threw himself into preparing for fatherhood. between patrols, you’d catch him reading baby books, jotting down notes in that same serious way he planned missions. ( “what the hell is a diaper genie, baby? is it a genie for diapers, or does it genie them away?” )

when your first daughter was born, jason held her for the first time with an awe. he whispered promises to her, things like, “you’ll never go through what i did,” and “i’m gonna give you the world, princess.”

jason’s daughters own him. his rough, serious ide of personality melts into a puddle of mush when they so much as giggle at him. one pouty face, and he’s done for

when they’re little, he becomes a human jungle gym. they’ll climb all over him, pull on his hair, and stick stickers all over his face while he sits patiently, letting them “decorate” him. ( “you’re turning me into a unicorn, huh? cool. just don’t let your mom take pictures—too late? figures.” )

as they grow, he keeps a close eye on everything, from their friends to the neighborhoods they walk through. he’s not overbearing but has serious dad-radar. if they so much as mention a creepy guy or a mean teacher, he’s all, “do i need to handle this? no? you sure? okay, but say the word.”

by age eight, they’ve both mastered basic self-defense, thanks to “daddy’s fun time karate sessions.” he makes it a game—lots of laughter and encouragement—but underneath it, he’s deadly serious

when they’re older, he teaches them how to change a tire, handle their own money, and, much to your exasperation, how to throw a punch. ( “jason, they don’t need to know how to disarm a grown man at ten years old!” “baby, it’s gotham. yes, they do.” )

he’s the kind of dad who makes pancake breakfasts on weekends, complete with smiley faces and way too much syrup

on father’s day, his daughters surprise him with handmade cards every year. jason’s tough demeanor cracks every time he reads their scrawled messages: “daddy, you’re my hero.”

and jason as a father to teenage girls? lord, help us all.

when his eldest goes on her first date, he plays it cool—for all of two seconds. he grills the poor kid with subtle threats hidden behind a charming smile. ( “so, you like my daughter? good. treat her right, or you’ll have a real bad night. understand?” )

you have to remind him not to tail them when they go out. “jason, they’ll know you’re following them.” “i’ll stay a block behind. they’ll never see me.”

but despite his overprotectiveness, he’s their anchor during tough times. when they experience their first heartbreaks, he is there with hugs, ice cream, and the kind of pep talks that make them laugh through their tears. “anyone who doesn’t see how amazing you are isn’t worth crying over. you’re the todd girl. we don’t settle for less.”

deep down, jason worries about failing them. he knows what it’s like to lose everything, and the thought of his girls experiencing even a fraction of that makes his stomach churn

[associatedwithpumpkin]

So Let’s Talk…

For many adults, the mere sight of a pile of dirty dishes can trigger memories of their childhood trauma, leading to feelings of anxiety, shame, or worthlessness. Even if they have the skills to complete the task, their emotional landscape can create barriers that hinder their ability to follow through. This struggle can feel isolating, as it may not be readily apparent to others why a seemingly straightforward household chore can provoke such intense feelings.

The journey of healing from an abusive childhood is complex and often filled with setbacks. It involves unlearning negative thought patterns, building self-esteem, and developing the ability to advocate for oneself. For adults who experienced this kind of upbringing, simply knowing how to do the dishes isn’t enough; they may need to navigate their emotional responses to the task first.

To foster a healthier relationship with chores for all children, it’s essential to teach them in a supportive and encouraging environment. Here are some key approaches:

1. **Model Positivity**: Adults should model a positive attitude towards chores by showing that they can be a part of daily life. Use language that frames chores as a shared responsibility rather than a burden.

2. **Encourage Autonomy**: Allow children, regardless of gender, to take ownership of their tasks. Instead of enforcing chores through punishment, help them understand the importance of contributing to a communal space.

3. **Provide Guidance**: Teach children how to do chores by guiding them through the process rather than forcing them. For example, you can turn washing dishes into a fun activity by making it a game or incorporating music.

4. **Normalize Mistakes**: Make it clear that making mistakes is part of learning. This helps children develop resilience and reduces the fear of failure that can stem from abusive environments.

5. **Open Communication**: Encourage children to express their feelings about chores. If they’re feeling overwhelmed or frustrated, creating a safe space for those emotions can help them articulate their needs and develop healthier coping mechanisms.

6. **Celebrate Achievements**: Recognize and celebrate the completion of chores, no matter how small. Acknowledging their efforts can boost their confidence and reinforce positive behaviors.

7. **Teach Life Skills**: Emphasize that chores are essential life skills that contribute to a healthy lifestyle. This includes teaching the benefits of maintaining a clean space for mental and physical well-being.

By using these approaches, we can help children build a healthier relationship with chores, reducing the likelihood of trauma manifesting in adulthood. The goal is to create a nurturing environment that fosters independence, self-worth, and emotional regulation, empowering individuals to tackle daily tasks without the weight of past trauma.

When it comes to teaching children about chores and responsibilities, especially in sensitive contexts where trauma may be a concern, there are critical practices to avoid to prevent further traumatization. Here’s what NOT to do:

1. **Do Not Use Fear as a Motivator**: Avoid threatening or instilling fear as a way to get children to do their chores. This can create anxiety and reinforce negative associations with responsibilities.

2. **Do Not Yell or Berate**: Refrain from raising your voice or using harsh words when a child does not complete a chore. This can be emotionally damaging and may trigger past trauma.

3. **Do Not Punish for Mistakes**: Making mistakes is part of the learning process. Avoid punishing children for errors in completing chores, as this can lead to shame and fear of trying again.

4. **Do Not Dismiss Their Feelings**: If a child expresses fear, anxiety, or frustration about chores, do not minimize their feelings. Acknowledge and validate their emotions, showing understanding and support.

5. **Do Not Overwhelm Them**: Assigning too many or overly complex tasks can lead to feelings of being overwhelmed. Keep chores age-appropriate and manageable to help them feel successful.

6. **Do Not Compare to Others**: Avoid comparing a child's efforts to those of their peers or siblings. This can create feelings of inadequacy and pressure, making them reluctant to engage in chores.

7. **Do Not Ignore Individual Needs**: Every child is different, especially if they have experienced trauma. Do not assume a one-size-fits-all approach; tailor chores to fit each child's unique capabilities and emotional state.

8. **Do Not Make Chores Gendered**: Avoid assigning chores based on gender stereotypes. All children should learn to contribute to household tasks, reinforcing that these responsibilities are not gender-specific.

9. **Do Not Present Chores as Punishment**: Chores should not be framed as a consequence for misbehavior. This can associate responsibilities with negative experiences, pushing children away from taking part.

10. **Do Not Neglect Positive Reinforcement**: Failing to praise or acknowledge a child’s efforts when they complete a chore can diminish their motivation. Celebrating small successes helps build confidence.

11. **Do Not Force Compliance**: Forcing a child to do chores without their willingness can lead to resistance and resentment. Encourage participation rather than demanding it.

12. **Do Not Ignore the Importance of Teaching**: Simply telling children to do chores without explaining the reasons behind them can lead to confusion and frustration. Teach them about the importance of contributing to the household.

By avoiding these practices, you can help create a nurturing environment that fosters a positive relationship with chores, promotes emotional well-being, and minimizes the risk of further traumatizing children.

When supporting an adult who experienced trauma related to chores or responsibilities as a child, it's essential to approach the situation with sensitivity and understanding. Here’s a guide on what to do and what not to do in order to help them navigate their feelings and encourage healthier behaviors:

✅ What To Do:

1. **Listen Actively**: Provide a safe space for them to express their feelings. Listen without judgment and validate their experiences and emotions.

2. **Be Patient**: Understand that healing from trauma is a process that takes time. Be patient with their progress and avoid pushing them to overcome their fears too quickly.

3. **Encourage Open Communication**: Foster an environment where they feel comfortable discussing their feelings about chores and responsibilities. Encourage them to share their triggers and concerns.

4. **Offer Support, Not Pressure**: Offer to help with chores or responsibilities without imposing pressure. Let them know you’re there to support them, but allow them to take the lead in what they are comfortable with.

5. **Normalize Mistakes**: Remind them that it’s okay to make mistakes and that they can learn and grow from them. Emphasize that everyone struggles with tasks at times.

6. **Celebrate Small Wins**: Acknowledge and celebrate their efforts, no matter how small. Positive reinforcement can build confidence and motivate them to continue facing their challenges.

7. **Provide Resources**: If they’re open to it, suggest resources like therapy or support groups that specialize in trauma and mental health. Professional help can be incredibly beneficial.

8. **Model Healthy Behaviors**: Demonstrate a positive attitude towards chores and responsibilities by engaging in them with a sense of calm and positivity. Your behavior can influence theirs.

9. **Encourage Mindfulness**: Introduce mindfulness techniques or grounding exercises that can help them manage anxiety when faced with tasks that trigger their trauma.

10. **Respect Their Boundaries**: If they express discomfort or resistance to certain tasks or discussions, respect their boundaries and don’t push the issue.

🚫 What Not To Do:

1. **Do Not Minimize Their Feelings**: Avoid dismissing or downplaying their feelings about chores. This can make them feel unheard and invalidated.

2. **Do Not Pressure Them to Conform**: Forcing them to engage in chores or responsibilities before they are ready can lead to increased anxiety and resentment.

3. **Do Not Compare Them to Others**: Avoid making comparisons to how others handle chores. This can increase feelings of inadequacy and hinder their progress.

4. **Do Not Use Guilt or Shame**: Avoid using guilt or shame to motivate them to complete tasks. This can be damaging and may trigger past trauma.

5. **Do Not Assume You Understand**: Everyone’s experiences of trauma are unique. Avoid assumptions and instead ask questions to understand their perspective better.

6. **Do Not Criticize Their Efforts**: Critiquing how they approach tasks can be discouraging. Instead, focus on encouragement and support.

7. **Do Not Ignore Their Triggers**: If they mention certain tasks or situations that trigger their trauma, do not disregard these. Acknowledge and take their triggers seriously.

8. **Do Not Avoid the Topic**: While it’s important to be sensitive, avoiding the topic altogether can prevent healing. Engage in gentle conversations when they’re ready.

9. **Do Not Enable Avoidance**: While it’s important to be supportive, don’t enable avoidance behaviors. Instead, gently encourage them to face their challenges at their own pace.

10. **Do Not Forget Self-Care**: Supporting someone with trauma can be emotionally taxing. Ensure you also practice self-care and seek support if needed.

By following these guidelines, you can create a supportive environment that helps the individual navigate their trauma while fostering healing and encouraging healthier behaviors over time.

[ang3lc]

the voices were whispering about poly!141 romancing a burlesque dancer!reader, this was a lot fluffier than i intended it to be, but here are some thots...

﹥ simon first sees you at a performance he’s dragged to, fully expecting to be unimpressed.

﹥ the second you step on stage, he’s captivated—not just by how you move, but by the power and command you radiate.

﹥ he becomes a quiet regular at your shows, always sitting in the shadows, watching intently. no cheers or whistles, just the unwavering focus of a man completely in awe. no, that's not drool on his balaclava, what are you on about?

﹥ when he finally speaks to you backstage, it’s brief but genuine: “you were brilliant out there,” his presence lingers long after he’s gone.

﹥ simon shows his care in subtle ways, like walking you to your car or standing by when someone gets too pushy after a performance.

﹥ his intensity can be overwhelming, but his quiet reverence makes you feel seen like no one else ever has.

﹥ johnny is the loudest, most shameless fan in the crowd, whistling and cheering without a hint of restraint.

﹥ when you glance his way mid-performance, he gives you a cheeky wink that’s more charming than annoying.

﹥ after your first show, he’s waiting backstage with an absurdly large bouquet of flowers and a grin that could light up a room.

﹥ he shows up to every performance after that, leaving little notes and even bringing snacks to win over your crew just to have an excuse to be around.

﹥ when you’re stressed, johnny knows exactly how to pull you out of your funk, whether it’s cracking the worst jokes you have ever heard or reminding you why you’re amazing.

﹥ his energy is infectious, and while he’s a goof most of the time, his loyalty and admiration for you run deep.

﹥ kyle notices you for your confidence onstage, but it’s the person you are offstage that truly hooks him.

﹥ his first interaction with you is understated—a warm smile and a thoughtful question about your routine that catches you off guard with its sincerity.

﹥ he doesn’t overwhelm you with attention but instead takes the time to understand your world, asking about your inspirations and the work behind each performance.

﹥ kyle’s gestures are small but meaningful: bringing you tea (or coffee, if you prefer. either way, it's just right.) during long rehearsals, sharing playlists he made just for you, or songs he think you should dance to (in private, though it's too soon to admit he wants that)

﹥ he’s the steady presence in your life, always knowing when to step in and when to give you space.

﹥ watching your shows, his pride is quiet but palpable, his gaze full of admiration that makes your heart race. when he sees you nail a move you were struggling with at rehearsals, he knows to reward you later.

﹥ john isn’t the type to fall easily, but something about you draws him in—your grace, your confidence, your unapologetic authenticity.

﹥ he doesn’t approach you immediately, choosing instead to observe, waiting for the right moment to move on you.

﹥ when he finally does, his words are simple yet deliberate: “you’ve got a way of commanding a room.” there’s a weight to them that makes you realize he sees you.

﹥ john is the one who steps in when things get chaotic, offering calm solutions and unwavering support. a strong hand to guide you.

﹥ he’s protective without being overbearing, ensuring you’re taken care of without trying to control your life.

﹥ his affection reveals itself in quiet moments—holding your hand late at night, his voice low and rough against your ear as he confesses how much you mean to him.

﹥ together, the four of them create a healthy mix of support and chaos that makes your world feel complete.

﹥ simon ensures you always have a safe place to land, offering strength and stability.

﹥ johnny is the light that chases away any shadows, making you laugh even when you think you can’t.

﹥ kyle notices the little things, ensuring you’re always cared for in ways that matter most.

﹥ john is the anchor, grounding you with his steady presence and unwavering reliability.

﹥ they tease each other constantly—johnny and kyle competing to cheer the loudest at your shows while simon mutters about “bloody fools” in the corner, john's too lost in the way your hips move to care about any of their rambling.

when the spotlight fades and it’s just the five of you, you feel surrounded by a warmth that makes you realize you’ve found your permanent home—in their arms, in their hearts.

mlist | @honestlymassivetrash

[aquaglow]

Friendly reminder – especially to young girls – that influencers who say shit like

"drink this smoothie/juice to lose belly fat"

"this is the ONLY exercise you need to tone your entire body"

"don't do these exercises, do THESE instead"

"do this exercise to lose fat off this specific body part"

"all you need to lose weight is a calorie deficit"

are ALL bullshitting you for views and likes! And you will often catch them in contradiction, but since they look toned and fit and healthy you may think you're the one who's confused, but no, they're lying. I am here to help set the record straight:

No type of food is going to make you lose fat. Some foods get the fame of being fat-burners for being thermogenic (meaning they raise your body temperature temporarily), but it's not enough to make you lose fat if you don't adjust everything else.

No one exercise affects the entire body and if you only do one type of exercise your body will get used to it and its effects won't be as beneficial. Also, if you only do one exercise you will get bored and it will get in the way of your consistency.

You need to do the exercises that make you feel good and fulfilled and that keep you consistently coming back for more. If you like planks over crunches, then you should plank. If you like dancing over running, then you should dance. All exercises, if done in proper form and within your capabilities, are beneficial and correct.

There is no way to target fat loss. This is a very dangerous and widespread myth. It has been shown over and over in studies and trials that fat is lost proportionately all over the body and that it depends heavily on genetic factors whether you will lose more here or there. You can target muscle gain, but not fat loss.

There is so much more to fat loss (which is different from weight loss, since weight is not determined only by fat) than only a calorie deficit. Yes, consuming less calories than you burn is the way to go, but it's not as simple as that: you can do that and still not lose any significant weight! There's genetics, there's nutrition, there's other health factors, there's muscle mass, there's water weight, there's hormones, there's stress levels, there's so much more nuance to consider in the human body than just calories. If it were as "simple" as a calorie deficit, do you think so many people would struggle with their weight?

Health and nutrition and fitness are complex subjects that deserve more of your attention and research than watching clickbait videos on Tiktok from people that are just trying to capture your views, often using underhanded tactics. I say that with love: social media builds trust only for it to be betrayed by algorithmic monetization.

Question what you see and read (including my posts!) and look into things that go against your common sense! It's a tough world to navigate, be safe 💫

[blue-drink]

He is Baby (Extended)

It was cold, so very cold. As December approached, Fawcett city was covered in a fine sheet of snow.

For the most, it was no problem. But for one Billy Batson, it was one of the most difficult problems of the year.

He didn't really have a place to stay; he didn't trust the Rock not to displace him in time, the train station to the Rock wasn't particularly warm, he couldn't get into a homeless refuge without risking being caught CPS, and his usual hideout (a falling-apart building) was at full capacity by other teens in similar situations.

That was sub-problem #1. Sub-problem #2 was food.

After a few visits to the realms of different pantheons; at least half of agriculture-related deities had determined that it just wouldn't do for a boy with so many responsibilities to barely be able to eat, so they (collectively or individually, he couldn't tell) decided to bless him.

A tree he planted would give him any and all types of fruits, so he could always have a healthy snack. If he could get his hands on some bread, it would be tastier and fill him more than it normally should. And things had a tendency not to rot even after several days, so a single harvest of the mini-garden he managed to create would last him so much longer.

Unfortunately; that didn't work when there were no plants to plant or harvest, and he didn't realize the shortage he was about to experience until it was too late to get more than barely enough for November.

After they noticed; his patrons became restless, trying to figure out a way out of this one. Refuge was out of the question, he wouldn't risk it; so was the Rock, and it's station, for not being safe enough; and he wouldn't throw another child into the coldness so he could regain his spot at his hideout.

"The Watchtower?" One had proposed. But it wouldn't do.

He didn't sleep, for all the JL knew, and he wasn't going to deny or confirm anything if it could lead up to his identity being revealed. Also, could he even sleep in his Champion form?

Solomon answered that, while he couldn't get a full night's sleep, even just trying would help his brain do some of the things it did while resting. Still, he couldn't go three full months without actual sleep.

What to do?

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

It was too cold.

He should've expected it, that soon it wouldn't be safe to sleep outside. They told him, that it was too dangerous, that he should stay as Captain Marvel until he finds a place to stay.

But he didn't listen. He'd just come back from the Watchtower, from a 4-hour meeting, and was tired of not being tired.

"It won't snow 'till next week," he told them, like a fool. "The weatherman said so," who would know more? The weatherman or a weather-god?

He went to sleep, and barely woke up to the voices of his patrons screaming inside his head.

"Too cold!" "Danger!" "Wake up!" But what could he even do?

He felt frozen in place, unable to move. He tried to scream, "SHAZAM!" But it was to no use, he'd probably already caught a cold and couldn't talk, let alone scream.

It was so cold, it was warm. The feeling lulling him back to sleep, if only they'd shut up. It was fine, he'd be fine.

They probably realized he'd no longer understand them, because their voices were replaced by images. Ice cube, crossed fire, danger sign. Hands shaking, multiple 'Z's crossed as well.

It only made him more sleepy.

"Billy!!", he recognized the voice as one of the gods. But it wasn't inside his head.

His body moved upwards, as he noticed someone'd taken him from the snow into their arms. It was warm, actually warm. Another level of warm.

The god said something he couldn't decipher at the moment, but he felt the magic moving from the god's body to his own.

What did it do? He'd no idea, as he once again succumbed to sleep. This time incentivized by his patrons.

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

It would've been so much faster to sent Hermes or Apollo to bring the child to Olympus; but, in their panic, the god king had completely forgotten about them (which was a bit embarrassing because Mercury also was in Billy's headspace).

They completely ignored the infirmary in favor of their master room, Hera'd understand. The priority was rising the child's body temperature.

They made a bee-line for the bathroom, and willed the room to be ready. With a hand movement, Billy's clothes changed to a bathing robe (they had the feeling he wouldn't appreciate being naked even if it was a life-or-death situation).

As they lowed the kid into the bathtub; Hermes, Mercury and Apollo appeared at the door. The oldest of their present children went to their side almost immediately, searching healing items in his bag.

The speed-gods went together to their other side, and slowly convinced them to get out of the bathroom and let the sun god work his magic.

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

Warm.

Billy woke up, and it was warm.

Slowly he managed to open his eyes. To the biggest room he's ever been to.

Where was he?

Solomon gladly answered, "It was far too cold for you outside, you were freezing. So Zeus went to get you, you're in their room."

Well, if this was the room of a god, it was far more colorful that he'd ever imagine. Like, he'd expect it to have more white and gold and not so much purple, blue and pink. The floors were a reddish brown, so cool!

Also, he felt great. Like, actually great, "Wow, I'd forgotten one'd feel this good" levels of great. Well, he did feel a little congested; but nothing else hurting absolutely outweigh it!

He heard the door open, and in front of him was a goddess he hadn't met, tho he didn't need Solomon to tell him who she was. That was Hera, if the crown and the peacock-feather necklace were any indicators.

He wondered if he should vow; before Hercules chimed in, saying it's better to play it safe with her. So he vowed.

"There is no need for that," she said. "You're Billy, correct?" He nodded. "Then know that you're as much mine as you're my husband's."

He didn't really understand what she meant by that. But it didn't matter at the moment.

"They've been anxious to see you; so, if you feel alright at the moment, join us in the conference room." Was the last thing she said before turning around and leaving.

He wanted to ask where that was, but Solomon was kind enough to drop a map of the palace in his mind. A little too much information, but it was useful.

He navigated the halls, Mercury creating an arrow towards the destination inside his mind.

In the meantime; he looked around, his brain trying to register every single detail of the place. He’d been to Olympus before, but only as Marvel. When he had a bigger reason to be there, and he instinctually knew where everything was, nothing could surprise him in those moments.

Now everything surprised him. The halls were more like several open rooms, one next to the other. Ten people could be side to side, and they could still walk comfortably. There are also a lot of trash cans, not sure why they would need them tho.

Before he could open the door to the conference room; Mercury ran out of it, tackling him in a hug. He didn't even notice when he stopped being outside the room, and started being inside it.

In one couch was Solomon, beside him was probably Athena. Both were invested in their respective books, but no doubt noticed him. Hercules and Achilles were in another, playing some type of war board game; he honestly couldn't tell who was winning, maybe neither.

Atlas wasn’t there; an image of him holding the sky was pushed to the front of his mind, so that was probably why. Mercury and Hermes were playing some type of game so fast, it was like they weren't moving at all.

And he was seated between Zeus and Hera. They seemed ok with it, the lighting god picked him up and put him on their lap. “How are you feeling now, my champion?” They asked, petting his head.

“Better now, thank you.” He answered truthfully, he felt so much better.

“Are you going to tell him or are you stalling?” Mercury questioned. The king gave a low growl. “They were getting to that.” Hera answered for them.

He turned to the god with curiosity. They put him off their lap, and moved so they could see face to face. Hera moved so she was standing by their side, and pulled some paper from she knows where.

“Well, ...” They stalled, “we are having a baby.” That surprised him, he was somewhat sure they didn't have children since Diana and Donna, much less with their wife. But it was an eventuality. “Oh, congratu—” He was interrupted by Hera slamming the papers in front of him, “It’s you, sign here.”

It would be silent if not for Hercules, trying and failing to hold his laughter. But he was the only one laughing.

Solomon didn’t even pause his reading; Athena did but wasn’t showing any reaction, positive or negative; Achilles was taking advantage of Hercules distraction to cheat the game; Mercury and Hermes were jumping in place; and Atlas, inside his mind, was looking at the situation bored.

Hera had the same serious face as the moment she presented the documents; and Zeus wasn’t laughing, but blushing. So it wasn’t a joke; or the joke was how they told him and not what.

He probably looked like a fish out of water. “... Why?”

Solomon answered, to Zeus relieve, “Because of your situation, it puts you at risk. And you wouldn't accept being adopted by any ‘normal’ family because of your experiences, so this is the best we could come up with.”

He closed his book, “You won’t have to worry about being a homeless teen anymore. Olympus will always be open to you, for you to rest and for you to eat. You won’t have to worry about keeping heroism from your family, because they already know and support you. You won’t have to worry about CPS, the gods have their ways in the systems; you’ll be officially adopted.”

“And if the Justice League finds out, there’ll be nothing they can do about it.” That last part, admittedly, caught his attention more than the rest.

“Explain.”

“If you stay homeless, and they find out, they won’t stop until they make sure you find a home. Because they are ‘heroes’. If you find a human family, and they find out, they can tell them; about you being Captain Marvel, and get you grounded. Which would be detrimental to your position as Champion of Magic; and, therefore, all Magic.”

They met eyes. “But if you stay, they can’t do anything. They cannot take you away, we’ll always find you. They cannot ban you from heroism, we won’t let them, you’ll be a hero for as long as you want. And if they try to ‘kick you out’ or to put you in a different team or treat you different because of your age...”

Hermes completed the thought, “We have a lot of connections, we ARE connections. If they try to leave you without resources, we’ll leave them without help.”

“Okay, pause.” He stopped them from trying to convince him further, “I’m in with no needing to worry about rest, food, or the JL. HOWEVER,” he continued before Mercury could celebrate, “... The ‘leave them without help’, I’m not down with that. They are still heroes, they need the resources to help more people, so... Instead of ‘make it impossible for them to be heroes’, just ‘not help them if they ask’ and ‘leave them to get the resources by their own’? Please.”

He looked towards the god king, “You are too kind for your own good, Billy.”

“Wasn’t that a requirement for the Champion position?” He pointed out.

They sighed, “Fine. If they terminate your position as a teammate; downgrade you; or act different towards you, because of your identity, the Greek and Roman pantheons will cease any help towards them. Leaving them to their own resources.”

“That’s better. Now, where do I have to sign?”

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

Prompt:

Second part:

[younganonymus]

I am not so sure about that… I think I would look ny partner’s up to find “tips and tricks” (more like “ways to comfort”), so she has less struggles throughout the day and can feel safe and secure around not me, not fearing having an attack because of me/unwisely chosen words. But I do not want to look up her signs of the illness, probably just the definition, because I do not want to see her as a walking sickness/stigma. She is a human person and I always thought of illnesses as side effects, something we can not choose. Plus I think I would rather date a girl that also has some kind of mental illness, I guess ?best? would be the same as me, so first of all it does not get boring, secondly so I do not have to explain myself over and over again or fear rejection, but mainly so we both can be ourselves and help each other by comforting one another without keeping secrets in order to not upset the other resulting in a breakup. (Meaning I think I would rather have a girlfriend with for example borderline personality disorder and/or depression, so I don’t have to hide mine and pretend I was always healthy and well, as well as already knowing how to take care of those things, how to handle them and not needing to explain myself for how or why I think the way I do. … Aaaaaand I find it more interesting, I guess, when she has mood swings I can take care of and learn how to deal with. {^,^} Having a mentally well girlfriend probably would be nice, but I could never fully relax and would always hide my problems, but if she has something herself, I don’t have to feel bad for being sick.

So gimme a girl/lady I can take care of, that needs comfort and help and that I can be her shoulder when she needs to cry, her safety haven, her warmth throughout the day and night, the person she CAN get mad at without days of regretting it, her jokes and silliness to cheer her up, the two arms (and legs) that always want to hold her and her dancing partner for whenever the time is right.

people who do their research on the mental illnesses that their partner/friend has, deserve the entire world

[in1-nutshell]

Request juno struggling with being pregnant

There have been too many request about this. Just going to combine all of them here!

Hope you enjoy!

5 Things that have happened during Juno's pregnancy

SFW, Platonic, Pregnancy, Familial, Romantic, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

The following are just some of the events that happened during Juno’s pregnancy.

1. The new schedule adjustments

Now sparked, Juno was advised to take some of her usual tasks a bit easier or ask for help in doing heavier things.

They understood and tried getting used to the temporary change.

Rodimus wanted them to just focus on the sparkling instead of doing work, this ended up with a day’s long argument between the couple.

It ends up being resolved with a compromise with Juno doing more of the tasks that have them at the desk.

They won’t admit it, but they are grateful for the change when their pedes and frame starts to ache and pulse dully.

Juno gently slumps on the berth with their optics shut. They feel a familiar warmth sitting next to them while gently rubbing a thumb on the side of their helm. Juno barely cracks an optic open. Juno: “Roddy?” The familiar chuckle confirms it. Rodimus: “Rough day?” Juno groans. Juno: “More of a sore day.” Rodimus: “You know, you can always—” He stops when he sees them glare slightly at him. Juno: “Roddy we’ve talked about this.” Rodimus just shrugs. Rodimus: “Can’t blame a mech for trying.” They both laugh a bit before getting ready to go to sleep.

2. Protective Rodimus unlocked

Rodimus had always been a bit protective over Juno, even before they were a couple.

When Juno was his friend, he saw it fitting to be their friend that could protect them while giving them a good time.

A knight in shining armor that would occasionally flirt once feelings started blooming.

The protectiveness ramped up once they had their run in with the DJD.

Rodimus understood that Juno could handle themselves… but the image of their limp and battered frame would be seared in his mind.

Now with a sparkling on the way, the protectiveness skyrocketed.

But he wasn’t going to go overboard and smother them, just heavily hint on things that would keep Juno and the sparkling safe and healthy!

He wants this to be as safe a pregnancy and delivery as possible.

Rodimus figures that this something he couldn’t screw up.

Will pick Juno up if they are feeling particularly achy or tired.

Has talked with Drift and Ratchet about what else he can help with the pregnancy.

Massages when they are alone in the habsuite.

Juno is sitting up against the wall of the berth while Rodimus gently starts massaging their pedes. Rodimus is humming a tune. Juno tilts their helm a bit and gently strokes his helm fins. He stops and looks at them. Rodimus: “Joony? You need something?” Juno shakes their helm. Juno: “Just wondering.” Rodimus stops the massage and gives them his full attention. Rodimus: “Wondering what? Is it the bitty? Did the energon not sit right? Is it too cold—” Juno: “Roddy! Its not that. Huh, I’m the worrier not you hun.” Rodimus huffs a bit. Juno: “Just wondering how lucky I am to have you by my side.” They chuckle feeling Rodimus’s frame growing warmer and pulls him to a hug. Rodimus: “I should be the one wondering that Joony.” He wraps his arms around them and doesn’t let go.

3. Perceptor

Perceptor started off distant from his sibling during the first weeks.

Always in the lab, even more than usual.

It worried Juno a lot and made them upset.

He wasn’t answering his messages or com lines.

Was he mad at them?

Was he mad at the sparkling?

They had tried to go to the lab, but no one let them within 10 feet from it.

Apparently the Co-Captains finally agreed on something for once…

Brainstorm gets one whiff of this and forcefully drags Perceptor with Rodimus so the siblings could talk.

Juno has to break the tension and bluntly states they know he is mad at them, but they could really use their big brother right now.

Percy is taken back stating that he isn’t mad.

Juno demands to know why he was being so distant.

He shyly hands them a data slug.

They plug it in and it has blue prints and plans for cribs, toys, alarms, etc for the sparkling.

He just wanted to take some load off Juno’s shoulders.

Perceptor is pulled in the biggest and tightest hug he had ever received from a crying Juno. Perceptor pulls from the hug. Perceptor: “There is one thing I must ask from you.” Juno: “What is it?” Perceptor: “Do not name the sparkling Hot Rod.” Juno cracks a smile. Perceptor: “Promise me Juno.” They give him a cheeky smile. Perceptor: “I mean it Juno!”

4. The habsuite

Juno and Rodimus taken on themselves to re organize the habsuite to fit in their newest member.

They would all share the habsuite until the sparkling was a bit older to handle sleeping in a habsuite alone.

Rodimus wanted to repaint the room.

Juno agreed and decided to reorganize some of their lighter things.

Rodimus gets mad if they even try to touch something heavy.

When word gets around that the pair was remodeling their habsuite, there are some bots who show up to lend a servo.

They all get the room repainted and reorganized with the sparklings things in record time.

Juno spots a box with some data pads. They try and pick it up but Nautica picks it up. Nautica: “Didn’t Rodimus say for you to sit down?” Juno: “Its just a small box Nautica, I think I can handle it.” Juno tries to take the box. Rodimus suddenly appears from behind. Rodimus: “Juno!” Juno: “ACK!” Rodimus steadies them before they slip on a rouge marker. Rodimus: “Sorry about that—hey why aren’t you resting?” Juno has a servo over their spark and tries controlling their vents. Juno: “You know, sitting sounds really nice right now…”

5. Sparkling shower

It was now about halfway into the pregnancy when Juno finally gave in and gave Rodimus the green light to throw a party for the bitty.

They had refused to do a party in the beginning, mainly because they didn’t feel comfortable.

Rodimus whined a bit but respected their wishes.

Once he gets the word, on the condition that Magnus, Megatron and Ratchet would inspect it, he takes off.

Magnus does a double take when Rodimus actually fills out a form CORRETCTLY with minimal mistakes and errors.

Now if he could only do this with his regular work…

Rodimus gets Swerve and Drift involved in the party planning.

After a couple of changes by the three mechs, the party is a go.

It was a small group that came in after hearing that no engex was going to be served at the bar.

Juno had made it clear they did not want any drop of engex being served, the smell made them purge their tanks.

Thankfully the group consisted of most of their friends.

Gifts were brought to the party.

Rodimus hands Juno a gift box. Juno: “This one is from… Whirl?” Whirl raises his cube on energon. Whirl: “That’s mine alright!” Rodimus looks at the box cautiously as Juno opens it. They take out a sparkling carrier. Juno: “Aww, this is adorable and handy! Thank you Whirl!” Whirl: “Read it!” Juno looks closer at the small writing on the back. Juno: “PILF?” Whirl: “That’s Parent I’d like to—” Perceptor, Magnus and Cyclonus quickly try and shush the copter bot. Tailgate: “Cyclonus what does that mean?” Juno: “I’m with Tailgate, what does that mean?” Rodimus just laughs loudly while covering their audials. Rodimus: “You don’t need to know that!” Juno: “Roddy? What—” Rodimus: “You don’t need to know that!”

Guess which cat is Juno and Rodimus...

[mllemaenad]

Okay. Hang on. Hang on.

Can we rein this in a little? What happened with the griffons was a terrible tragedy, and definitely not on the list of things we want to repeat.

But muttering darkly about "what Isseya did" isn't helping anyone. Isseya was trying to save Tainted griffons who were on the brink of death. Even when the order was expanded to Join griffons who weren't Blighted, the intent was to use it on older or badly wounded griffons. They were trying to squeeze one last fight out of Wardens and griffons who were basically done, and they were only doing that because they were running out of options.

The Grey Wardens absolutely thought they were keeping younger, healthy griffons who could continue to make more baby griffons well free of it. That it turned out that the Taint could spread from a Joined griffon to a non-Joined one, even to a non-Joined one they thought they'd kept isolated, was a shock to everyone and the cause of tremendous grief. Most of the final chapters of Last Flight are just ... this outpouring of grief over dying griffons; griffons they have to euthanise; griffons they thought they'd kept safe.

And they very much were treated as friends! In some ways the degree to which they were loved was almost the problem: they were treated as fellow Grey Wardens, as brothers and sisters in arms. A Warden's oath was a griffon's oath. As the Fourth Blight dragged on and everyone started to think this might be the end of the world, the "in death, sacrifice" part of the Warden's oath got taken very seriously. So Warden and griffon might as well go out together, in one last ditch effort to save everything.

It's very easy to learn the wrong lesson from this, if you start painting Isseya as evil, or thinking that the Wardens somehow didn't love the griffons enough.

Griffon and Warden are parallels. While I still think a lot of good comes out of the Wardens, it's worth remembering the sheer desperation they came from.

A hundred years into the First Blight, a group of soldiers gave up allegiance to their homelands and experimented with drinking darkspawn blood – until they found something that didn't immediately turn them into ghouls, but made them darkspawn enough to kill an Archdemon.

It shortens their lifespans, it renders them infertile, it eventually drives them mad – and they reach a point where they must find death to avoid becoming a ghoul themselves. Wardens end up where the griffons did, eventually.

It's the barest bloody luck that Taint can't spread from a Grey Warden to another person. Something like that could still happen, one day, if we don't end the Blights for good. This stuff is made from the tormented dreams of broken gods. It could do anything.

So maybe lay off the Fourth Blight Wardens a bit, could we? We took down an Archdemon with almost stupid ease. They did not have that luxury. You see how well you cope, when you're the only thing stopping the world from ending.

[manda-kat]

Sometimes you really just have to let people be mad at you.

I've known several people with anxiety, RSD and other personal hurdles that lead them to be super aware of tone changes and anything that may hint at a person being angry or upset at them. A lot of those relationships didn't end very well, but hey- my heartbreak can be your learning opportunity! (This is especially important if you know you have a tendency to overthink relationships)

It's okay to just let the other person be mad at you!

Here's a story that's happened to me a few times. Someone meets me, becomes my friend and everything is great until one day I suddenly change. I give them a weird tone or I don't respond like I usually do. I must be angry at them. They ask if I'm angry at them. I say no. They aren't convinced. Every time they ask me, I tell them I'm fine. They don't know how to make me tell them what's bothering me. I become more distant every time they ask. Finally it comes to a head and they're convinced I hate them and they've ruined the entire relationship by being a terrible person.

Meanwhile, on my side of things, we're both enjoying life until one day out of the blue they ask if I'm angry at them. I have no reason to be angry at them. I say no. They continue to ask over and over again, each time getting reassurance that I'm not angry. It comes to a point where I'm pretty sure I must be doing something to upset them, but I have no idea what. We both become convinced the other person hates us.

If you ever feel stuck in this kind of situation, please try to just let it go. When you ask 'are you mad at me' and they say 'no'- take it as a no! You might not be as good at reading emotions as you think you are. Me personally? I have trouble expressing my emotions- especially over text. But for some reason, telling them that didn't help. They were convinced that they knew how I felt and that I was lying about not being angry.

So if you ask someone 'are you mad at me?' And they lie and tell you 'no'... that's a them problem. Either they don't want to push the issue OR they actually aren't upset at all. Either way, they won't want you to keep asking. If they're mad, let them be mad. They'll get over it easier if you don't keep bringing it up.

They're a big, mature person who can make their own emotional choices and can pick their own battles. If they AREN'T mature enough to deal with their emotions in a healthy way, then forcing them to keep addressing those issues is only going to upset both of you!

You don't need to face their feelings for them. They don't need to admit their frustration with you. If they're hiding their own feelings, then it's usually out of kindness. You don't need to know every single time someone is mad at you. That sounds like torture. Your friends don't want to torture you.

If you keep asking and pushing, then when you do finally upset them, they won't feel safe telling you because you've convinced them you're emotionally needy and can't handle negative feedback. Even if you're just trying to be mature, you can end up convincing them of the opposits.

Your relationships are going to develop their own spoken and unspoken rules over time, but a good rule of thumb is: ask once. If you REALLY think they're being dishonest with you, ask again, making it clear that you just want to make sure you haven't done anything wrong. If they insist they're fine, then they're fine. Move on.

It might be hard to just take someone's word for it and it feels like open communication may be the only way to keep a healthy relationship, but sometimes you need to have a little faith in your friend. Sometimes you need to be able to let sleeping dogs lie. If it's important enough for them to tell you, trust them to tell you.

Don't overcommunicate your friendships to death.

[darling-archeron]

@littedidyouknow, surprise! I was your Secret Santa for @acotargiftexchange. I had so much fun writing this fic for you. We talked about how you liked hurt comfort and would change how some of feysand's trauma was handled, so I combined that with some holiday fluff. This is chapter 1/3. I hope you enjoy - happy holidays!

With every solstice, it seems the Inner Circle grows. As Nyx's first solstice approaches, Feyre and Rhysand celebrate holiday traditions, both new and old, while grappling with unhealed wounds.

After a night of fitful tossing and turning, it was safe to say that when light streamed through the bedroom window, Feyre wasn’t ready to face the day.

Between Nyx’s fussing, Rhys’s restlessness, and her bad dreams, she would have been just as well off not going to bed at all. All week, she had felt drained, and last night had been no different.

At least, Nyx was often good about sleeping soundly in the morning. A true Night Court child, it was the late hours that kept him awake. Judging by the slant of the sun – or what she could glimpse of it, through her barely-open eyes – she and Rhys should have another hour of peace.

Rhys, it seemed, had also managed to fall into a fitful sleep at last. Despite his tossing and turning, he had still ended up nestled in her arms.

Right where she liked him. Surrounded by his warmth. Close enough to feel his heartbeat.

She had tried to keep her unrest concealed from Rhys. She wasn’t sure why – they didn’t keep things from one another. She knew he would listen in quiet understanding to whatever she was feeling. But she got the sense he had been feeling the same way – even if he didn’t show it in his waking hours, his fitful sleep was enough of an indication.

Even so, knowing she wasn’t alone in her unrest didn’t stop her from feeling completely ungrateful and selfish.

This time of year was supposed to be for celebration and thankfulness. And yet, here she was, with everything she could want in the world – a family, a home, peace, a loving mate, and a healthy child – and she still felt…discontented. Heavy.

A little haunted.

Gods, she was ungrateful.

More long minutes passed until she felt Rhys stir beside her.

“Good morning, love” he murmured, though he sounded as exhausted as she felt, even as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

She mumbled something barely coherent back, leaning into his touch.

“Sleep well?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, sounding a little more awake. Of course, they were both used to getting up during the night to calm down Nyx when he woke. This was different.

“I’m just so tired,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Did I keep you awake?” he asked with equal softness, pressing her closer.

“No, I don’t think I would have slept either way.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the drowsiness away while cringing against the sunlight streaming in.

Noticing her squint, Rhys flicked his fingers, and the heavy navy curtains immediately snapped shut.

“What’s bothering you?”

“I think I could ask you the same thing.” He had dodged bringing the unrest up as much as she had in past conversations, which was unlike both of them.

“Avoiding the question, are we?” He kept his tone light, but Feyre felt the undercurrent of concern. On a different morning, she might have tried to continue to tease and play, but…she didn’t realize how much of her fear and exhaustion she had been keeping from him. How long until fate tried to tear them apart again?

It haunted her, to think of how they had cheated death thrice. They couldn’t be so lucky again.

“This probably sounds silly, and maybe it’s selfish of me. For the first time in years, it feels like there’s no major disaster looming. Everyone is healthy, and our relationships with the other courts and the continents are going well. I know I shouldn’t be anxious. But it’s as if…for the first time in years – I really have time to think about everything that’s happened. During the War, and after.”

Wordless for once, Rhys just held her, rubbing soothing circles up and down her back.

“I think I’m feeling the same way you are,” he finally said. “Our first few solstices together, the relief was outweighing everything. Surviving the war and everything that came before…”

And Nyx’s birth, too. He didn’t need to say it.

“I just felt so much disbelief that we had made it through, that we had each other. But now…I just keep thinking about all the ways things have gone wrong, all the ways things could go wrong. I know it doesn’t do any good. I don’t want to ruin the present, by dwelling on what-ifs. Perhaps it makes me ungrateful, to still feel grief now. But my mind…it keeps trying to drag me back to times I’d rather not remember.”

“No, Rhys,” Feyre interjected sharply – and she couldn’t deny how cathartic it felt, to hear her own doubts in him. And if she could reassure him – she could reassure herself.

This is what they did. Blamed themselves for things they shouldn’t, patched up each other’s wounds. Held each other through the dark.

It was comforting, to know that she wasn’t alone in her exhaustion. That Rhys was beside her, as he was in so many things.

“I understand,” she continued. “Now that things have settled down. It’s like I actually have time to process some of the things that happened. In a way that…I suppose I didn’t before. I suppose I didn’t want to tell you, to make you feel bad.”

That first solstice, after the war, everything had been so fresh, so new. There had been sorrow, yes, and a sense of loss, but the warmth of love surrounding her for the first time in so long had kept the cold at bay.

Her mate didn’t say anything, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Rhys didn’t say anything for a long while, but she could guess that his mind was half Under the Mountain.

“It’s nothing worth remembering,” he insisted, but she caught the way he stiffened.

Gently, she turned his head to face hers, their eyes meeting. “That doesn’t mean it won’t need a way to come out, one way or another.” If she could save him some nightmares tonight by having this conversation now…

“You’re the one who said you were tired, darling. I shouldn’t be putting on this you.”

She frowned. “Where is this coming from, Rhys? Let me share your burdens, as you share mine.”

Together, as they were in all things.

Still, he frowned. “I…I don’t know if I can right now. Maybe later?”

Rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back, she sent a pulse of understanding down the bond. He hadn’t wanted to talk last night, either, when she had asked him why he was restless.

He would be ready at some point, she trusted, but that conversation wasn’t what he needed right now.

“We can talk about something else. What about other Solstices - when you were younger? How did you celebrate – where did the snowball fight come from?” She asked to get his mind on more pleasant things, but also of her own curiosity. No matter how much she learned of her mate’s 500 years of life, it seemed there was always more to hear.

He considered the question, idly playing with a strand of her golden-brown hair. She snuggled up closer to his comforting warmth.

“When I was very young, my least favorite part was always the court parties I would have to attend. Long, drawn-out events, mostly in Hewn City. Mor and I would always try to sneak off, only for one of our parents or nannies to drag us back by our ears.”

“Your parents let a child attend revels in the Court of Nightmares?” she asked incredulously. She had seen parties there that bordered on orgies.

“Oh, we were sent to bed long before things were that wild. The night felt like it dragged on long enough as it was – once, Mor almost fell asleep, falling face first into her roasted duck.”

“As I’m sure is no surprise, my father wasn’t much of a family man. Certainly not by the time I was born. If it wasn’t for my mother, I’m sure we barely would have celebrated outside the Court of Nightmares. And my mother, for as much as her chosen family meant to her, quickly realized that the strife of getting my father to stop thinking about politics for one day was more trouble than it was worth. When I was training in Illyria, it often got a little quieter around Solstice. For most, it was their only leave for the year. I was one of the lucky ones, with my mother living in camp, and my father occasionally dragging me away for one of his own lessons…”

“What a lucky little High Lord, getting special privileges,” Feyre teased, flicking his nose.

Rhys scoffed. “If you can call sitting through endless meetings in the Court of Nightmares, or being chased through the woods by whatever my father decided to send after me “special privileges.”

“But what I meant was that Cassian didn’t have any family they cared to visit outside of the camps. So there were years when it was just my mother and the two of us – later the three of us, once Azriel showed up. She would make special treats, and always sewed new clothes for the three of us. I wish I could say our gifts were always as thoughtful.” He chuckled. “At the very least, she always made a show of being pleased with whatever we had come up with. Those are some of my favorite Solstice memories.”

She felt his mental presence gently slipping through the walls of her mind, sharing a memory through his eyes, of his mother and his brothers, eating cookies and sharing presents by the crackling fire.

“I swear, I never would have thought such a thing was possible, but after my sister was born, she softened my father. When Celeste was young, there were a few years when the four of us would get together in Velaris. My sister would throw a fit if my father didn’t make some kind of effort to be with us through the holidays – and with anyone else, I would have sworn the holiday would have been better without the prick. But…he was kinder to her. Like he wanted to give her the childhood the rest of us hadn’t been afforded.”

Feyre listened attentively; hand braced gently on his arm as Rhys immersed himself in the years long past. 

“Celeste loved the holidays. Loved any reason to celebrate. Her favorite tradition was always baking, and she’d stay in the kitchen for hours and help my mother and the servants prepare dessert. When she got a little older, she would always try and join my brothers and I during our snowball fights. I would usually tell her to stop being a pest. But Az…he was the good one. He would let her join his team, pummel Cass and I. Of course, we’d always tell him that his win that year didn’t count, since he had extra help.” Her mate smiled at the memory.

“What else?” Feyre asked softly, eager to learn more pieces about the girl she had never met.

“She loved to ice skate. That was usually what the two of us did together.”

“You? On ice skates?” Feyre couldn’t help but interject in disbelief, incredulous at the idea of Rhys gliding across the ice. Not that he wasn’t graceful, but it didn’t exactly fit in with the idea of Illyrian brute strength.

“You doubt my abilities? I was an excellent skater. I’m the one who taught Celeste.”

She pictured Rhys, the dutiful big brother, spinning around on the ice with his sister, faster and faster, both of them laughing and carefree.

“You said you were an excellent skater. Are you still?”

“I haven’t done it in years, but you should know I’m a quick study,” he said slyly.

“Would you want to pick it up again?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why don’t we do all of those things. The skating, the baking,” Feyre suggested.

He didn't answer for a moment, turning over her words, and Feyre was struck by the thought that he might not want part in these traditions with anyone other than his sister, that she was invading on a treasured memory.

Before she could brush her words away, change the subject, a smile played at Rhys's lips.

“You wouldn’t be bored? Doing all of these old traditions with me?”

She shook her head. “Of course not! And…I think it would help me, too, to spend time with you. To just be. I’ve been trying to stay so busy and focused on the future, our future, but…I can’t outrun everything. Maybe, if we can find some time, it could be good. To just be together, in the moment.”

And maybe if they were lucky, the magic of Solstice could bring a little healing to them both.  

"I'd like that a lot. We could bring Nyx along, too.”

“There are three days until Solstice. How many activities do you think we can fit in?”

“You’re in luck, my darling wife. As an early birthday present, I’ve cleared both of our calendars. Now, I’ll admit the activities I had in mind originally were a little more…physical,” he said, and she was very aware of his hand creeping up the side of her shirt, “but…few things would make me happier.”

“Well then, it sounds like a plan,” Feyre said, pressing a long, slow kiss to his mouth.

And for the first time in days, she felt lighter.

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[signedjehanne]

people on tumblr will literally post things like “you have to eat vegetables and expand your palate i dont care if you are a picky eater because of autism (if i can overcome it you can too)” and everybody will reblog it being like “yes this is true for everybody no matter what” and think its okay. like sorry but that wont work for everyone and there is no one size fits all and some people will never be able to eat these things no matter how hard they try. im only allowed by my doctors to eat recreationally and not for nutrition, because my ARFID is so severe that i get my nutrition solely from a specially made formula drink. your suggestions of “try vegetables roasted!” or “try them in soup!” and assurances of “i did it, you can too!” don’t work for those of us with more severe mental illnesses and disabilities. stop tying a person’s worth to their diet and stop assuming everybody has the ability to do what you can.

[canisalbus]

have vasco & machete ever gotten into any big arguments?

.

[lunarubra]

@mischievouslittlecreature Oh my freaking God, the way I loved this chapter. Lily just... WOW

First, I love, adore, and am absolutely terrified by the way you’ve presented Mosley to us. I can still feel the tremors running down my spine. The way you wrote him—disgusting yet utterly terrifying—is just brilliant.

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder, half expecting Mosley to appear spontaneously behind them. “He scares me a little, Tommy.” Her voice was a rough whisper, half ashamed at the omission.  “Me too.” That got her attention, and when she looked at Tommy, she noticed something almost unsteady under the guarded armor he kept carefully in place across his eyes. Fear squeezed at her throat. 

Gosh, this part! Especially when Tommy admits he’s afraid—it’s so powerful and different from the series. In the show, Tommy never seems to value his life, so no one truly scares him because he acts like he’s already dead. But here, it’s different. They’re together, leaning on each other, and for once, they care. I swear, Lils, if Mosley even touches Lucy, I will cut him myself. I just want to see her healthy and safe, at least for this season. They really have no idea what they’re in for, do they?

The smut was as intimate, precious, and hot as ever—girl, I missed those two! They’re like naughty cats who can’t keep their hands off each other, still acting like teenagers who can’t control their hormones. Do you have your spray bottle on hand?

But I have to say, my favorite part was the final conversation between Lizzie and Lucy.

Fucking finally!!! 

How immature can Lizzie be? I’d love to meet her supplier because whatever she’s smoking to live in this fantasy world where she and Tommy are a real married couple is wild. Honestly, how many times does it need to be spelled out to her? What doesn’t she get about a marriage of convenience? They’re not together; she’s not his wife! I swear, I was thrilled when she decided to leave for a few days—good riddance.

And Lucy? She nailed it. I loved how she stood up for herself and called Lizzie out on her bullshit. Finally! Lucy, keep it up and don’t let her guilt-trip you into anything, please.

I can’t wait to see where this story goes next—this chapter is definitely one of my favorites! <3

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy meet a man dangerous enough to frighten them both, and Lizzie reaches a breaking point.

Word Count: 6,543

Warnings: Smut, polyamory, chronic pain, references to violence, past torture, and past sexual assault.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 2: Selfish

“Lizzie is going to be mad about that for a good long while,” Lucy commented, one hand stuffed into her trousers pocket while the other flicked ash from her cigarette down onto the cobblestones. Her eyes swiveled around, taking in the ash, flames, and glowing embers being emitted into the air by the nearby factories. All around them was the bustle of men and women going about their business, children with dirtied faces and knees marked up with scrapes and soot racing through the streets together. She dropped a few shillings into the cup of a young girl who wandered past them. 

The train station that they were headed to wasn’t particularly far, and it was good for the people to see Tommy out amongst them, walking to work and taking the train like any other ordinary working man. So when they could, they made the trek to the train on foot. 

She didn’t mind. It was nice to get out into the familiar smoky air, settled like a black cloud over most of Birmingham. Despite everything, it still felt like it was where she most belonged. In the dirt and flames of hell. 

Though it did mean that they had to keep a professional distance from each other. No hand holding or letting their sides brush and bump. They couldn’t risk looking suspiciously close. Not even in Tommy’s own kingdom of Small Heath.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed heavily. “But what else is fucking new?”

She cast him a regretful look. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? You didn’t even do anything.”

“It always feels like I’m the root cause of most of her anger towards you.”

“No; you’re not.” She felt him casting her a worried look. “It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe that. It would only upset him. And he didn’t need to be worrying about her feelings on top of everything else already on his plate.  

“She’s mad because you tell me things that you don’t tell her.”

“Which isn’t fucking new. That’s always how things have been. If she’s only realizing that now…”

“I think she’s more upset about it being thrown in her face than anything else.”

He shook his head, teeth grinding together. “I’m going to cuff Finn the next time I see him. Jesus Christ.”

“Arthur’s right about him needing educating. The kid can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” As she spoke, she rolled her right shoulder back and forth, trying to ease the twinge that had settled in it. Tommy huffed. 

“Yeah. I’ll put him in charge of running the football betting at the shop. Give him something productive to do.”

“Have Isiah keep an eye on him. They’re friends, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Tommy nodded. They caught the train just before it left the station, slipping into an empty compartment and closing the door, drawing down the blind that covered the window on the door, hiding them from any curious eyes that may have tried to peek in from the narrow hallway.

“May called earlier. She said that she was at a party that a couple other MPs were attending recently. One of them was asking about you,” Lucy settled into her seat, the train whistling shrilly before starting to move, steadily picking up speed as it pulled out from the station. 

“Oh?”

“Oswald Mosley. He’s the MP for Smethwick. Also the Minister of the Duchy of Lancaster,” she fiddled with her rings, twisting them anxiously around her fingers. “May had…a lot of bad things to say about him.” Another throb of pain rocketed from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the base of her neck, and she had to fight back a flinch. Fucking Luca. Dead and long gone, and yet still haunting her through the aches and pains that the torture he had put through had left. 

Just like Matthew, her former fiancé and the man who instigated the gang rape that left her nearly dead and fleeing to Small Heath to escape marrying him. He too lingered with her still–despite his deceased status–through the scars he and his friends had left all over her body.

I’m part of you forever, now, his and Luca’s voices, mingled into one, whispered inside her head where they now lived. 

“Lucy?” Tommy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his hand lightly touching her arm. She jumped a little, jerking back to life, eyes wide when they met his. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. What did you say?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she was pretty sure that he sensed the slight waver in her voice that she attempted to cover up. But he must have decided not to comment on it if he did. 

“What does Mosley want with me?” He instead repeated patiently. 

“He didn’t exactly say. But May said that he was asking an awful lot about your moral standings on things. She thought that he might’ve been trying to feel out if you would be amiable to joining the new party he’s rumored to be building.”

“The fascists, you mean?”

“Yeah.” They had been sprouting up everywhere it seemed, lately. Germany. Italy. Even in England. It was spooky. “I could do some more research into him, if you think that it would be worth it.”

Tommy considered for a moment, blue eyes glancing out the window to observe the countryside they were whizzing by. “Yes, you do that. He’s gathering information about me, it would only be fair to return the favor.”

She nodded, a hand unconsciously going up to grasp at her still aching shoulder, trying to rub away some of the pain. But she never could seem to get the right angle…

“Are your shoulders bothering you?”

She looked up to find Tommy still watching her, observant eyes zoned in on where her fingers were subtly kneading. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, rolling the aching bone and muscle back and forth with a wince. There was no use trying to lie to him. 

“A little.” 

His head cocked, pushing up with his hands off the seat he was slumped in across from her to instead settle in the space next to her. “Here.”

“Tommy…!” she immediately started to protest, eyes going panickedly to the blinds covering the window of the door leading into their compartment. 

“Don’t worry. No one will see with the blinds closed. And we’re just passing country right now,” he nodded towards the window, which sure enough was only displaying green fields and farmland. “Let me help. If you don’t do anything for them, they’ll be killing you by this evening.”

Spoken from true experience. He’d seen her when the pain got really bad, leaving her unable to sleep or do anything other than cry and writhe, as if trying to get away from the pains wracking through nearly her entire upper back. 

Slumping in defeat, she nodded, turning to angle herself with her back facing him. His large hands found her shoulders, so big they nearly swallowed the entire expanse of each one in his palms–or maybe she was just that tiny. A small sigh of relief left her lips when he began rubbing gentle but firm circles into her skin, just like how the doctor had instructed him to when explaining ways to help reduce her pain. Slowly, he started to urge the tensed up muscles to relax enough to give her some relief. 

“Did you not do your stretches yesterday?” he asked. Lucy shook her head. 

“Forgot.”

She was supposed to do them everyday, to avoid things like this happening so frequently. But in all the chaos yesterday, they’d completely slipped her mind. And sleeping on the hard earth with nothing but Tommy to use as a pillow probably hadn’t helped things.  

“Hm. Sorry; I should’ve reminded you.”

“Not your fault.”

He pressed his fingers a little harder into her skin. “How’s that feeling?”

“Better.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just try to relax.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“You want me to stop?”

“...No.”

He chuckled, the first real laugh she’d heard from him since before yesterday, and rested his cheek against her hair while his hands continued to work. Lucy allowed herself to melt a little under his touch, for a moment not worrying about them getting caught together, or about Lizzie, or Michael, or the company. She was able to just rest. Even if only for a moment. All the while Tommy gently rubbed the pain from her body.

∗ ∗ ∗  

She so did love to watch Tommy speak in the house. 

He stood there, amidst the smoke emitting from cigarettes and pipes, glasses perched on his nose, notes held in his hand, his voice ringing out, deep and rumbling. Pretty, eloquent words. He had them all in the palm of his hand and he knew it, the men seated in the benches around him, and those in the observation area with her all clinging to his every word. And when he was finished, those on his side of the room cheered and rapped their hands approvingly against the wood of their benches, the entire room thundering with the sound. 

Lucy couldn’t help but think that the room looked like a theater. 

Who were they performing for? Themselves? Each other? The people in the observation booths? All of them at once? It was hard to say. 

She spotted him seated to Tommy’s right–her left. In the row below Tommy’s, the third man in from the aisle. His dark hair was slicked back, the mustache that decorated his upper lip meticulously groomed. One side of his lips pulled up at something Tommy said, his eyes gleaming. Lucy felt a shiver go down her spine. Humor may have been what was intended to cross his face, but those eyes of his were dead. No emotion to be found in them at all. They remained focused straight ahead as Tommy spoke, except for one specific, notable moment, when they flickered towards the observational benches where she, along with some secretaries, journalists, and other observers, sat to watch the men speak. Lucy swore that for a second their eyes met, before she hastily looked away from him and back to Tommy. Her skin crawled, the fine, fair hairs on the back of her arms standing up straight. Her very insides seemed to recoil, every instinct within her screaming to get up and run as far away from that man as she could possibly get. 

She kept her eyes glued firmly at Tommy for the reminder of the time spent in the house, despite originally going there specifically to observe Mosley.

She felt that she’d gotten all the information that she needed to about what kind of person he was from just that quick glance alone. 

Soon as they were done, she stood, gathering up her notes, tucking them securely in the crook of her arm and making for the exit where she would meet Tommy out in the hall. 

“How did I do?” he asked, once he found her standing at the usual spot where she always waited for him. Lucy caught herself wishing desperately that she could have pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Splendid as always, love.”

He looked away, lips twitching up slightly, clearing his throat bashfully. “Come on.”

Lucy smiled a little to herself at the reaction, falling into step beside him, heading in the direction of their office.  

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, as they walked.

“Sort of.”

His brow raised. “Sort of?” he quoted back to her.

“I don’t like looking at him,” she explained in a lowered voice. “He makes my skin crawl.”

“Mm.” Tommy hummed in agreement. 

“Lord Suckerby’s secretary said you’re welcome to come by anytime between now and the end of the day to see him,” she told him just as they were interrupted by a voice calling his name from one of the open doors they passed.

They stopped, turned, and were met face to face with Oswald Mosley, a barbed smile sliding into place across his features as those empty eyes bored into Tommy. Lucy’s skin roiled in response to his posh, clipped voice when he spoke, introducing himself and holding out a hand for Tommy to shake. His sly smile never once ceased, eyes never leaving Tommy’s as he took his hand and shook it firmly. 

“Let me just say, you’ve come to my attention,” the words were spoken in a croon, with the smallest of head tilts. Lucy couldn’t fully decide if the intended effect was supposed to be predatory, or seductive. 

Before Tommy could reply. Mosley’s eyes had snapped, sharp and quick, like a snake striking, to fix on Lucy. She had to fight back the urge to hide behind her lover’s back. The expression on Mosley’s face turned wolfish. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” She felt Tommy tense beside her at Mosley’s words. “Oswald Mosley,” he extended his hand towards her. Lucy felt ill at the thought of touching him, but forced herself to reach out and take his hand. It was cold as ice and dry as a bone.

“Lucy Winters,” she introduced herself, shaking Mosley’s hand once before letting it go, pushing away the urge to wipe her palm on her trousers. “I’m Mr. Shelby’s assistant.” 

Mosley’s eyes darted between them, one eyebrow quirking upwards, a smirk settling on his lips. “Hm. Lucky you, Mr. Shelby.” 

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Mosley, we have to get going.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But if you aren’t too busy, I would love the opportunity to speak with you more. Perhaps over drinks?”

Tommy considered. “You can call my office,” was all he ultimately said, hastily turning on his heel and starting down the hall again. Lucy hurried after him, not wanting to be left alone with Mosley. 

“You’re really going to meet with him?” she asked, once they were far enough away to be out of ear shot. 

“Just to hear what he has to say.” He looked over at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not sympathetic to his cause. But keep your enemies closer, eh?”

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder, half expecting Mosley to appear spontaneously behind them. “He scares me a little, Tommy.” Her voice was a rough whisper, half ashamed at the omission. 

“Me too.”

That got her attention, and when she looked at Tommy, she noticed something almost unsteady under the guarded armor he kept carefully in place across his eyes. Fear squeezed at her throat. 

A man who was bad enough to make Tommy so frightened was something she hadn’t even thought existed.

“You head on back to the office,” he said, changing the subject with a small clearing of his throat. “I think I’ll go see Lord Suckerby now.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” He shook his head. “I think it’ll make a stronger impression if I go see him alone.”

“You think he’ll give you any trouble?”

“Maybe. Depends on how hard he was hit by the crash.”

She frowned. She hadn’t really thought about that. Though she probably should have. “Everyone was hit by the crash.”

“Yeah.”

“If Suckerby can’t pay us…”

“He will. I’m not giving him any other choice.”

She pressed her lips together in a small smile. “I’d like first crack at him, if it comes to it.”

Tommy shot her an amused look. “Oh, is that so?”

“After seeing those photos that he wanted us to get for him, there are a couple of things I’d very much like to do to him.”

During the train ride to London she had flipped through the small package of photographs, letters, and cheques that Isiah had handed off to her while they were in Birmingham. Everything he and Aberama had collected from the man they killed in Chinatown who had been using the contents of that package to blackmail Suckerby. Her stomach had roiled at the contents of some of them, bile rising.

Lord Suckerby was one disgusting man. Maybe after he paid them, an unfortunate accident could befall him. Like falling out a window or getting run over by a bus.  

Based on the thunderous, repulsed look that had crossed Tommy’s features when she showed him the photographs, Lucy thought he may very well be open to the idea. The envelope was now stashed safely in the inner pocket of her suit jacket, snug against her side. It would remain there until Suckerby paid what he owed them for their services.

“Alright,” Tommy said, eyes still dancing with fond, quiet mirth. “He doesn’t corporate, he’s all yours.”

She beamed, only just managing to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck, stretching up on toes, and planting a firm kiss to his temple that would have left his fair skin stained with red smudges from her lipstick. “Thank you, Tommy,” she said instead, adding what she hoped came across as a playful, affectionate lilt to her voice. He glanced over at her, one edge of his lips nudging upwards, eyes softening. 

They came to a hallway splitting off into two separate directions. This was where they parted ways. Her, turning left to head to their office, him, heading right, towards where Lord Suckerby’s offices were located. 

“I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ll phone his office when I get in and let them know you’re coming. So they’ll be expecting you.”

“Right.”

“And then you have a few more meetings this afternoon.”

“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “I thought that we’d stay at the apartment for the night, rather than go back to Arrow House.”

“That probably would be a good idea. It’d give Lizzie some time to cool down.”

“Exactly.” 

She nodded, moving to head in the direction leading to their office. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She walked backwards a few paces, fondly watching his broad back disappear around the corner before turning and making her way the rest of the short walk back to the little corner of Parliament that they presided over. 

∗ ∗ ∗

She had not been back in the office long when Tommy returned, heavy footed steps booming against the floor and swiping his fringe from his eyes. 

“How did it go?” Lucy asked, looking up from her desk.

“By the time I left the room, he was screaming my name,” he thumbed a cigarette from his silver case. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a euphemism?”

Tommy snorted, plucking out a second cigarette to hand to her. “He only had twenty thousand to give to us.”

“Really?” That wasn’t even half of the fifty thousand pounds they’d agreed upon. She placed her cigarette between her lips and leaned forward towards the flame of his lighter when he held it up for her. “Does that mean I get to play with him now?”

Tommy chuckled, raising the lighter to his own cigarette before closing it with a click. “Easy, girl. I gave him until Monday to get us the full amount.”  

She pouted a little, leaning back into her chair. “You’re going soft, Shelby.”  

“No,” Tommy’s eyes danced amusedly. He reached out, brushing his thumb down her cheek. It was a risky move, since anyone could walk through the door at any moment, but she didn’t pull her face away from the tender touch. “I just want my fifty thousand pounds.”

“Mm. Whatever you say, love.”

His thumb inched into dangerous territory, ghosting over her bottom lip. She aimed a playful nip at it, and he drew his hand back with a grin. 

“Cheeky mare.”

Lucy smiled at him, batting her eyelashes innocently in an ‘I’m-very-sure-I-don’t-know-what-you-mean’ kind of way. Though remnants of his smile lingered on his face and his eyes remained softened fondly, Tommy’s expression turned serious again.  

“Hey, make that research into Mosley top priority, yeah? I wanna be ready when I next see him.”

“Yes, boss.” She gave him a little two finger salute. The corner of his lips kicked up again.

“Thank you.” 

She watched him head through the double doors into his office, leaving them open behind him, a silent invitation for her to come keep him company if she wanted. Gathering up some of her papers, she rose from her chair to follow him. 

It was, after all, an invitation that she never passed up. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

It was dark by the time they started to pack up to leave for the day. Tommy had one final appointment, but Lucy figured she would get a head start on closing the office up while he spoke with the journalist from the London Times. She eyed Michael Levitt as Adam–Tommy’s other secretary at Westminster–led him into Tommy’s office, noting the nervous way that the journalist  kept fidgeting with his hat while he waited. A moment later, Adam came back out, casting an anxious look over his shoulder to where Levitt had taken a seat in front of Tommy’s desk. 

“Mr. Shelby said I was to go home,” he came over to her desk, keeping his voice lowered. She nodded.

“Then go home. I’ll take care of locking everything up.”

“Right.” 

She watched him gather up his things and head for the door, one ear focused on trying to overhear the mumbled voices of Tommy and Levitt. “See you tomorrow,” she told Adam.

“Goodnight,” he nodded. Soon as he was gone, she stood smoothly, snatching up the little journal perched on the corner of her desk and going to Tommy’s office. He had left the doors open, so she was able to slip in without so much as a sound, footsteps muffled against the rugs lining the floor. 

Levitt was visibly sweating, stuttering over his words. Lucy raised an eyebrow, going to where Tommy’s coat was hung up to his right behind his desk. She slipped the journal into the pocket, giving it a tap twice, watching out of the corner of her eye how Tommy’s gaze followed her. He gave a barely indiscernible nod in acknowledgement, and she spun on her heel and left the room, letting her eyes meet the timid Levitt’s for a second before turning her head away. 

She flitted around her and Adam’s office, putting things away and locking them up for safe keeping, even doing some tidying. The whole time, she listened closely to the words being murmured between Tommy and the journalist. At one point, not long before Levitt rushed from the room, she heard Tommy quoting directly from some of the notes she had written in the little journal during her time spent researching Levitt and his activities. 

Soon as he was gone, she locked the door behind him and went back to Tommy’s office. 

“I take it that could have gone better?” she moved to stand on his side of the desk, arms folded over her chest and back leaning against the hard wooden edge. Her head cocked as she watched him rub at his eyes. 

“He was asking about Campbell and Polly.”

“I heard. You want him to be taken care of?”

Tommy wetted his lips, considering. “Yes,” he decided. “Last thing we need is a reporter sniffing around.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem like the type that we could just pay off. I’ll have some of our boys handle it at his apartment in Maida Vale. Quick and clean.” 

“Have them do it with enough flourish that it’ll make other journalists nervous. To dissuade anyone else from trying anything for a while.”

“But not easily linked to us, right?”

“Right. And let’s just keep it between you and me. Last thing I need is more temper tantrums over my not sharing information.”

“Okay.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, reaching out to smooth his hand up and down her thigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His arms looped around her, and she laughed quietly when he pulled her closer, his head tipping back to stare up at her, blue eyes wide and mischievous. 

“Adam went home?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…so it’s just us, then?”

Her fingers smoothed through his dark hair, fighting back a smirk. “Yes, it’s just us.”

With a purring sound from low in the back of his throat, he took hold of her hips and pulled her closer. 

“Tommy!” She laughed as he maneuvered her into his lap, as if this was not something they had done dozens of times before. As if she had not let him fuck her on top of his big desk the very first day they spent in the new office, her face burying in his shoulder with her teeth sinking into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to try to keep herself quiet while his cock pounded into her. 

He pushed open her suit jacket, popping free the first two buttons on her shirt and dipping his head to press his lips to the newly exposed skin. Wriggling in his lap, Lucy hissed at the feeling of his cock already hardening in his trousers, the material bulging against her. 

Tangling her hands in his hair, she tipped his head back enough to kiss him, moaning softly as his hands smoothed up her thighs, urging her to rock against him and fumbling with her belt. It was late, most people working in the building would have already gone home for the evening. But they still needed to be quiet. 

“Mm, did you lock the door?” Tommy asked in a low, rough murmur that went straight to her cunt, walls fluttering around nothing. The things he could do to her with just his voice alone were downright sinful. 

“Yes.”

He made a noise of approval that turned her legs to jelly. “Good,” he lifted her from his lap for a microsecond to slip her loosened trousers and knickers down, hand burning hot where it slid up her exposed thigh. “Always such a good girl for me.”

“A-ah…” her head lolled back, eyes rolling both at the praise and the first brush of his thick fingers across her entrance, circling lazily around her clit. 

“Gotta keep quiet, now,” he continued to mumble in her ear, breath warm where it fanned against her cheek. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded vigorously. That was all she wanted; to be good for him. To make him happy. 

Turning his head, Tommy pressed a kiss to her temple and gingerly slipped one finger into her while his thumb occupied itself with rolling over her clit. He kept his movements careful and slow until he got her more warmed up, waiting until slickness coated his hand generously before adding a second finger and increasing the pace of his pumps. 

“There you go,” he hummed when he felt her start to flutter around him. “There you go, that’s a good girl…”

“Tom…” she whimpered, biting her lip to try to keep herself quiet, not wanting to disappoint him by letting any sounds slip out to be heard beyond this room.

“I know,” he soothed. “That’s my girl. Bite down on my shoulder if you need to.”

She did just that, nosing the material of his clothing aside to taste his bare skin between her lips. Tommy groaned, low and quiet but impossibly deep, at the first sting of her teeth against him. Her walls tightened, moments away from bursting. His fingers curled within her, pressing right into the spot that made her see stars.  

“Let go,” he ordered in a sweet whisper aimed directly into her ear, and she bit down hard to try to hinder what would have been an incredibly loud moan as her orgasm wrecked through her like a firecracker, bright lights exploding behind her eyes, entire body shuddering with it, pressing close to him instinctively.  

Tommy guided her through it, slowly coaxing her down from her high until she slumped against him.

“Good. Very good, sweetheart.”

She made a happy little noise at the praise, snuggling closer to his neck, nuzzling at the bitemark she’d left on him. Tommy stroked the back of her head, kissing her hair. Sneakily, she snaked a hand down between their bodies to palm the bulge in his trousers, and it was his turn to try to stifle his noises of pleasure, teeth locking down tight around the groan rising from his throat. 

Arms wrapping around her, he lifted her seemingly effortlessly off of his lap, setting her down on the edge of his desk while he stood, hands dropping down to fumble with his trousers. Lucy felt her mouth water at the sight of his long, impossibly thick erection bobbing against his stomach after being released from its confines. Tommy gave himself a few good, languid strokes, jaw dropping open as his eyelashes fluttered, face inches from hers. Lucy spread her legs wider, encouraging him in between them. Her hands grabbed at handfuls of his suit jacket while he lined himself up, sliding in with one deep thrust. 

“Oh,” Tommy rested his cheek against hers, hands flexing where they landed on her hip and thigh. 

“Quiet, remember?” she teased slightly, trailing her fingertips through his hair. He shivered, letting out a breathless chuckle followed by a kiss to her cheek. Burying his face in her neck, hands bracing on her body, he started to move. She could tell that he was trying to start out slow and give her time to adjust to his considerable size, but all it took was her purposefully squeezing around his cock and wrapping her legs around his waist, and his efforts went up in smoke. 

He bucked into her like a man possessed, low grunts muffled against her throat, a few trinkets rattling on the desk from the force of his thrusts. Lucy tucked her face back in against his shoulder, biting down hard on her bottom lip to try to contain her whimpers and moans as his swollen tip rubbed right up against her g-spot with each roll of his hips. 

“Shit. Squeezing me so tight, love,” Tommy rasped out, hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Give me another one, yeah? I know you can, sweetheart.”

“Mm…” Her back arched, pressing her clothed breasts into his chest. Her legs tightened around him, and her jaw clenched with the effort it was taking for her not to let the volume of her noises get too high. His cock twitched and throbbed inside her, in the way that she knew meant his orgasm was imminent. The pleasure built like steam rising in a kettle, tension mounting until she felt moments away from bursting. Her walls spasmed uncontrollably around him, as if wanting to keep him locked in place within her for all eternity. Tommy hitched her thigh up a little higher on his hip, allowing his cock to get just that much deeper into her, and applied more pressure to her clit with his thumb. 

She came at the same moment that she managed to grab his face and bring his mouth crashing down onto hers, each of them swallowing what would have been massive moans as they both came fantastically. Her walls clamped down around him, insides fluttering with the force with which she came. Tommy’s chest vibrated under her palms with his growl as he finished, grinding his tip in as deep as he could go while spurting jets of seed into her. 

Lucy released a blissful sigh, closing her eyes and riding out the waves of her climax while basking in the feeling of him spilling his load into her. 

Tommy slumped forwards against her, face nestling in the crook of her shoulder, lips pressing to her neck delicately whilst he relaxed. His arms wound around her in a warm embrace, a quiet purr leaving his chest when she stroked the back of his head. 

“We should go,” Lucy finally broke the silence that had stretched on between them. Tommy nodded, shifting to carefully pull out of her, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening out his clothes. He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket for her to use to clean the mix of their releases from her thighs, then let her hold onto his shoulders when she hopped off the edge of the desk and regained her balance. 

“Have you got everything locked up?” he asked as she pulled her slacks back up.

“Yeah, just gotta grab a few things from my desk to take with us.”

“Good. I wanna get out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tommy Shelby eager to leave work? Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”

He rolled his eyes, giving her hip a light pinch. “No occasion.” He swiped a few locks of hair off of her forehead and cradled the back of her neck, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips while his eyes looked her up and down. There was something heated in them that made her thighs squeeze together. “Except that I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“You know, Frances, if there were to be a snap election in this house today, I wouldn’t win it. Even if I were running against the devil himself,” Tommy remarked to their housekeeper once they’d gotten home. Frances shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I’d still vote for you,” Lucy offered. Tommy gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, love.”

He went off to go talk to Charlie where he was sulking in the stables while Lucy ventured upstairs, wandering through the winding hallways until she heard the hum of Lizzie and Ruby’s voices. Coming to a halt in the doorway of Ruby’s room, she watched them where they were seated together in the rocking chair by the window, Ruby in Lizzie’s lap, head resting on her mother’s chest while Lizzie read to her from a book. 

“Hi, Lucy!” Ruby said when she spotted her. Lucy smiled.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Is Daddy with you?”

“He’s down at the stables.”

She let out an excited squeal, jumping off Lizzie’s lap and racing for the door.

“Ruby, what have I told you about running in the house!?” Lizzie shouted after her, but the little girl was already long gone. Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head and closing the book. As Lucy watched her stand to put it away on a shelf, she noticed Ruby’s suitcase laid out on the bed, half filled with clothes. 

“Going somewhere?”

Lizzie sighed, glancing over at the suitcase, then back at Lucy. “I’m taking Ruby to Arthur’s.”

Lucy stared at her. “Why?”

Lizzie’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “Because, I realized this afternoon that I’d rather swallow horse shit than sit down and eat dinner with you and him.” She began to zip up Ruby’s luggage. “I need to get away. From both of you. At least for a while.”

“You could have phoned and we would’ve stayed at the apartment in London like we did last night if you really don’t want us here this weekend.”

���I don’t know if it’s going to be for just one weekend.”

Lucy straightened. “What do you mean?”

Lizzie didn't reply. 

“You cannot be serious. Now, Lizzie? You want to toy around with the idea of splitting up with your husband now? Of all fucking times?”

“He made me look like an idiot at the family meeting!” Lizzie burst out, head lifting and tears in her eyes. “Everyone else knew about the bloody hit in Chinatown except for me! I am his wife! I should be informed of these things first! Especially before you!” The way that she spat out that last word, so full of hate and disgust, made Lucy flinch.  

“For fuck’s sake, Lizzie! There’s a lot of shit here that you are more than justified in being unhappy about, but this? Really? This is where you draw the line?” A humorless laugh left her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but him not telling you things is a normal occurrence. Ada didn’t know about what was happening in Chinatown either.” 

Lizzie looked away, irritably picking up a stuffed animal off of Ruby’s bed. Lucy took a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was much calmer. 

“This is not worth throwing a bloody temper tantrum over, Lizzie.”

“I’m tired of being disrespected,” she lifted her head. “I’m his wife, and he needs to start treating him as such.”

Lucy groaned, raising her palms to her face, fighting back the urge to scream into them. “Just once, could you knock it off with the attitude?”

“Easy for you to say, when you always get everything that you want–”

“Oh, do I, now?” Lucy rounded on her. “You think that this,” she gestured vaguely, “is what I want? To have to share him with a woman who openly hates me?”

“I don’t hate you–”

But Lucy talked right over her. “To have to live with the constant worry that you might push me out or he might change his mind and throw me out on the street? That it could happen like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And I could lose everything? Do you think that I wanted to live with that dangling over my head at all hours of the day, Lizzie?” She met the taller woman’s stormy eyes levelly. “We’re all getting a shit deal out of this, so stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself, and make the best of it,” she moved to the door. 

“You are so fucking selfish, you know that!?” Lizzie shrieked after her, finally fully exploding. “You sap up all his love for yourself and leave nothing for the rest of us! You don’t care that him spending time with you means he’s not here with his family! Those children,” she pointed towards the window that looked out to the stables, “deserve a father who prioritizes them over running after his fucking mistress.”

“Don’t you dare try to use the kids–”

“Well, somebody in this household has to advocate for them!”

“Don’t act like you aren’t just using them as a way to try to get what you want.”

Lizzie’s lips slammed into a thin line. “I’m going. And I’m taking Ruby with me.”

“But not Charlie?” Lucy challenged. 

“If I thought that I could take him without Tommy tearing me apart over it, I would,” Lizzie’s voice had suddenly grown very quiet. “I’d take the two of them far away from you both and never look back.”

Lucy shook her head, exhausted. “He’s not that bad, Lizzie. Compared to what he could be? He’s not that bad at all. He doesn’t hit you. He loves those kids…” she could see from the expression of stone on Lizzie’s face that none of her words would be able to reach her, and yet she tried anyway. “He’s got so much to deal with right now. Please don’t make it worse for him.”

Lizzie continued to just stare at her with a look of both extreme sorrow and loathing, and then she picked up Ruby’s suitcase and shouldered past her without another word.

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[giddlygoat]

hater has disturbing reoccurring dreams about wander crawling inside his ribcage that always have him waking up in a cold sweat [they just feel too real and hater can’t place why]. wander has reoccurring dreams of hater ceremoniously destroying him with the Disaster Blaster and it’s the one dream he doesn’t eagerly blab to sylvia about because he doesn’t know how to tell her that it never feels like a nightmare. soooo is anyone else sick in the head or is it just me

[sysig]

Caughtcha, gotcha, not letting go ♥ (Patreon)