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blarefordaglare · 1 day ago

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Capitalism In Hyrule (Or in other words: Chain plays monopoly)

Technically this was supposed to be posted Sunday... so SURPRISE! Based off of this lovely art by @whomst-dve

Read on AO3 here

As far as Wind can tell, this was not a normal evening. For two reasons.

First off, they finally had the luxury of stopping by an inn. Of course he wanted to complain about how sleeping on the cold, muddy ground twisted his spine beyond recognition, but he still stood straight. He also used up his weekly allowance of 10 lies. In one day.

And secondly, he also witnessed his brothers discover Board Games for the first time. In the past, he held a strong opinion they should be renamed to bored games; he witnessed Aryll take one-minute-too-long turns, and the tense silence, called contemplation, crawled into his skin every time. His knees would lock every minute, as he prayed his consciousness would slip, and as a result he’d achieve the luxury of skipping family time. Sorry, Grandma.

Noticing his thoughts wander, he resumed his observation of the game. Zeldopoly, a classic in his home, was laid across the large wooden table. Bills of rupees, surprisingly not gems, were either haphazardly scattered on the floor, or clutched in a tenacious grip. The sailor could feel the tension of the game rise, pieces practically being slammed onto the board instead of moved.

By the time Legend rolled the dice, the fun game turned to war.

GO TO JAIL was written in bold, blocky letters. The veteran’s piece covered the tip of the ‘J’, before the captain helpfully moved it to the opposite side of the board. Wind didn’t know what language the other was speaking, but the tone sounded furious. He was surprised the game board didn’t combust into flames then and there. Sky slipped out of his chair, muttering some lame excuse about getting a drink of water.

“That’s rough, buddy.” Twilight calmly wormed the dice out of the veteran’s white-knuckled grip, and tossed them onto the board. A one and a two stared at him. The light in his eyes dimmed, and Wind could hear the rancher’s heart crack.

“But I wanted Epona…”

He refused to even pick up one of the Empty Bottle cards.

The Hero of Time clapped his hands, enforcing the game to continue. It was Sky’s turn now, if Wind had been paying attention correctly.

The traveler looked around before resting a fist under his chin,“Where’d Sky go?”

The sailor took this opportunity to butt into the game, “Water. I can play in his place!” If only he chose to play the game as well; he felt stupid for refusing to play originally.

“No. You’d win.” Time rolled his eyes. Of course this game would make the old man turn competitive, “If we’re counting, it’s the champion’s turn.”

The champion in question had his face smushed into the table. Twilight poked his shoulder, but there was no response. Wind came to the conclusion that he was either dead, in the process of crashing out, or asleep. Whatever it was, he was slowing down the game. Do better Wild.

“So do we auction his stuff off?”

“Legend!”

…

Hyrule rolled a twelve. Perfect move. He made two hundred rupees, giving him just enough to afford a Great Deku Tree. That’s what would have happened, if he didn’t land on the Door Fee.

“Yay…” He remarked. Legend cackled.

…

Time landed on LonLon Ranch, and bought it without hesitation, death glaring at his descendant. Twilight strangled his own cash in response. As the old man stole a handful of money from the bank, Wind noted to never let him be a banker again.

…

Sky returned just as Warriors rolled a two, which would land him at Hyrule Castle. Four, fanned behind a colorful array of the paper-rupees, dropped his jaw. Legend owned the Temple of Time. If the captain bought the castle, then he would essentially ruin the veteran’s chance at winning–

The blonde man’s fists slammed against the table, “I’ll buy it!”

“No!” Legend screamed in whistle tones. Wind could hear the wolves bark outside.

Warriors grinned, “I’ll consider auctioning it… maybe.” His piece was still on the King of Red Lions, and the veteran knew he was still salty about paying a measly twenty-five rupees. Still having the dice in hand, he started lifting up each bill, examining it, before counting out loud.

“One… two… three…” his vowels were elongated to the point where he was singing them. Why did the captain have so many single rupees? The Hero of Time and his descendant didn’t blink as the minutes passed, the only sound that could be heard was the counting, “A… hundred… and… three~…”

If Sky had his imaginary glass of water on the table, it would have dropped from the force of Legend’s fist. Wind could hear the wood crack as the adventurer spat, “Move your stupid piece already!” Four glanced between the two heroes, giggling to himself at the drama. Wind couldn’t blame him, for he was invested as well. Sky was still standing at a slight distance from the conversation, his body practically boiling at the tension, “Uh… isn’t it my turn?”

Not even Twilight, with ears that could hear the softest of pitches, heard him above Legend’s breathing.

The captain batted his eyes, “I was just counting my money…” he scrunched his nose, and his eyebrows creased; soon his expression turned from innocent to teasing. “Can’t you be patient?”

Big mistake, Wars. Big mistake.

Legend heaved out a laugh, banging his fists onto the wood once more. The entire room shook– They should have made him take off all his power rings and bracelets before the game. “Oh, you want patience?” his face was red, knees bent as if preparing to pounce, “I’ll show you patience!”

The noise woke the champion up, before quickly knocking him back out as the table flipped. Thank goodness for Time’s quick reflexes– there would be hero pancakes if he didn’t pull the captain and Wind away in time.

Yup, definitely take away power items.

“You did this! Now give me that card!”

“For what? You ruined the game!”

Four took one glance at the mess, and facepalmed. The brothers continued their fight.

“This is all your fault! Your stupid counting ruined everything!” Legend yanked the captain’s scarf, before knocking him to the ground.

“Why you little–”

Warriors tripped the veteran, causing him to topple to the floor as well.

Zeldopoly, as it turns out, is very fun.

#lu wind #lu legend #lu warriors #everybody is here so might as well tag em all #lu time #lu twilight #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu four #lu fanfiction #lu crackfic #I hope you guys liked it :))

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shalottpress · 15 hours ago

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Trouble the Water Series by @themarydragon

Calm Waters Run Deep and The Quiet River Rages (along with the oneshot Remember the Spring) by @themarydragon are some of the first BotW fanfictions I encountered. The series just encapsulates Zelda’s POV during the series and these stories are cannon to me. I have reread this series multiple times and now can do so with these hardcover beauties.

These binds were heavily inspired by Taylor Swift and I went hard on the 'Zelda's Version' theme. For the covers I used the Midnights album cover as my initial design inspiration with the font and art combinations. For the typeset chapter headings I used the 'Taylors Version' font and line drawings of lilies to evoke silent princesses. I used lyrics from The Prophecy/The Archer for Calm Waters Run Deep as these are very pre-calamity Zelda coded to me, and then Sparks Fly/Peace for The Quiet River Rages as these really aligned with Zelda after she leaves the castle. These came together really beautifully in my mind and I love the final result.

I knew I wanted to do printed covers with art of Zelda on the cover and was looking for ages. The text blocks have been languishing on my shelf waiting for their covers to come since December 2024. When @eerna posted the amazing and thematically perfect before and after art I fell in love with the art and once I had permission to use the art, I couldn't make these covers fast enough. I am so glad I waited to make these covers. (So many thanks to @eerna for letting me use her gorgeous art in my covers once again!)

In terms of mistakes, casing as always was a bit of a nightmare. I had issues with my guillotine when I cut one of the text block slightly on the diagonal, rounded the spine and then had to unround the spine and fix my fuck up which I hope to never have to do again. It was better than printing a new text block but my gosh the stress. I also realised when I was uploading this I have used @themarydragon's Tumblr handle for the cover rather than MaryDragon which is her ao3 handle and used all inside of the books, but at this point I am going to have to live with that mistake!

Huge thanks to @themarydragon for giving me permission to bind these fanfics and to edit my copies to be editions that uses UK spelling!

More pictures and a video below the cut.

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hazyange1s · 1 day ago

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a house is not a home.

Summary: sebastian despises his uncle’s cottage and the unwelcome inhabitants that haunt it. weighed down by grief and self-hatred after his twin’s recent death, he begins to push away the one person he loves most.

the thing about a home, though: it’s not where you live, but wherever your heart lies.

Warnings: depictions of grief, post-traumatic stress, and depression, mentions (memories) of blood and death, and “fade to black” implied sexual content.

Rating: M

Tags: post-hogwarts, slight codependency, domesticity, established relationship, angst (lots of angst) with a happy ending (because I need to heal myself ok), hurt/comfort, unnamed mc (she/her pronouns), Sebastian’s pov, makeup sex, past character death — Anne haunts the narrative.

insp: ‘curses’ by the crane wives!!

*if you prefer to read on ao3

Red — it’s everywhere. Blinding him, pouring from his wounds, coating his hands.

Then green; a sickly, sinister, Slytherin shade like poison. It streaks across his vision, wraps around his wrists in shining bands, then pulls him down, down, down…

Way beneath the dirt, where they already lie. They’ve been waiting for him. Together, the skeletal hands drag him under with them until he chokes on his own bile and the musty soil, until he’s certain that Death has taken him, too.

Just when he takes his last breath to be wasted on a scream, he wakes.

Sweat coats every limb. He thinks that’s why his face is wet, too, but no — those are tears, he can taste the salt on his tongue as he draws in a haggard breath.

It’s such a relief to breathe again.

Swiping a damp sleeve across his brow, Sebastian lets the air out in a rush, glancing at the peaceful shape of her sprawled out beside him. In contrast, her breaths are slow, even, punctuated by soft little snores that bring a hint of a smile to his chapped lips.

You’re safe. You’re alive. It’s over, now.

(Is it, though?)

As if she can somehow sense his turmoil, she stirs, eyes cracking open before she blinks up at him with a bleary stare.

“Seb?” Her voice is hoarse with sleep. “Is everything alright?”

No. Things haven’t been alright for a long, long time.

He goes with, “Of course, love. I’m fine, just…go back to sleep,” instead.

Too tired to argue, she lets out a contented sigh and snuggles back under the covers. Sebastian almost shakes her awake again, almost crawls into her arms so she can hold him and comfort him; a familiar routine they’d started in fifth year when the nightmares had started for them both.

Except the very idea of her hands on his skin make his stomach twist into a Gordian knot. They’d remind him too much of the pairs in his dreams — which is probably why their bed has felt more like a graveyard than a sanctuary in the past weeks.

He’s careful not to disturb her as he slips out of the bed. It’s his; the same one he’d slept in since he was seven years old, just Transfigured to fit two people now, when before he and Anne had to pack themselves in like canned sardines to fit.

He got to rest beside someone every night now, while she lay alone in her coffin.

The thought propels him towards the kitchen sink. He folds himself over it, hands braced on the porcelain, and empties the remnants of his dinner into the basin until there’s nothing left. When it’s over, he rinses his mouth and splashes icy water on his clammy cheeks before sinking to the ground, back against the cabinets.

His hands are shaking. Sebastian looks down, counts his fingers.

One. Two. Three. I’m awake. I’m not dreaming.

For the briefest moment, he imagines them stained with red, and starts to feel a little green all over again.

——

The sky is a dingy gray on a late summer afternoon when he finally musters up the courage to enter the garden.

Back in the day, Anne had loved tending to the flora curling around the cottage’s stone façade and the tiny vegetable patch tucked behind it. It had provided a measure of solace when she’d been unable to return to school; trapped in the village with nobody but Solomon, the neighbors, and those blasted plants as company, but ever since it had suffered without her caring touch.

Sebastian doesn’t have the same green thumb, just a lot of determination to fix the eyesore it had become, a wide array of gardening tools (half of them he could hardly remember what they were for — he’d dropped Herbology in sixth year), and too much time on his hands until autumn arrived and he began his Cursebreaker training.

So, every day for the last month, he’s toiled beneath the sun and clouds to restore it to what it used to be…or at least, to some semblance of its former glory.

Perhaps once he removes the weeds, it’ll be a step towards removing all the other unwanted, invasive species that seem to be clinging to the stone.

Distant thunder rumbles as he trims the ivy along the tresses. It electrifies his skin, makes it itch and tingle — or perhaps it’s simply the nettles that have invaded every spare patch of real estate on the ground. By the time the first raindrop lands, cool and soothing on his nose, he’s moved on to pruning the heather.

Soft footsteps disturb the moist earth, barely audible amidst a crack of lightning from over the hill.

“Thirsty?” She stops at his side, handing Sebastian a cool glass of pumpkin juice that nearly slips from his fingers; dripping with condensation. Without so much as a glance her way, he takes a long, greedy swig.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Shouldn’t you be leaving for London soon?”

“I think Natty can handle picking up a birthday cake without my help,” she says wryly.

Her skirts rustle, dragging in the mud as she crouches down to admire his handiwork. Currently, he’s making an attempt to clear the old vegetable patch out so they can plant new seeds, but some of those stubborn weeds refuse to budge. His efforts show in the streaks of soil painting his corded forearms and the beads of sweat adorning his brow.

“It seems the great Sebastian Sallow has finally met his match: weeds.” She snorts. “You know, using magic might make this go a bit faster.”

He shakes his head, grunting out a half-hearted reply, “No. No magic. This needs to be done right.”

“Alright, then. Knock yourself out.”

When he doesn’t respond, she sighs and stands back up. He can feel the trepidation radiating off of her, since she hadn’t been able to hide a single thing from him in years — he deciphers every tone, sound, and mood as easily as reading an open book.

He isn’t a fool. He knows he’s been distant, knows he’s pushing her away, and yet something in him is powerless to stop it; as if watching himself from outside of his own body.

She’s too… good. Too loyal. Too devoted. So much so that she hadn’t left his side since the day Anne had passed; always ready to lend an ear or hand or shoulder to cry on. And Sebastian can no longer bear to accept any of it when he also knows she could do far better than someone who can’t win a fight against a bunch of stubborn plants and waters them with his own tears.

The silence stretches on for so long that he jumps when she speaks again. “If you’re coming with me, you should get cleaned up soon. I’ll run you a bath, if you’d like, and —“

“Not going.”

“What?” Her brow furrows. He doesn’t see it, but he knows. “Why not?”

“As you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

A hiss slips between his teeth when he nicks his finger on the garden shears. Sucking the sore digit into his mouth, he abandons the vegetables in favor of a simpler task: clipping the ferns obscuring a fading, mossy headstone.

He doesn’t let himself look at the writing crudely carved into it.

Somehow, she’s still there, and the twinge of irritation in her voice is both grating and completely justified. “Come on, Sebastian; it’s Garreth’s birthday. Can’t you just…put on a smile for two hours and eat some cake with me?”

“Not hungry.”

Breakfast had gone untouched that morning, though she’d made his favorite (bacon, fried eggs, toast with far too much blackberry jam to be healthy, and coffee with extra sugar), and his stomach grumbles a reminder loud enough to rival the next clap of thunder.

Any semblance of an appetite disappears completely when he trims away a fan of ferns covering up the winged angel watching over his uncle’s grave. A raindrop lands on its stone cheek and trickles down.

It’s only the rain that wets his eyes, he tells himself.

“Seb…”

Her voice becomes gentler, placating, before she rests a hand on his shoulder that he shakes off.

Not an ounce of him has earned her comfort. Not when he’s now scrubbing the mold from a gravestone that he himself hadn’t been there to erect, and six feet beneath his dirty feet are the bones of Solomon Sallow, already being devoured by the earth.

Anne is buried beside their parents back home — a small mercy.

Still, she tries again: “Please, take a break and come with me. Everybody’s been wondering why you haven’t come around — Poppy asks about you in every letter, and Ominis misses you, even if he won’t admit it — ”

“They’ll all be better off without me,” he grunts.

Everyone is better off without him. Look what happens when he’s around.

Pain. Chaos.

Death.

“That’s not true,” she insists.

When he doesn’t turn around or acknowledge her, she makes an impatient huff, grabbing both of his shoulders and forcing him to meet her eyes for the first time in days.

“Don’t make me make you. I’m not above kidnapping when it’s for the greater good.”

Her attempt at humor doesn’t land with him.

Those wide eyes plead with him silently. They beg him to emerge from the hiding place he'd carefully crafted within himself, to laugh at her poor joke, to show her any sign that the Sebastian she knew is still in there, somewhere.

She’s one of the few people he truly never wanted to let down, and here he is. There’s a crease between her brows that wasn’t there before: more physical proof of his failings.

Sebastian snaps. “For Merlin’s sake, would you just let it go already? I said I’m not going, and that’s final, so quit being such a bloody nag and leave me the hell alone!”

Her hand falls from his shoulder. Lashes fluttering to keep her brimming tears at bay, she nods solemnly and turns back towards the cottage, her absence allowing a cold front to rush in and chill him to the bone.

“Fine. Waste away here for all I care — I’ll tell everyone you say, ‘hello’.”

Before he can swallow what remains of his pride and apologize, he hears the cottage door slamming shut behind her.

If only the earth could swallow him up, too.

——

That night, he sleeps alone for the first time in years.

The next is just as lonely.

As is the next.

At first, Sebastian tells himself that this is what he wanted all along. What he’s earned. How could he expect her to stick around forever when all he’d been doing lately was chasing her away? But eventually he realizes that it was she who had filled the house with light again where it had been dark for so long. Without her, the fire doesn’t burn as brightly, and the shadows elongate, reaching, grabbing, yanking him back under —

He can’t sleep in the bed alone, so he curls up by the ashy hearth and prays its enchanted flames can keep away ghosts.

No such luck.

They whisper to him as he sleeps, waking him at odd intervals until the neighbors’ crow signals the arrival of dawn. Each and every night, they return to follow him throughout the day as he works in the garden, dusts off the old knickknacks scattered about or tucked away in chests, replaces the creaky floorboard his uncle never bothered with.

There’s little explanation for her disappearance. She sends an owl the day after Garreth’s birthday, telling Sebastian that she’ll be staying with Natty in London for the time being, as it’s much closer to the Ministry, anyway.

But he’s wise enough to know the commute isn’t what’s keeping her there; away from him.

As the days blend together and the heat starts to wane, Sebastian has yet to finish his project in the garden. He can’t bring himself to — every time he so much as glances at that headstone, an urge to smash it to pieces makes his bones rattle. Anne’s clothes remain gathering dust in her old trunk, and the photo album on the shelf has long since begun to yellow.

When the trees outside begin to take on the same hue, she returns.

He looks up from the book balanced in his lap when the air around him seems to stir, shift, heralding a sharp crack coming from just beyond the front door. The tea he made out of habit sits untouched on the dining table, and its cup rattles in the saucer as that door creaks open.

She blusters in, the wind sneaking in from outside tinged with autumn’s warning bite. Pausing to wipe her boots on the mat, she meets his stare, though hers is measured. Guarded.

Sebastian licks his fingers and dog-ears the page before the book, too, is abandoned.

“You’re back,” he cannot even attempt to disguise his relief.

“I’m only picking up a few things,” is all she says. Then, eyes flicking away, she walks behind the curtain into their makeshift “bedroom” and snatches a cloak from the armoire without sparing him another glance.

Panic powers his heart. It thuds erratically against the cage of his ribs, pouring adrenaline into his blood.

This is it, then. She’s really leaving for good — surprised it took her this long.

He calls her name, his voice hoarse and crackling like the meager fire beside him, but it goes unanswered.

Standing up from his chair, Sebastian crosses the room to lean against the wall — a healthy distance away, just in case she’s still furious at him. Still, she ignores him, reaching into the potions cabinet before thinking better of it.

“You’re running low on Calming Draughts. I’ll tell Garreth to send you some more,” she mutters.

Even now, she’s taking care of him.

“Been spending a lot of time with him lately, have you?”

The accusation is flying out before he can school his tongue. He hates how it makes him sound; like some jealous, pathetic, whiny little boy, upset that his favorite toy was taken away from him. Because he knew better. He knows she belongs to nothing and no one but herself, never to be a possession. She’s so much more than that; always has been, but from that very first day of his fifth year, they’d belonged to each other.

She was his, and he was hers.

Nothing more to it.

Now that she’s virtually all that remains of Sebastian’s old life — the only one who hadn’t died or started to drift away or abandoned him — the thought of losing her cuts deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Though her reply leaves a decent sized one, too: “Yes, I have. Is there a problem?”

Part of him wants to get angry; accuse her of things he knows in his heart of hearts that she would never do, find somebody to blame besides the real culprit.

(Himself.)

“Is there a problem?” He scoffs. “Other than you hanging around your old flame after leaving for weeks without a real explanation? Why ever would that be a problem?”

“No. We’re not doing this, Sebastian,” she turns to face him, finally, and he notices the violet painted beneath her eyes — the same color smudged around his.

“Doing what? Having an adult conversation about this?” His cheeks start to heat.

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

She laughs, but it’s cold; nothing like the usual bell-like sound he once made great strides to coax from her. Sebastian realizes he’s been hearing it less and less the past few months, and starts to mourn that, too.

“Of course I want —“

“I’ve been trying to get an honest conversation out of you for months. And now, only when you finally realize how horrible things have gotten, you want to try and fix it? Because you’re jealous?” She shakes her head, never one to mince words.

“That’s not it. I’ve sent you owl after owl; asking when you’d be back, trying to apologize —“

“Only you never did apologize!” Finally, she explodes, her eyes flashing with a righteous anger he recognizes all too well. “Gods, I can’t take this anymore, Sebastian. I feel like I’m fucking suffocating here with you! Day in and day out you only get more miserable, and I can’t even breathe for fear of making it worse!”

The truth does really, truly, hurt. In his head it’s one thing, but from her mouth, it’s entirely another.

Predictably, he lashes out against it, though it scrapes up his throat to say, “I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? My sincerest apologies for being such a pathetic excuse for a wizard!”

”You’re such a prick sometimes. Would it kill you not to be sarcastic for one minute while I’m trying to speak to you?”

”Don’t know. It might. But I’m sure you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

”What does that mean?”

”You’re leaving me, right?” Sebastian’s voice wavers. Or it could just be the world beneath his feet, which is also making his knees unsteady. “You’re ending this.”

Avoiding the obvious no longer suits him. He needs to hear it out loud to make it feel real, because it doesn’t; it’s so similar to one of his frequent night terrors that it could very well be one.

She hesitates. That brief pause is a beautiful, terrible thing, as it grants Sebastian a kernel of hope — which sputters with her answer.

“Not…forever. Not yet. But I do need some time to figure out what I need right now.”

Every muscle freezes, every nerve shuts off. He goes completely numb. At least she isn’t abandoning him for good (yet), he thinks, though it’s a small consolation when he knows they are hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

His useless mouth gives no reply, and she turns away, resuming her packing.

Sebastian, somehow, forces his body to cooperate, the first sound he makes nothing but a broken iteration of her name. It slips out again when she pretends not to hear it — though he knows she does, because she flinches, and her shoulders jerk with the first silent sobs as she grips the armoire white-knuckled.

“Please,” he swallows, moistening his sandpaper tongue, and tries again. “Please, don’t leave. I am so, so fucking sorry — I never meant to cause you pain; I just…I’ve been through a lot these past few years, and I know I shouldn’t take it out on you —“

”So have I, Sebastian!” She whips around, eyes flashing red.

That glimmer of unearthly power, which has cost her so dearly, is a stark reminder of how right she was: she’d been to hell and back while managing to keep him earthbound.

Her lower lip quivers, rosy cheeks glistening with trails of tears.

“I know you’ve lost so much in so short a time. I understand that better than anyone. But I’m still trying to move forward, trying to be there for you — keeping it together so that one of us isn’t falling apart; while you treat me as if I’m nothing but a chore.”

“I…”

How could he never have known she felt this way? He was aware that his callousness affected her, but…she had always been the more solid of the two of them. Things that bothered him rolled right off of the armor on her shoulders, and most times you would never know you’d hurt her until the lid on her temperance popped.

For a while now, she’d held it all in for his sake. And he hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even cared — not in the way she deserved.

“You’re right. I’ve been…awful. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry,” he hangs his head, defeated.

“Yes, you have!”

”You don’t deserve any of it.”

”No, I don’t.”

He braces himself for her next blow. Waits for her to finish gathering her things and walk out that door for the last time.

Instead, her boots scuff against the floor as she approaches him, a long, staccato sigh almost close enough to ruffle the hair on his forehead.

“Is the person I met gone?” She says, her voice softer now, weakening. “Is this who you are now? Do you even…do you even love me anymore?”

That she had to ask such a question was nearly laughable. Practically from the moment they’d met, she’d been his laughter, his drive, his rock; most of his damned reason for continuing to exist in such an unforgivable world. Yet there she stood, believing she meant nothing at all.

It would become one of his deepest regrets. After emassing so, so many of them, Sebastian could not let this one haunt him, too.

“Of course I do.” He erases the distance between them, hands framing her face as if she’s something precious (and she is). “I may be rubbish at showing it lately, but I have never stopped loving you. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

She was motionless when he first touched her, but now she tilts her head just slightly into his palm, shimmering eyes staring unflinchingly into his.

“That boy you met in fifth year is still here. Changed, yes, but not gone. I’m still the man who loves you, who would do anything for you — including admit he’s been a terrible partner and vow to make it up to you,” he murmurs.

“Seb…”

The uncertainty in her voice is plain — she doesn’t quite trust him any longer. Still, a hand covers one of his own, her voice gentler as she says, “I’ve felt so alone these past months. Longer than that, really, but since we’ve left school…it’s been unbearably lonely. It doesn’t even feel like you’re here anymore.”

Sebastian’s thumbs caress her cheeks, smearing saltwater where more tears fall. “I am. I’m here. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

To prove it, he leans in, the tip of his nose nuzzling against hers to a shaky little inhale that makes his hair stand on end. Her face tilts up, allowing their lips the softest meeting that’s no more than a whisper while the anticipation — the craving to kiss her again after weeks without her touch — slowly drives him rabid.

So he takes the initiative. Rough fingers seek the hair at the nape of her neck to tangle in, and when they find a messy chignon, he pulls the ribbon until the locks tumble free down her back.

The shine in her eyes before he kisses her, how her lips part in anticipation of meeting his…how did he ever think he’d be able to survive without this?

��Darling,” he sighs into her mouth. “I’ve missed you…”

If the way she opens up to him, like a flower in bloom, is any indication, she’s missed him too. Her reply comes in the form of grabby hands fisting in the front of his linen shirt and teeth that catch his bottom lip, drawing him nearer, injecting pure heat into his bloodstream.

And suddenly, between her warmth and the hearth that seems to burn brighter once more in her presence, it’s far too hot in the small cottage. Seeking relief, he pries her hands free to tear the shirt off his back before it's carelessly tossed onto the dining table. Her cloak falls to the floor in a heap; then her blouse; her shoes kicked off – he trips on one in his haste to hoist her atop the cloth-strewn table – and he’s already unbuttoning her skirt when she stops him.

Sebastian nearly whines.

“I need you know you mean it this time,” she asserts, lips already swollen from his kisses. “That things are going to change.”

“You think I’m trying to placate you with sex?”

Her pointed look screams, As if you’ve never done that before.

He sighs. Tries to remind himself of the gravity of this night (even though his aching core probably couldn’t give less of a damn), that he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself. She needs his undivided, patient attention.

“I promise,” Sebastian kisses both cheeks, her nose, her chin, before ending up back at her lips. “This is only the first part of my apology…if you’re willing to accept it.”

A smile dimples her skin no matter how hard she tries to stifle it. To his great relief, her palms flatten over his chest, feeling the steady gallop of his heart, twisting up around his neck to draw him nearer until his thighs hit the wooden edge of the table. Her legs part to welcome him readily.

“It better be one hell of an apology.”

With a chuckle, he resumes his mission to remove her skirt with practiced efficiency. “Good thing I’ve had loads of practice.”

Despite seeing her in varying states of undress countless times, it never grew old. Having her stripped to her stockings, corset, and the lacy little style of chemise she preferred to wear now… well, it was a reminder of what he’d been taking for granted, and Sebastian intended to fully appreciate it again.

——

In the afterglow, he finds a peace he hasn’t experienced in weeks.

Sebastian’s breathing slows, heart relaxing into its regular rhythm while the sweat dries on their naked bodies. Hers is nestled into the curve of his like the missing piece of a puzzle he’d thought he’d lost.

As he lets himself melt into the mattress, boneless and satiated with his head cradled by the pillow they share, something cold and wet splashes on his nose. Sebastian’s head tips back, eyes squinting to zero in on an almost imperceptible gap in that thatched roof.

It’s easily repaired with a wave of his wand, the drop of rain wiped away, but he curses at the heavens regardless.

“You know,” he muses, drawing the witch beside him tight up against his side to brush his lips over her temple. “I think it’s high time we found a place of our own.”

“This is ours, now,” she nuzzles his cheek like a contended cat.

“But it’s not, really. It’s never been mine — this place was always Solomon’s house to me. It never felt like a…like a proper home.”

She watches him in contemplative silence, waiting for him to continue.

Sebastian takes in the cottage; the memories he lives in: the tea set in the china cabinet with a chipped cup, the nearly empty potion bottles he’d neglected to throw away after Anne no longer had need of them, the scorch mark seared into the wall from an experimental spell gone awry. His past is written here, as is his family’s, but now it feels more like ancient history.

One he’s now desperate to leave behind to make room for something new.

How can he move on and heal if he’s still clinging to scraps of a life he’ll never get back?

Before he can voice this, she snatches the words right from his lips with a kiss.

“Then…we’ll find a new one,” her whisper is full of promise. “We could get a flat in the city, or a cottage in one of the hamlets further South — you always did love Maurenweem.”

He turns this over in his head, tastes the idea, and finds it lacking. There’s something about moving into a place that had once been owned by someone else; likely inhabited by a different set of ghosts, stained by others’ memories, that doesn’t feel right. No, that won’t do at all.

“What if we build our own home instead?”

Her brows raise at the question. “Build one? I admire your ambition, Seb, but you’re a Cursebreaker — not a craftsman.”

“I’m sure with a bit of help and a little ancient magic, we would figure it out. It could be fun; we’d get to make our home exactly the way we want it, and then we would be beholden to any renters or nosy neighbors,” he reasons.

She studies him again, trying to figure out whether he was serious until a smile eventually blooms on her well-kissed mouth.

“Alright. Let’s do it. A place of our own.”

”Really? You mean it?”

“Mhmm. But we should start now; before winter comes. Oh, Merlin, there’s so much to do — we’ve got to pick a location, draw up the schematics, purchase supplies…”

Sebastian didn’t care so much for the logistics. All he hears is that she wanted this; still intends to build a life with him (a home), to stay by his side. The rest of her rambling fizzles out when he rolls on top of her, her soft giggles invigorating him like he’d just downed a glass of sparkling wine as his body settles into its rightful place between her thighs.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he murmurs peppering kisses along her throat. “But for tonight, the only real estate I’m concerned about exploring is right here in this bed.”

——

Three months later:

As the grandfather clock (the one relic from the old house that had survived the move) tolls the midnight hour, Sebastian bids the last guests goodnight, waving to Imelda and Poppy before they Disapparate from the grassy knoll outside the cottage.

His witch is already cleaning up the remnants of the night’s festivities. The empty bottle of wine has been repurposed into a vase brimming with a spray of chrysanthemums, and glasses fly into the soap-filled sink, one narrowly missing his head when he crosses the foyer to wrap his arms around her waist.

“Happy, are we?” She grins at the gentle hum he lets out, setting down her wand on the dining table.

“I’d say we can call our first housewarming party a success,” he confirms.

After painstaking efforts that included several early renovations and more manual labor than even Sebastian had anticipated, the relief he felt at settling into their new home was staggering. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t dread crossing the threshold — at the end of each long day at work or running errands, Sebastian longed for nothing more than the comforts of their cozy abode nestled in the Scottish lowlands, and even the nightmares had begun to fade with each night in their brand-new bed.

The ghosts would always be there, of course, just in his memory instead.

“I’m proud of you,” she reaches up to tuck away an errant lock of hair, affection shining in her luminous eyes. “I wasn’t sure about all of this at first, but…now that we’ve settled in, it just feels…right. You know? Like this is where we’re supposed to end up.”

He chuckles. “Corny of you. But I know exactly what you mean.”

Once they’re curled up in bed, her nestled in his lap with the flickering glow of a candle spilling over the rumpled sheets and the worn pages of the book Sebastian reads to her in a lulling whisper, he’s struck by the sense that he is precisely where he’s meant to be.

Gods, he never thought he’d get that feeling back.

“We’ll finish tomorrow night,” he yawns. “I’m so tired, I can hardly read the words any more.”

“Aww, but I want to know what happens! Does Pip ever return from Egypt? What about Estella? Will he ever see her again?” His witch pouts even as she allows him to drag the covers over them both.

Sebastian sighs, snuffing out the candle and settling in beside her.

“All I’ll say is…they live happily ever after.”

”You’re no fun.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s not the change of scenery or the absence of a grave in his backyard that offers the sanctuary Sebastisn’s always longed for. For a while now, he’s known the truth in his bones: that his true home wasn’t four wooden walls and a hearth — it was her strength that kept his foundation standing, and love that kept him warm.

In their sacred little corner of the world, that fire never burns out.

#might have started this a couple months ago…where’s my world’s slowest writer plaque #even though mc is unnamed we all know. It’s a variant of Raegan. I can’t write Seb without her now 😩#did this kind of turn into a character study?#anyway the crane wives are ridiculously hl/hp coded so go bless your ears with them pls #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #Sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #writing

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jude457 · 6 hours ago

Text

Sensitive Content Warning

Expanding a little on my ask, I have another Dead Dove: Do Not Eat WIP in the works that reimagines how the unmasking scene between Inho and Gihun could go.

After the rebellion, Inho finds himself trapped. The VIPs are furious, and they demand a price. They want to make an example of Gihun, break him in ways far worse than death. They want to degrade him, make him a symbol of their power. Inho can see what they plan to do, and it makes his stomach turn. The VIPs don’t just want to kill Gihun, they want to destroy him, strip him of every last ounce of dignity before he dies.

But Inho can’t let that happen. He can’t let Gihun be reduced to a toy for their twisted amusement, a puppet in their game. Inho knows he’s been the one holding the strings up until now, but this—this is different. In his desperation, Inho offers a twisted solution. Instead of letting the VIPs kill Gihun outright, he suggests keeping him alive—but not as a player. No, Gihun could be useful to the games in a new way. There’s value in him, more than just another expendable body. There’s more to Gihun than just being another casualty. Inho doesn’t care about the implications; all he cares about is keeping Gihun close, making sure he doesn’t vanish from his grasp.

The VIPs are intrigued by the idea. But, as always, nothing comes for free in their world. They listen, but their calculation is sharp. One of them leans forward, his voice laced with a cold amusement. The question comes, sharp and direct: “Are you willing to take his place, then?”

Inho’s heart lurches, and his breath catches in his throat. Inho knows that in this moment, the only way to keep Gihun alive is to give up everything. His body will be the cost, his submission the price. There’s no turning back now, no escaping the consequences. He agrees, without hesitation. His words come out hoarse through the modulator, but resolute: he will do anything to keep Gihun alive, even if it means surrendering everything.

The VIPs move quickly, with their usual cold efficiency. Inho feels their hands on him before he has a chance to react. The mask is ripped from his face, the sensation of its removal more painful than he expects. It’s not just the sudden exposure to the room, the stripping away of the identity he’s built. It’s the feeling of being completely unprotected—fragile in a way he never allows himself to be.

Being unmasked is unbearable, but it’s nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Gihun’s reaction. The confusion that flickers in his eyes, followed by the betrayal that comes crashing down, is more than Inho can take. He doesn’t even have time to explain, to justify, or to make Gihun understand the reasons behind his actions. It’s all too much—too late.

Inho’s heart sinks as the VIPs force him to his knees, pulling him further into the role they want him to play. They strip him of his dignity, piece by piece, pulling him out of the carefully crafted armor he’s hidden behind for so long. They make quick work of it, their hands unbuckling his belt and unfastening his clothing, and Inho can feel himself being exposed in every possible way. The chill of the air bites at his skin as they remove his final layer, forcing him into a raw, vulnerable state.

He can’t look at Gihun. He knows what lies in those eyes—the anger, the betrayal, the absolute destruction of the bond they once shared. But more than that, there’s another fear that roots him to the spot, making it impossible for him to face the man he has wronged. Inho is ashamed, not just because Gihun will never forgive him, but because of what Gihun will see if he looks into his eyes.

Inho doesn’t want Gihun to see him like this. Bent over, utterly exposed; ready to be taken like a dog in heat. For a brief moment, Inho considers closing his eyes, hoping that if he can shut out the world, the pain might ease. The silence in the room is deafening, and just when Inho thinks he might break under the pressure, one of the VIPs steps forward. Without hesitation, the man grabs a fistful of Inho’s hair, yanking his head up with brutal force.

“Look at him,” the VIP sneers, his grip tightening as Inho’s head is forced back. “Look into his eyes. You’ve made him suffer. You owe him this much.”

And Inho does. He has no choice.

Their eyes meet—locked in a moment so crushing it nearly stops his breath.

He expects rage. He expects disgust. He expects the look of someone who finally sees the monster behind the curtain. But instead, what he sees in Gihun’s eyes is something far more unbearable.

Pity.

It flickers there, through the confusion and devastation—so faint, so fragile, but unmistakably present. Inho can barely process it. Even now, after everything, Gihun looks at him not with hatred, but with something gentler. Something that reaches into the hollow parts of Inho he thought he’d sealed off long ago.

And that mercy—that goodness—cuts deeper than any blade.

Then the pain hits.

Blinding, unrelenting.

There was no warning, no time to brace, no effort to dull what was coming. Inho’s body lurches forward from the force of it, the violence of being used without care or consent, of being treated like an object. The agony is immediate, sharp, and it does not stop.

He tries to breathe through it, tries to steel himself, but there’s no space for composure now—only the sheer reality of what he’s enduring.

Inho is crying before he realizes it. Not just from the pain—which is consuming—but from what Gihun sees. What Gihun is forced to witness. And somehow, impossibly, Gihun is still watching. Still seeing him. Not the Frontman. Not the traitor. Just… Inho.

And that, more than anything, undoes him.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither does Gihun.

Somewhere behind him, another VIP shifts, the sound deliberate, cruelly anticipatory. Another round is coming. More pain. More humiliation.

Inho’s vision blurs. His body shakes. Something deep inside him fractures, maybe for good.

And still—Gihun is there.

Watching.

Seeing.

Forgiving?

Or maybe just enduring, in his own way.

Inho doesn’t know.

He just knows this isn’t the end.

Not yet.

But what’s waiting on the other side of this—if anything—is a question neither of them can answer.

Not now. Not like this.

#squid game #hwang inho #hwang junho #all aboard the inho whump train

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whoevenheckinknows · 2 days ago

Text

If He's Anything Like Me (JayDickWeek Day 6 & OJTW Day 5)

AO3

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: T

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Tags: jaydickweek2025, omegajasontoddweek 2025, ojtw 2025, jaydickweek day 6, ojtw day 5, dimension travel, jason is insecure, Non-traditional Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega Jason Todd, alpha dick Grayson, omega dick Grayson, no beta we die like jason todd, Do not post to other sites, Cross-Posted on tumblr, POV Third Person

Summary: When Jason gets sent to another dimension while chasing a magician, he runs into the Nightwing and Red Hood of that dimension. Because of this, he has to face some insecurities about himself and his feelings towards his own Dick Grayson.

A/N: So, I had a fic I was supposed to finish and post for Wednesday, but I got really into it and started worldbuilding and so I've been working on that a lot. I'll post it when its finished, and still put it in the OJT and JD week series/collection cause that's what its for.

But enough about Wednesday, have this piece for today!

JayDickWeek Day 6: Fairytale/Mythology AU | Batman!Dick/Jason | Time/Dimension Travel

OmegaJasonToddWeek Day 5: Emergency/Critical Heat/Rut | Ivy's Pollen Turns Omega Slick Addictive | Omegas are the Hunters During Mating Chases | Jason is Insecure

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of the time, Jason loves being the Red Hood. He loves the satisfaction of ending those who think they can take advantage of others. Of taking down rapists, and those who think they can mess with omegas or kids. He loves the power he feels as people tremble before him, as if he's a terrifying alpha about to rip out their throats for doing wrong. He loves the thrill of swinging through Crime Alley, knowing that this is his city, and those below him are his people, the ones he protects with his all

But sometimes. Some fucking times. Jason fucking hates it.

Like right now.

He's swinging through Gotham, long since passing the boundary out of Crime Alley, in pursuit of a magician who's wreaking havoc throughout the city. Hood caught wind of him after he hurt one of the working girls in his territory. Tonight he finally caught sight of him, and hell if he's letting the man out of his sight.

Of course, leaving his territory means he's bound to run into a bat or two in the process.

"Heyya, Hood. Lovely night for a swing, huh?" Nightwing's cheery voice cuts through his coms, and Hood doesn't need to look over to see the man swinging beside him.

"I'm busy, Dickwing, so either help me or fuck off."

"What's the situation?" Nightwing's tone is still far too cheery for Hood, but he can hear the slight alpha growl in his throat.

"Fucking magician." He shoots back. "Hurt one of my girls a few nights ago and I finally caught sight of him. Pursuing him now."

"Why didn't you call for backup?" Something in Nightwing's tone raises Hood's hackles and he bares his teeth. Doesn't matter that Nightwing can't see it with the helmet on.

"I don't need to crawl to some fucking alpha every time I'm in pursuit of someone." Hood snarls. "I can handle myself just fine."

Jason fucking hates this feeling. The feeling of being looked down on just because of one fucking part of him. Sure. Jason's an omega. But goddamnit, he can handle himself. He's strong and capable, and he's killed dozens of supposedly stronger alphas, no problem.

It's worse that it's Dick. Because this is the type of behavior Jason would have been thrilled to have aimed at him before. Back when he was just a pup in a new home who just wanted the alpha to care for him and protect him and love him. But no. Instead, Dick kept his distance, not bothering to try and bond with his new packmate.

And then Jason came back, and suddenly Dick was acting like the alpha he should have been. Except, now Jason doesn't need it. Doesn't need him. Jason is stronger and smarter than most alphas, despite being an omega. So that fact that Dick still chooses to think of him as incapable of taking care of himself hurts. It feels like he's trying to force Jason to be the weak little omega he's 'supposed' to be. The weak little omega that he's not, and never will be again.

Even if it would get Dick to mate with him. He refuses to play into society's misogynistic stereotypes.

"I know you can, Little Wing." Nightwing's response pulls Hood out of his thoughts. Fuck, how long did he lose focus. The magician is still in sight, albeit slightly farther away than he was before. Hood snarls.

"Don't fucking call me that!" He's not some little pup that the alpha needs to coddle.

The magician turns down a road and just like that he loses visuals. He curses.

"I take back what I said before. Just fuck off and let me focus on my work." He changes his grapple's angle in hopes of cutting off the magician. Nightwing follows him despite his words.

Hood ignores the alpha for the time being in order to focus on the chase. But when he turns the same corner he knows the magician went, he curses again. There's no sight of him anywhere.

Hood lands on the alley ground, and does a sweep of the place. Hearing Nightwing land not long after, Hood whirls around to snarl at him. "This is your fucking fault. If you didn't distract me, I wouldn't have lost him."

Nightwing's expression turns hurt, and Hood's instincts scream at him to apologize. To wipe that hurt expression off his matethe alpha's face. He forces the feeling down as he growls again.

Had Hood not turned to face Nightwing, had he not been distracted by his anger, he would have noticed the magician reappear right away. As it stands, he is turned around and he is distracted, and so Nightwing's the only one to see the magician ready the spell.

"Hood, look out!" Nightwing yells as he tries to rush to Hood's side. He doesn't make it in time. Because before Hood can even turn around to see what the other is referring to, there's a blinding light in his vision and his body goes numb.

When feeling returns, and light fades from his sight, Hood analyzes his surroundings. Hood recognizes the feeling of some sort of teleportation spell, so he already knows he's probably not where he was moments before.

Then again, it definitely looks like the same place. The surrounding buildings look similar at least. But Nightwing is no longer nearby and Hood can't find any trace of the magician. Time or dimension travel, then.

Two pairs of footfalls sound behind Hood, causing him to pull his guns out as he twirls around. He didn't smell anyone coming, so he has no idea if they are friend or foe. In front of him are two people he recognizes, and he lowers his guns slightly. The first is Nightwing, looking as cheery as ever especially as he notices just who Hood is. And the other is… the Red Hood.

That explains the lack of smell, at least. Bat grade scent blockers can block just about anything.

"Year?" Is all he asks them.

"2025." Nightwing responds. Same year as him then. Hood nods.

"Dimension travel, then."

"How'd ya get sent here?" The Red Hood, and fuck Hood's just gonna call him Red, asks.

"Fucking magician." Red nods sympathetically.

"We'll take you to the cave, see if we can figure out how to get you home."

Nightwing motions for Hood to follow as they both pull out their grapples. Together, the three of them make their way to where the two stashed their motorcycles. The two resident vigilantes don't even hesitate to both hop onto Nightwing's bike, Red sitting behind the other vigilante with his arms wrapped around Nightwing's waist.

"Uh…" Hood doesn't know how to react. It's not like he has the keys to this Red Hood's motorcycle. Different dimension means the possibility of different keys and codes, and Hood doesn't want to risk setting off any traps.

"Oh right. Here." Red states, keeping one arm around Nightwing's waist and using the other to reach into his belt to pull out the key fob. He tosses it to Hood, who easily catches it.

"You're letting me ride it?" If it were him, he's sure he wouldn't be so casual letting someone else drive his bike, even if it's an alternate version of himself. Red shrugs.

"You're me. I trust ya. 'Sides." He wraps his arm back around Nightwing, squeezing tightly. "I ain't letting you touch my Nightwing."

Nightwing lets out a hearty laugh at that, revving his bike as he does. "Oh calm down, Little Wing. You just said you trust him. I'm sure he wouldn't do anything untoward." Mechanical grumbling is the only response. Nightwing just laughs again, patting the arms around him.

Hood stares at the two, even as he hops on Red's bike and starts it up. He's not sure how to process how the two are acting. They seem… close. Hood wishes he was that close with his own Nightwing.

The sound of two motorcycles fills the air as the vigilantes make their way to the Batcave. Hood keeps behind the others, watching as Red leans his head into Nightwing's back contently.

~~~

The visit to the Batcave doesn't last long. No one is there, all out on their own patrol routes, and so they have free reign over the technology it holds. A magic scanner is all that's needed to determine the type of spell placed on Jason. One only deals with different dimensions or times so many times before implementing something like that.

It's a time based spell. Twenty-four hours minimum, a week maximum. Then Jason will automatically be sent home. There's nothing to do but wait.

"You can always stay at the manor." Dick suggests. Him and Jay (that's what Jason has decided to call other-him) are both out of their vigilante suits and dressed in casual clothes. Jason himself has only taken his helmet off for now. They all still have their scent blockers on though. The other two are standing in front of the computer monitor, Jay with his chin hooked over Dick's shoulder as they both look over at Jason. Jay's hands are on Dick's hips again.

"Fuck that." Jason responds. "I deal with it enough with my own Bruce, I don't need an alternate version of him going all alpha on me." Jay snorts at that, likely in agreement. "I'll figure something else out."

"Well what about staying with us? We already know you're here, if you want that number to stay small it's probably your best bet."

Jason considers the offer before stilling at the implications. "Us?"

Jay raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. Dickie and I live together." His eyes then narrow. "Ain't gonna be an issue, is it?"

"No, just shocked is all." Jason holds up his hands placatingly. "Dickhead and I aren't nearly that friendly with each other."

Jay scrutinizes him for a moment before finding something in his gaze. His eyes soften and he nods. He lets go of Dick and gestures for Jason to follow him to the locker room. "Lets find you something to change into for now. You can borrow something more comfortable when we get to the apartment."

Jason follows and gets changed into one of Jay's spare outfits. When he's done, he makes his way back into the main cave. He stops in the doorway when he catches sight of Jay and Dick. The two are close together, Dick's arms around Jay's neck and Jay's around Dick's waist. They do nothing more than stand there, whispering to each other in hushed voices that Jason can't hear. Jason can't help but wonder how the two got so comfortable with each other that Jay is willing to accept Dick's plethora of hugs and physical affection. He wonders if there's a chance he can get to that point with his own Dick.

Dick catches sight of him first, giving him a large smile as he detaches himself from Jay. "You ready to go?"

Jason nods and follows the two to where the bats keep their civilian vehicles. Despite having plenty of bikes to choose from, just like before Jay slides onto the back of the same bike as Dick.

"Just pick one." Jay calls. "Keys are all in the ignitions."

Jason hops onto one he is familiar with in his own dimension. He follows the two resident bats out of the cave, allowing them to lead him to where they, apparently, share an apartment.

Jason is still reeling at that fact. He can't imagine being able to live in the same space as the alpha. Constantly being surrounded by his strong comforting smell, but never able to do anything about it. It would be torture. It would be wonderful.

They lead him to an apartment building not quite in Crime Alley, but not far outside of its borders. A perfect central location for their patrol routes. They park their vehicles in a side alley and make their way to an apartment on the top floor.

Jason makes himself comfy on the couch while Dick goes to grab some better clothes for Jason and Jay goes to boil some water for tea. Jason tries to offer help, but Jay looks offended at the thought.

"I know Alfie taught you better than to let a guest help with refreshments." Jason doesn't argue. He's just as proud as Jay when it comes to Alfie's rules, so he allows himself to fall into the guest role.

Jason takes the time to analyze the room as the water boils. It looks lived in, unlike the safehouses Jason tends to live out of. Books line bookshelves, with many of Jason's favorites within easy reach, and there's not a single speck of dust in sight. He takes a deep breath, smelling the intermingling scents of Jay and Dick filling the home. Proof that this really is where the two live together. Except…

Jason takes another sniff. There's something off about the two smells in the room. Maybe it's just Jason smelling a different source of his own scent, but there is a twinge of wrong that fills Jason as he breathes in.

"Here's some better clothes for you." Dick interrupts him, holding out a pile of less worn-out and better quality clothes. Jason takes it with a thanks, and goes to where Dick points out the bathroom to get dressed.

He dresses quickly before leaving the bathroom once more. The apartment is small, so the little hallway Jason is in only has the bathroom door and one other. The other door is ajar, and the mixed scents of Jay and Dick waft out of it even stronger than the living room. Jason still feels that itch of wrongness in his chest even with the stronger scent.

Jason furrows his eye brows. Do the two… share a bed?

Jason shakes his head, not wanting to think about what that could mean. Doesn't want to get his hopes up. He makes his way back into the other room only to be stopped in his tracks. There in the kitchen, Jason watches as Dick stands on his tippy toes, his lips locked with Jay's as the two kiss each other softly.

Jason must have made a noise at the sight, because Jay breaks the kiss to look at him almost immediately. "Looks like our guest is back, Pretty Bird."

Dick looks over at Jason and smiles again. Only for his smile to fade just at quickly as he takes Jason in. "You okay over there?"

"Wha-" Jason doesn't know what to say. This… explains a few things and opens so many other questions. "How… when…?"

"I think we broke him." Jay chuckles out as he turns the stove off to make his way over to Jason. "You good dude?"

"You two are together." Is all Jason is able to get out.

"Yup" Jay responds, popping the p as he leans against the couch casually.

"How?"

"I mean, it took a lot of work, and a shit ton of communication, but we made it in the end." Jay looks Jason in the eyes as he continues. "You could too if you just talk to him."

Jason is already shaking his head. "No way. There's no way an alpha like Dickie would ever want such an aggressive omega like me. There's no way anyone would want someone who is the exact antithesis of what an omega should be."

It's their turn to look confused. They turn to look at each other before looking back at Jason.

"Alpha?" Dick asks, but Jason doesn't really register his question. He just continues talking as he starts pacing back and forth. If anyone will understand his insecurities, it'll be himself, right? And if Jay somehow managed to get with Dick, then surely the other man is already aware of these issues.

"It's just. What alpha would want an omega who's as fucking headstrong and stubborn as me? Someone who could rip his throat out as quickly as he could rip out mine? What could Dick possibly ever see in me?"

Jason stops his pacing when an arm catches his shoulder. He turns to see it's Dick who holds him in his grasp. "Well, I think you're the perfect omega. You're protective and fierce, and you care so much about pups that it drives me crazy. But even if you weren't the perfect omega, I would still love you, and I'm pretty sure your Dick would too."

Jason's still not convinced and Dick sighs. "Then again, there's a big difference between me and your Dick, apparently. But if anything, that would probably make it more likely that he wants you."

"And what's that?"

"Well," Dick reaches up to where his scent blocker is still covering the gland on his neck. He pulls it off as he finishes. "I'm not an alpha."

Dick's scent floods the room and Jason inhales sharply on instinct. The scent is mostly the same as his own Dick's, but there's one major difference. Suddenly the wrong feeling in his chest grows stronger, as instead of the spicy scent that his own Dick has that indicates his alpha designation, there is the hint of sweetness that indicates an omega.

Jason is stunned once more. Dick resumes his speech when he sees Jason isn't going to say anything. "Jay and I had to work through a lot of things in order to be together. Including the stigma of two omegas being together. If your Dick is anything like me, he wants you as much as you want him. And he's even more likely to be able to have you, being an alpha."

"But," Jason's throat is dry and he has to swallow before speaking again. "But what if it's just your omega instincts wanting to be with someone who resembles an alpha, even if he's not actually one?"

Dick gives him a soft look. "I already told you. I think you're the perfect omega. My instincts could never mistake you for an alpha. And besides." Dick cups Jason's cheek softly, and Jason has to hold back a whine at the touch. "You are more than your designation, Jason. If your Dick can't see that, he doesn't deserve you."

"You really think so?" Jason's voice breaks at the question.

"I know so." Dick smiles warmly, his scent flooding with the smell of care-protection-affection-love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END NOTE: Wasn't sure how to end this, and I don't have much more time to write, so have an abrupt ending.

This is once again another fic that I had a smut idea for but ended up not writing it. One day I'll get comfortable writing smut more, and actually be able to write more of the smut ideas I get. And maybe one day I'll write more for this.

I wanted to make a fic for tomorrow, but I'm so invested in Wednesday's fic idk if I'll get to it on time or at all. Same with Sunday's fic. Ill definitely write that one but it may not be on time.

If there's any errors, feel free to say in the comments. Or if you just want to talk.

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