#but he draws the line at not supporting his son

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (16)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: 15

- Next part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @mrsjohnnysuh

The air is heavy with a somber weight as Jacaerys gently leads Rhaenyra through the corridors of Dragonstone. Her steps are slow and careful, her body still fragile from the birth and the grief that followed, but her eyes are clear, her expression set with determination. It’s been a week since they laid Visenya to rest, but the pain is still raw, a wound that refuses to heal. Yet, Rhaenyra has insisted on attending this council herself, determined to show strength despite her suffering.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Mother?” Jace asks quietly, his arm steadying her as they near the council chamber. His concern is palpable, his young face lined with worry.

“I have to be,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice firm though there’s a tremor beneath it. “This is our fight, Jace. I cannot hide away, not now.”

He nods, though his brow remains furrowed, and he pushes open the heavy wooden door, guiding her inside. The room falls silent as they enter, all eyes turning to the Princess. Rhaenyra pauses, taking in the faces around the table—men and women sworn to your cause, their expressions a mixture of respect and unease.

Daemon’s twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, are seated near Luke, their young faces tense with the weight of the situation. Rhaenyra’s younger sons are being looked after elsewhere, kept away from the turmoil that threatens to consume them all. She draws strength from seeing Luke, his gaze filled with determination, and from the presence of others who have pledged their loyalty.

Rhaenys is there, standing with her son, Laenor. She looks older, the lines of worry etched deeper on her face, but there is a fire in her eyes that has not dimmed. She inclines her head to Rhaenyra as she approaches, a silent acknowledgment of shared grief and strength.

“How is Corlys?” Rhaenyra asks, her voice quiet but steady as she takes her seat.

Rhaenys steps forward, her voice calm and reassuring. “He is recovering. The worst has passed, and the fever has finally broken. He will be ready to join us soon.”

A murmur of relief sweeps through the room. Corlys Velaryon’s presence and support are invaluable, a cornerstone of their cause. Rhaenyra nods, a faint smile of gratitude touching her lips. “That is good to hear.”

Lord Darklyn clears his throat, drawing the attention of those gathered. “A raven arrived from Dorne this morning,” he begins, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction. “It seems they intend to stay out of this conflict. They will not join the Greens and are leaning toward supporting Prince—your husband’s—claim.”

A ripple of approval spreads through the room. Jace, his shoulders squared with pride, speaks up, his voice filled with confidence. “It’s no surprise. Dorne remembers what happened the last time they challenged my father.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, and Rhaenyra’s gaze softens as she looks at her son. His courage, his strength—they remind her so much of you. She’s proud, but there’s a hollow ache in her chest, a yearning for your presence.

She glances around, her eyes searching the room, noticing your absence for the first time. “Where is he?” she asks, her voice quiet but edged with concern. “Where is your father?”

The room falls silent, the easy camaraderie dissolving into something more guarded. Jace exchanges a quick look with Luke, hesitation flickering across his face before he turns back to Rhaenyra.

“Mother, he… he hasn’t been well since Visenya’s funeral,” Jace admits, his voice low. “He’s been restless, angry. He and Daemon… they left this morning. They took off with their dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s heart clenches, a sudden fear gripping her. “Where did they go?”

Jace hesitates, glancing at Luke again before he speaks. “In the direction of Oldtown.”

The words hit her like a blow, and for a moment, the room seems to spin around her. She grips the arm of her chair, her knuckles white. “Oldtown…” she breathes, her mind racing, remembering your promise, the fire in your eyes when you swore vengeance for Visenya.

“Gods…” Rhaenyra murmurs, her voice barely a whisper as the realization sinks in. You had been consumed with rage, blinded by grief. You’d spoken of fire and blood, of making them pay for what they had done.

Her heart pounds in her chest, a mixture of fear and despair twisting inside her. You’re not just going to Oldtown—you’re going to burn it. To unleash your fury upon those you hold responsible, no matter the cost.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she turns her gaze back to Jace. “We must prepare,” she says, her voice trembling but determined. “We need to be ready for what comes next.”

Jace nods, though the worry does not leave his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

Rhaenyra looks around the room, her gaze sharp and commanding despite her weakened state. “This is just the beginning. They’ve made their move, and now we must make ours. We cannot let them tear us apart.”

There are murmurs of agreement, the council members straightening, their resolve hardening. Rhaenys steps forward, her eyes on Rhaenyra. “We stand with you, Rhaenyra. We will do what needs to be done.”

Rhaenyra nods, a flicker of gratitude passing over her face. “Thank you, all of you. We will not falter.”

She looks at Jace again, her hand resting briefly on his arm. “We will be ready for whatever comes next.”

The room is filled with the murmur of plans and strategies, a flurry of activity as the council prepares for the storm that is surely coming. And though the fear and worry gnaw at her, Rhaenyra knows she must be strong.

You are driven by grief and rage, but Rhaenyra will stand firm. She will hold Dragonstone, prepare their forces, and wait for your return. 

The sun blazes high in the midday sky, its light blinding as it glares down on the unsuspecting city of Oldtown. Below, the streets bustle with life, unaware of the doom that soars toward them from the direction of the sun, the gleaming silhouettes of two dragons hidden in its harsh glare.

Silverwing’s wings cut through the air with powerful strokes, your heart pounding in sync with each beat. Ahead, Daemon and Caraxes fly with a fierce, relentless speed, their massive forms casting shadows over the sprawling city below. The Hightower, once a proud symbol of power and wealth, looms before you, a tempting target.

You share a look with Daemon, a single nod passing between you as you split off, his gaze fixed on the towering structure of the Hightower, while your own eyes lock onto the Starry Sept. The Faith of the Seven, who had crowned your half-brother, who had dared to deny your birthright. You can feel the rage boiling in your veins, the need for vengeance scorching through every thought.

Caraxes dives first, his roar shattering the midday stillness as flames pour from his maw, a torrent of fire that engulfs the great tower. The stones crack and explode under the intense heat, chunks of rock and debris hurtling through the air. Screams rise up from within the tower, and you see tiny figures—nobles, lords, and ladies—hurling themselves from the windows, desperate to escape the inferno, only to meet their end on the unforgiving ground below.

Silverwing’s roar answers Caraxes, and you direct her down toward the Starry Sept. The beautiful building, with its delicate spires and intricate carvings, stands as a symbol of the power that has been wielded against you, against your family. It will fall, just like everything else they have built.

“Dracarys!” you command, your voice echoing with fury. Silverwing responds with a roar that seems to shake the very sky, flames spilling from her jaws to wash over the Sept. The roof catches fire instantly, the ornate wood and stonework crumbling under the onslaught. The holy place of the Faith is reduced to a screaming, writhing mass of flames and smoke.

Septa and Septons flee from the burning structure, their robes ablaze, their cries filling the air. The smell of charred flesh and burning incense fills your nostrils as Silverwing lands atop the collapsing Sept, her claws crushing what remains of the once-proud building. The impact sends chunks of stone flying, the ground trembling beneath the force of her weight.

Silverwing lets out a triumphant roar, her voice carrying over the dying screams below. Debris scatters in every direction, the sky filled with a choking cloud of ash and smoke. The sight of it fuels the fire in your chest, your hatred, your grief, your rage. You lean forward, your eyes fixed on the chaos below.

“This is for Visenya,” you murmur, your voice lost in the cacophony. “For everything they took from us.”

Your gaze sweeps across the city, taking in the panic and confusion spreading through the streets. You see the Citadel in the distance, its towers rising arrogantly against the sky. A den of maesters, those who have spread their lies and manipulations, who have whispered poison into the ears of kings. They, too, will burn.

You signal Daemon, and Caraxes veers toward the Citadel, his wings beating furiously as he gains speed. Silverwing follows, her powerful form gliding effortlessly through the thickening smoke. Below, the people of Oldtown scatter like ants, fleeing in every direction, their shouts and cries blending into a single, desperate chorus.

Caraxes unleashes a torrent of fire upon the Citadel, the flames licking up the towers, devouring stone and wood alike. Scrolls and tomes, records of centuries, are consumed in an instant, knowledge and history reduced to ash and cinders. The maesters inside scream as they are caught in the blaze, their voices mingling with the roar of the flames and the shattering of glass.

Silverwing circles around, her flames joining those of Caraxes, the combined heat turning the once-proud Citadel into a blazing pyre. The fires leap higher, consuming everything in their path, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh and stone.

You watch, your heart a storm of emotions—anger, sorrow, satisfaction, all mingling into something fierce and unrelenting. This city, this place that has stood against you, that has defied your claim, that has crowned your half-brother in your place—it will be brought to ruin, every stone, every life, ground to dust under the might of dragonfire.

Silverwing’s wings beat against the hot air, her body glowing with the reflected light of the flames as she turns her gaze back to the rest of the city. There is no mercy in her eyes, only the reflection of your own vengeance, your need to see this place reduced to nothing but smoke and ash.

Your voice is a growl as you command her once more. “Burn it all.”

Silverwing’s roar answers you, and she dives, her flames sweeping over the city below, over houses and markets, over temples and towers. People run, screaming, trying to escape the oncoming inferno, but there is no refuge, no safety. The streets become rivers of fire, the buildings collapsing under the relentless assault.

You can see Daemon, his face a mask of grim satisfaction, as Caraxes lays waste to another section of the city. Together, your dragons are a force of nature, unstoppable, unyielding. You turn your gaze to the Hightower once more, the great structure now a smoking ruin, its walls blackened, its stones shattered.

You will leave nothing behind. You will raze it all to the ground, and when the ashes settle, they will remember this day, the day the wrath of dragons was unleashed upon them.

For Visenya. For your daughter. For the throne that was stolen. You will see them all burn. And Oldtown will be the first to fall.

Silverwing and Caraxes turn together, their flames lighting up the sky, and the city of Oldtown is swallowed by the inferno, the screams of its people echoing in the hellish glow. And still, you and Daemon do not stop, your dragons raining fire and destruction, until the city is a smoldering wasteland beneath you.

The charred remains of Oldtown smolder under the midday sun, the acrid stench of smoke and ash hanging thick in the air. The city is unrecognizable, its proud structures reduced to rubble, flames still licking at the ruins. Amidst the devastation, the once proud blue and silver form of Tessarion lies torn and broken, her wings shredded, her body twisted and lifeless. Caraxes circles above, his roar echoing across the desolate landscape, a triumphant call that vibrates through the air. But of Daeron, there is no sign—he has vanished like a shadow, slipping through the chaos like a phantom.

You stand in the midst of the destruction, Silverwing looming behind you, her scales glowing in the harsh light, reflecting the inferno around you. The heat is intense, almost suffocating, but it’s nothing compared to the fire that burns within your chest. Before you, a small cluster of Septons and Septas stand trembling, their robes stained with ash and blood, their eyes wide with terror.

One of the Septons, his face twisted with fear but his voice defiant, steps forward. “You are a monster,” he spits, his words ringing out over the desolation. “An abomination, cursed by the gods. You and your dragon are the doom of us all.”

You feel a cold smile curve your lips as you draw Blackfyre, the legendary blade gleaming darkly in your hand. The weight of it is familiar, comforting. It’s as if the sword itself thirsts for blood, hungers for vengeance. You take a step forward, your gaze locking onto the Septon’s.

“You speak of gods and curses,” you say, your voice low and filled with barely restrained fury. “But where were your gods when my daughter was killed? Where were they when the Faith crowned a usurper in my place?”

The Septon falters, his courage wavering, but he does not step back. “You defy the Seven, Targaryen. The gods will strike you down for this blasphemy.”

You raise Blackfyre, the blade catching the light as you point it at him. “The Faith of the Seven is an enemy of the throne,” you declare, your voice ringing out over the ruins. “An enemy that has aided in the theft of my birthright, that has betrayed the true blood of the dragon. I will root you out from every corner of Westeros. You will find no sanctuary, no mercy.”

The Septon’s face pales, but he lifts his chin defiantly. “The gods will judge you,” he says, his voice shaking but resolute. “You will burn in the Seven Hells for this.”

You step closer, the tip of Blackfyre inches from his chest. “Then let them strike me down,” you hiss, and with a swift, brutal motion, you drive the blade through his robes, piercing flesh and bone. The Septon screams, a high, wailing sound that cuts through the smoke and ash like a blade.

“Scream louder,” you command, twisting Blackfyre as his blood pours over your hands, hot and slick. “Call out to your gods. Let them hear you.”

The Septon’s cries turn to desperate, choking sobs, his hands clawing at the blade, his eyes wide with agony. The others around him watch, horror-stricken, but none dare to move, frozen in the grip of terror. You twist the sword again, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone give way under your hands.

“Is this not what your gods wish?” you ask, your voice mocking, filled with contempt. “Where is their wrath now? Where is their power?”

The Septon collapses to his knees, the life draining from his eyes as his strength fails him. With a final, savage pull, you yank Blackfyre free, the blade glistening with his blood. He crumples at your feet, his breaths ragged and shallow, his face a mask of pain and despair.

You look up at the sky, the smoke swirling above, and raise Blackfyre high, the blood dripping from the blade onto the scorched ground. “Are you watching?” you shout, your voice filled with a bitter fury that echoes across the ruins. “Are you listening, gods of the Seven?”

The sky is silent, the only answer the distant roar of Caraxes, the crackle of flames, the weeping of the dying city around you. There is no thunder, no divine retribution, no sign of any power greater than the one you wield in your hand.

You lower the sword, your gaze sweeping over the Septons and Septas, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. “Your gods are silent,” you say, your voice cold, emotionless. “If they exist at all, they do not care.”

Turning your back on the crumpled, dying Septon, you nod to Silverwing. “Dracarys.”

With a mighty roar, Silverwing unleashes a torrent of fire, her flames sweeping over the huddled figures. Their screams rise up, a cacophony of terror and pain, as they are consumed by the inferno. You do not look back as you walk away, the heat of the flames at your back, your heart a cold, burning core of rage and loss.

Let the world see this and tremble. Let them know that the dragon has returned, and that you will not rest until all who have wronged you, who have betrayed your family, have been reduced to ash. This is the price of treason. This is the price of faith in false gods.

And you will be the one to collect it, blade by blade, fire by fire, until the debt is paid in full.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep’s council chamber is heavy scent of smoke and incense. Aegon, the newly crowned king, lounges in his chair, his fingers drumming restlessly against the polished wood of the table. Aemond sits beside him, his face twisted into cold determination, his single eye fixed on nothing, lost in thought. Alicent is nearby, her gaze flicking between her sons and the door, her expression tight with anxiety.

Around the table, the other members of the small council wait in uneasy silence—Grand Maester Orwyle, his face pale and strained; Lord Tyland Lannister, his lips pressed into a thin line; Ser Criston Cole, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, as if prepared for any sudden threat. Lord Jasper Wylde and Larys Strong complete the assembly, both watching the door with nervous anticipation.

The door bursts open, and Otto Hightower strides in, his face ashen, his movements almost unsteady. Alicent’s eyes widen, alarm flashing across her features as she quickly rises, moving to support him.

“Father, what’s happened?” she asks, her voice laced with worry as she takes his arm, guiding him to the nearest chair.

Otto collapses into the seat, his hand clutching at his chest as if trying to steady his breathing. “Oldtown…” he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “Oldtown is gone. Burned to the ground.”

A shocked silence falls over the room, every face turning toward Otto in disbelief. Aegon sits up straighter, his eyes widening. “What?” he breathes, his voice tinged with disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

Otto takes a deep breath, his face lined with exhaustion and grief. “Your half-brother and Daemon… they attacked Oldtown. Burned the city, the Hightower, the Citadel… everything.”

Alicent’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with horror. She sways, and Ser Criston steps forward, his face dark with concern. “My lady…”

She shakes her head, trying to gather herself. “And Daeron?” she asks, her voice trembling. “What of my son?”

Otto’s gaze drops, his face tightening. “There is no word of him. Tessarion is dead. I fear the worst.”

The room erupts into chaos. Orwyle’s face turns even paler, if that were possible. “The Citadel… gone?” he mutters, his voice filled with disbelief. “The records, the histories… centuries of knowledge…”

Tyland Lannister leans forward, his voice sharp and urgent. “And what do we do now? What if they come here next?”

Aegon’s face twists with fear, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking some escape. “He’s mad. Worse then Maegor,” he says, his voice rising with panic. “He’ll kill us all.”

Otto lifts his head, forcing his voice to be calm and steady. “No, he won’t. King’s Landing is armed, fortified. We have dragons, too. He won’t attack us here.”

“But we need to prepare,” Alicent insists, her voice shaking. “We need to protect what’s left of our family.”

Larys Strong, his eyes dark and calculating, is the first to find his voice. “We need allies,” he says softly, his gaze shifting around the table. “If we are to survive this, we must gather support, quickly.”

Aemond rises, his movements sharp and determined. “I will go to Storm’s End,” he declares, his voice cold and unyielding. “The Baratheons will stand with us.”

Tyland nods, his eyes gleaming with a fierce light. “I will send word to my brother in the West. House Lannister has not forgotten the insult dealt by the Targaryen prince. He will rally to our side.”

Aegon looks between them, his face pale and drawn, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “And what if that’s not enough?” he demands, his voice a harsh whisper. “What if he brings his dragons here?”

Otto forces himself to stand, his hand resting on the back of Alicent’s chair for support. “Then we will fight,” he says firmly, though his eyes betray the fear that gnaws at him. “We will defend the throne, and we will not let him tear this realm apart.”

The room is tense, the fear and uncertainty thick in the air. Aegon looks around at his council, his eyes wide with desperation. “Do something,” he demands, his voice breaking. “Anything. We cannot let him win.”

Aemond places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his gaze fierce and determined. “We won’t let him take this city,” he promises, his voice low and deadly. “Let him come. I will meet him with fire and blood.”

The words hang in the air, a grim vow that sends a shiver through everyone present. They have seen what your wrath can do, the destruction you are capable of. And they know that the fight that is coming will be like nothing they have faced before.

Otto sinks back into his chair, his face drawn with exhaustion. He glances at Alicent, his eyes filled with unspoken sorrow. “We must be united,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “For our family.”

Alicent nods, though her face is pale, her hands trembling. She turns to Aegon, her voice soft but filled with resolve. “You are the king,” she says, her eyes locked on his. “You must be strong. For all of us.”

Aegon swallows hard, his gaze shifting from his mother to his uncle, then to the rest of his council. “I will try,” he says, his voice a thin, fragile thread. “I will try.”

The room falls silent, the weight of the coming storm pressing down on them all. They are the rulers of a kingdom on the brink of war, a family divided by blood and betrayal. And somewhere beyond the walls of the Red Keep, you and Daemon are coming, your vengeance burning as bright and deadly as dragonfire.

The sun is sinking low over Dragonstone, casting the cliffs and towers in hues of gold and crimson. The air is charged with anticipation, a collective breath held as you and Daemon descend from the sky, your dragons’ massive forms casting shadows across the courtyard below. Silverwing and Caraxes land with a thunderous crash, their wings sending gusts of wind that stir the banners overhead, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra stands at the forefront, her face pale but resolute, surrounded by your children and family. Jace and Luke stand tall beside her, their young faces set with a determination beyond their years. Joffrey is next to his eldest brothers, his wide eyes fixed on you with a mixture of awe and fear. Beside them, Aegon and Viserys, still too young to fully understand the gravity of the moment, huddle together, their small hands gripping each other for reassurance.

Daemon’s twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, stand slightly apart, their faces calm but watchful. Rhaenys is there too, her gaze proud and unyielding, Laenor at her side, his expression one of quiet strength.

Beyond them, your bannermen and retainers have gathered, a sea of loyal faces turned toward you. And beside them, Ser Erryk stands, his armor gleaming in the dying light. In his hands, he cradles the crown of King Viserys, the metal dark and heavy with the weight of your father’s legacy.

You dismount from Silverwing, your boots hitting the ground with a solid thud. The silence is profound, the only sound the rustle of banners and the distant cry of seabirds. Daemon joins you, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd, his expression inscrutable.

Rhaenyra steps forward, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel the unspoken question in her gaze, the worry and the fear she tries so hard to hide. You walk to her, your heart a maelstrom of emotions—rage, sorrow, resolve. She reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as she touches your arm.

“You’re back,” she whispers, her voice filled with relief and something more, something fragile.

You nod, your voice low. “I am.”

Her gaze flickers over you, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe a confirmation of the man she knows, the man she loves. You see the moment she finds it, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. She glances back at your children, then at Ser Erryk.

Erryk steps forward, his expression solemn as he raises the crown. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice carrying over the courtyard. “The crown of your father, King Viserys. It belongs to you.”

The air is electric, a palpable sense of history turning in this moment. You reach out, your hand steady as you take the crown from Erryk’s hands. It’s heavier than you remember, the metal cold against your skin, the weight of it pressing down on you with a finality that is almost suffocating.

You lift the crown, holding it for a moment, the eyes of everyone present fixed on you. Then, with a deep breath, you place it on your head, the cold metal settling against your brow like a seal, like a promise.

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a soft, reverent sound that grows into a cheer, the voices of your bannermen and retainers rising in unison.

“Long live the King!” they shout, their voices echoing off the stone walls, filling the air with a fierce, defiant energy. “Long live King Y/N Targaryen!”

You turn to face them, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces, taking in their loyalty, their hope. This is your moment, the beginning of something new, something that will reshape the future of the realm.

But even as the cheers rise around you, your eyes find Rhaenyra’s again, and you see the shadows in her gaze, the unspoken fear that lingers there.

Daemon steps forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Nephew,” he says, his voice low but carrying a note of fierce pride. “The realm will tremble.”

You nod, your gaze steady on his. “It will.”

Rhaenys moves to stand beside Rhaenyra, her eyes sharp and assessing as she looks at you. “The Hightowers will not take this lightly,” she warns, her voice calm but edged with steel. “They will come for you.”

“I welcome it,” you say, your voice carrying a cold, unyielding resolve. “Let them try. They will find a dragon waiting.”

The crowd quiets, the weight of your words sinking in, the reality of what lies ahead settling over them like a shadow. This is not just a crowning; it is a declaration, a promise of fire and blood to come.

You turn back to Rhaenyra, your hand reaching for hers, your fingers intertwining. “This is our fight,” you murmur, your voice for her alone. “For our children, for our family, for Visenya.”

She nods, her grip tightening around yours. “For Visenya,” she echoes, her voice steady, her gaze fierce.

And as you stand there, your family gathered around you, the crown of your father on your head, you know that this is only the beginning. The war has already begun, and you will see it through to the end. You will reclaim what is yours, no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.

The dragons have returned, and all of Westeros will feel their fury.

[repmet]

You show him the most extraordinary loyalty.

[greenlaut]

the four hunters 🗡🌿

extras + rambles below cut

yipeee i finally finished this illustration 🎉🎉

this is my personal take on the hunters gang (we will ignore that boromir died). honestly, i had a lot of fun thinking of the designs.

had to bring back my aragorn with his silly braid and blue hair ribbon. he's a ranger for most of his life, so he'd definitely go for practicality and what he's already familiar with—so no armour nor gambeson. he probably had a small fight with elrond before they left for the quest; where elrond tried to make him swap his gear for better, newer ones and aragorn just adamantly refusing because he's a lot more familiar (and more comfortable) with his own. which is why he's wearing tattered and worn rags. his red tunic is the only new thing he allowed elrond to swap to a new one. boromir definitely got exhasperated and somewhere down the line, he loaned aragorn his pair of arm bracers.

boromir (and faramir's (not featured here)) design changed a lot since the past years. it's a mash-up of both movie!boromir and lore accurate book!boromir. his hair is a lot darker and he has more of a storm blue-grey eyes as a nod towards his elendil ancestry. his clothing is heavily based off the movie. as for his cloak; since he's The son of gondor and denethor's favourite, i think he'd definitely get the fortune of wearing a fur cloak. the clasp has the white tree engraved on it.

gimli is by far my favourite. i always wanted to draw my take of gimli in his regalia. as a dwarven royalty, i think he'd groom his hair and beard really well, and he would've put on a lot of accessories to show his status. but since he's on a quest, he's not fully decked out in jewelries—wearing very practical clothing: gambeson with chainmail underneath. also, i like the dwarven fighting style they did in the hobbit movie where they go around and knock people off with melee. so gimli got hefty arm bracers and knuckle weights to really punch the shit out of some orcs.

for legolas; i think despite being an elf, he has the factors of being (1) mirkwood elf and (2) lowkey autistic coded. so he doesn't dress "like an elf"—not that the company would've known, with how limited their interactions with elves in general already. this meant that he dressed too casually despite going on a life-or-death quest. very light leather armour to support his speed and agility. he's not even wearing boots; just a pair of tree-climbing canvas shoes that he wrapped tightly. god knows how he survived this far. he's mostly a right handed archer—but since he lived for quite a long while, he taught himself to shoot with left hand too for emergencies. since his left hand isn't as stable as his right hand, he has a left-shoulder-pad.

THEY ALL HAVE SCARS because who doesn't get scars when you're literal warriors be fr. legolas' are more faded out though, because he's old as fuck.

close-ups:

fin.

[stellawish]

swiss roll

summary: satoru trying to help his son to learn how to roll over genre: fluff, domestic life warnings: none dad!gojo x mom!reader

“Here we go, buddy.” Sitting on the floor in Haru’s nursery, Gojo gently laid his son on his belly. The baby started to wiggle his short legs while looking at the colorful animals printed on the mattress.

Satoru began to gently massage the baby’s small back. Using rubbing motions with his hands, he drew a line from the shoulders to the lower back. In response, Haru started babbling.

The contrast between your son's small back and Gojo's large hands looked comical. Watching this, you giggled.

As first-time parents, you are always learning and seeking new information, whether from books or various websites.

Recently, you caught Satoru watching a tutorial video. "Massage helps strengthen the back muscles and aids in digestion," said the woman in the video about helping your baby learn to roll over.

Satoru continued with the same gentle movements of his thumbs, drawing lines in opposite directions as he moved lower.

When he finished, he turned the baby onto his back and said in a mock-serious voice, "Now the real training begins. This time, don’t expect any mercy."

Your 4-month-old boy showed his gummy smile, and unable to resist, Satoru kissed his son’s round cheek.

Your husband took Haru's short legs and lifted them into the air, directing them towards his tummy. Then he lowered them down and repeated the movement again.

You were lying next to them on your side, resting your hand under your head and watching the scene with a broad smile. “By the way, Toru, Megumi texted me and said they’ve arrived.”

Megumi and his friends went to summer camp for a few weeks. When he first told you about this plan, both you and Gojo were surprised, as Megumi isn’t very social and prefers spending time alone.

So, his decision to attend summer camp delighted both of you. “I’m glad he’s opening up and coming out of his shell,” you said.

“They’re good kids,” Gojo added.

“There's a great spot nearby that sells some awesome strawberry Swiss rolls. I should get him to bring some home.”

You watches him simultaneously lifting the little boy by his arms and placing him in a sitting position. Satoru read somewhere that such activities strengthen the baby’s muscles and help them learn to roll over independently.

“There you go, little one.” As he turned Haru onto his back, Satoru tickled the baby’s neck, making him wiggle.

Next, your husband, carefully supporting the baby’s side, flipped him onto his tummy and then back onto his back, repeating the action once more.

For the last time, Gojo exaggeratedly sighed and, in a playful manner, said, “Good job, buddy. You did great.” He praised his son. “Now tell me, where did you get your athleticism from, hmm?”

You giggled. “You, my little Swiss roll.” Gojo tickled the baby’s belly and blew raspberries, causing Haru to wiggle and giggle.

Satoru decided to spare the baby and pulled away with a big smile. “Okay, now which book do you want to read today?”

He flipped Haru back onto his tummy and stood up while you gently stroked the baby’s back.

Gojo chose a book and lay down on the other side of Haru. He opened the first page and placed the colorful interactive book in front of his son, encouraging him to explore it.

You stretched your left arm out and accidentally pressed a toy, which squeaked “meow.”

This distracted Haru from the book, and he turned his head toward you. Unable to find the source of the sound, he tucked his right arm underneath himself and, lifting his plump left thigh, ended up on his back.

You and Gojo looked at each other in shock, questions in your eyes. “Did you see that?” your lips stretched into identical smiles. “Oh, my baby, what a good boy. Can you do that again, hmm?” You both began to shower your chubby little one with kisses, eliciting his laughter and making his cheeks rosy.

While you all cuddled together, praising your little one, you locked eyes with Satoru. Despite the genuine joy for your son’s first victory, you saw the reflection of your own thoughts in his eyes: Don’t grow up too fast, son.

more dad!gojo HERE

[ssahotchnerr]

Could you write something where someone compliments Hotch for "babysitting" and "helping out" when hes out with his kids and he gets all 😑😑 do you mean parenting my children?

standard parenting

omg LOL cw; dad!aaron, reader is referred to as mom, a ton of domestic fluff, very light suggestiveness (hehe reader and aaron are soo in love <3) wc; 1.2k

"Jack." Aaron moved forward, spotting his son as he climbed up a curved ladder, at the ready if he were to suddenly slip. "Careful."

"I am." He took the last, big step, his hands gripping the supporting bars and landing on the platform safely. "I've done this two times already Dad."

"Help your sister down the slide, okay? I'll meet the two of you at the bottom."

"Okay." He confirmed, beelining down a rattly bridge in the direction of Ellie.

It was approximately 3 pm on a Tuesday, the park filled with the afternoon rush of children freshly out of school. A doctor's appointment had brought Aaron out of the BAU early, and after picking up Jack from school, Ellie from preschool, he figured there was no better way to burn off energy than the playground.

Hopefully it allowed for a quiet, relaxing night at home, with both kids in bed at a decent time.

Aaron stood at the bottom of the slide, peering upwards and squinting - he had regretfully left his sunglasses in the car. Ellie stood at the top, looking a bit lost once her turn was next, the slide intimidatingly large for a newly four-year-old.

"Jack's coming, honey."

It took some convincing; Aaron reassuring her he was right there, there to catch her if she overshot into the mulch. Jack would be right behind her. Further hesitation on her end: Do you want Jack to go first? No. Are you sure you want to go down? Yes.

Finally down came Ellie, giggling profusely and not paying a mind to the static the slide caused (Aaron mentally winced at the sound). Jack followed soon after.

"See, there you go." Aaron praised, hands moving to his hips.

"Again, please please please." Ellie whined gently, looking up at Aaron with her identically adjacent brown eyes. It was something she was beginning to master, the puppy dog look that could cause him to cave within seconds.

He was in for it.

"Sure pumpkin." Aaron grinned down at his little piggy-tail headed daughter. "Just a few more times though, Mom's waiting at home."

"C'mon Ellie. I'll race you." Jack suggested, kicking up dirt as he bolted off without waiting for a distinct answer. She ran after him, as fast as her small legs could carry her.

Aaron called out after him, "The stairs, Jack."

"I know!"

"Cute kids."

A mother - Aaron inferred - commented, falling alongside him. Aaron's eyes continued to track the two of them, ensuring they remained together and stayed far away from any arched ladders. They dashed up the stairs, into the depths of the play structure.

Aaron offered her a friendly smile in return, "Thank you."

"It's nice to see someone so attentive for a change." She huffed, notably an impressed breath. "Most babysitters just sit on the bench on their cell phone."

Aaron's expression dropped; a mix of confusion and dumbfound, his smile gradually fading. The only thing going through his mind: I'm sorry, what?

"Well, I'm not like most babysitters." He frowned, pressing his lips together and eyebrows drawing into a line.

"Good for you." She commended, not taking the hint. A child called out to her, causing her to move forward. "See ya."

She left, but scowl on his face stayed.

It hadn't put him in a bad mood, but rather, a dulled mood. The inference could've been an honest mistake, it most likely was, but it settled funny within him.

Only at Ellie's, 'Daddy look!' did his face brighten up. For them.

-

"Hi Momma!" Ellie bounded into the kitchen, nearly crashing into you and smiling from ear to ear. "We're home!"

Jack added to her status report, voices intertwining. "Dad took us to the park!"

"It looks like you two had fun." You grinned, using the pad of your thumb to swipe away an unblended bout of sunscreen on the side of Jack's nose. You also took note of his grass stained sweats, and the dirt scuff on Ellie's knees.

"We did! Jackers helped me down the slide and Daddy pushed me on the swings-"

"No one pushed me on the swings." Aaron commented, his hand finding the small of your back momentarily as he brushed past.

"That's 'cause you're big." Ellie made a face at her father.

"Can we go again on Saturday?" Jack asked, "I wanna bring my soccer ball."

"We'll have to see what we're up to, bud," Aaron answered, also fetching him a cup of cold water. The car ride consisted of Jack stating how thirsty he was, and how he refused to drink the lukewarm water his bottle held. "But I don't see why not."

Meanwhile, Ellie plopped herself onto the floor, pulling off her shoes and dumping the remnants of lingering mulch onto the floor.

"Hey hey hey let's not do that." You said, your nose scrunching lightly too; the normal kid-stink that followed after an afternoon spent in the sun. "And baths, both of you. Go on, I'll be there in a second."

Ellie's voice carried as she ventured up, something along the lines of bringing her mermaid Barbie in the tub with her. You ruffled Jack's hair gently as he passed, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

"You know what someone said to me today?" Aaron asked, turning towards the sink to wash his hands.

"Aren't you forgetting something first?"

He stopped, a knowing smile forming on his face. "How dare I."

Aaron moved forward, hands finding your waist to pull you near, placing his lips onto yours for a few seconds. Albeit how short it was, you savored it; coming home after a long, long day.

Satisfied, "Enlighten me."

He paused to actually wash his hands, flicking the water droplets off once he finished. You tossed him the hand towel that happened to be nearby.

"Someone mistook me for a babysitter."

"What?" You snorted out a laugh.

"Left me speechless." He exasperatedly rolled his eyes, wiping his hands and throwing the towel back onto the counter. "Can you believe that?"

"Well, you know how some people can be." You shrugged. Your statement wasn't much help, but what could you do.

"Oblivious?"

"What prompted it?"

"Standard parenting. I was simply keeping a close eye. The slide made Ellie nervous, Jack was being a bit adventurous today, and the playground itself was a nightmare. Everyone had the same idea I did, it was packed."

You hummed in response, dumping the neglected water from Jack and Ellie's water bottles out. Aaron continued to ramble on.

"And she saw the two of them. Jack - he resembles Haley a bit more, sure. But Ellie?"

"Your twin."

"Exactly." Aaron scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Babysitter. How in the world does that title come to mind before Dad?"

He shook his head as his eyes found the ceiling; utter disbelief.

"You know," you raised an eyebrow, regaining his focus, "you're hot when you're fired up."

"Am I?" Aaron smirked, pulling you in again just as he did before, arm winding behind your back.

"Mom!"

A whine drifted from upstairs, Aaron pulled away from your lips with a comically heavy, defeated sigh.

You shoved him at the chest playfully, grabbing a laugh from him, heading upstairs.

"She, huh." You teased, "Are you sure it wasn't some strategically formed ploy in hopes you were unmarried? Wouldn't be the first time."

He trudged up the stairs behind you, a chuckle shaking through his chest. "I doubt it. She seemed genuine."

"And you would know." You quipped, ends of your mouth turned upwards.

"With my profiling expertise?" He bantered back, playfully patting your behind as you reached the second level. "I'd hope so."

[byunpum]

Mama's Boy | Part 5

Pair: Jake x neytiri x human reader (trio couple) x sully children's

Warning: cozy moments, conflict, family problems

Note: I hope you like this part, the next one is gonna be the final part...Thank you sooo much!! btw I recently opened a KO-Fi…. if you want to leave any tips or support I would appreciate it (it would help me to buy real coffee xD).

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6(final)

The previous day's argument was very intense. Leaving the family in a very delicate state. Even you decided to sleep alone in a kind of bed you made. You were so upset with jake, you couldn't understand why he was like that with lo'ak. Sometimes you thought Jake was ashamed of lo'ak…ashamed that you were his mother. You had been sitting quietly in the marui all day, still feeling a little bad. You were taking care of tuk, the girl was by your side. Making a necklace for you, while she was telling you everything she did in the morning. "Love be careful…you can hurt yourself" you help tuk with the needle she was using. At that, you can see how jake enters the marui, he had a basket full of fish. Looking quickly at you, walking towards where he used to leave the food that had to be prepared. You decide to ignore him, and be playful with tuk.

"baby…can we talk?" asks jake, the man had approached you, sitting down next to you. You on the other hand were acting like he wasn't there. You look up, and sigh loudly. "Tuk honey, why don't you let mommy and daddy talk alone" you help the girl pick up her materials, and wait for her to come out of the marui doing some jumping jacks. You smile a little to see how happy tuk was, oblivious to what was going on. "Tell me?" you speak, looking at jake waiting for him to start talking. "Is it true that you are thinking of leaving? "jake looks at you, you could tell he was worried. It was too dangerous for you to go back to the jungle. The RDA was looking for Jake, and when Jake's name was on the line his whole family was involved. The months you had to be alone, you never left the lab.

"I see neytiri told you everything" you say, trying not to make eye contact with him. "Love…we can fix this" Jake touches your hand, but you push him away. "Jake it's not with me that you have to fix things, it's with your son. Your behavior towards him…it's terrible." You speak, trying to hold back your tears. "Y/n you're misunderstanding things I" jake speaks, but is interrupted when you turn around and are now looking directly at him. "Jake… I have a question for you, what does neteyam like the most?" you ask. "A-ahh he likes hunting, he likes to ride his ikran. He's also a great talker," says jake.

"Okay, now tell me what lo'ak likes?" you speak up, knowing jake wouldn't answer quickly like the other question. Jake gets nervous, looking around for a moment. "He likes…he likes being with his brother. " jake speaks timidly, watching as your eyebrows draw together in anger. "Lo'ak likes to ride around and investigate things. He loves to practice with his bow, he likes to spend time with his sister kiri and all he looks forward to is his father telling him he did a great job" you were already very annoyed.

"I know…" jake speaks softly. Shaking his head, look embarrassed. "Jake your sons are not soldiers…they are children. Children who need love and attention from their father. Neteyam is not the only one here who needs to be trained. Lo'ak too, he needs you to treat him with respect and love. What does it cost you to do that?" you speak, watching as jake pulled his knees up to his chest. Becoming more like a little ball. "I just…want them to be strong and …. I'm afraid they'll be weak and won't be able to survive this chaos we live in" jake tries to explain. And yes, he was a little bit right. But that didn't justify the preference he had over neteyam. "Jake, I know all that" you wave your hands all around you. "This is all chaos, I know this isn't our home. I know what we're going through, but what does lo'ak have to do with it? Why can't you treat him like you treat kiri or neteyam or tuk? What did he do to you?" you speak, getting up from the floor. You had to walk, because the rage was consuming you. You hated it when jake tried to avoid trouble. Telling you smith answers to distract you. "He didn't do anything" jake follows you with his eyes.

"I feel like sometimes you just treat him like that, because he came from me. Because he's not completely na'vi." You had tears in your eyes, you didn't know why you were so sentimental. Even though this situation always broke your heart, you wanted lo'ak to feel loved. "Y/n never say that… this has nothing to do with you being his mother" jake in one swift movement. He takes your arm, to pull you closer to him. "I wouldn't ask for another mother for my son, you are an excellent mother" jake lets his head lay on your chest. He is silent for a moment, you didn't want to keep arguing with him. You loved your family, you loved jake, you hated being upset with him. "Lo'ak is how I was…he is so much like the stupid jake who betrayed and endangered people he cared about. That stupid jake got innocent people killed" jake speaks, you knew he was talking about grace. She had been so important to you.

You take jake's face in your hands, pulling his face up so he could look you in the eye. "But that stupid jake was the one who saved a whole clan, that stupid jake is strong and brave. That stupid jake was the one I fell in love with" you speak softly. Tears streamed down Jake's cheeks. "I want you to be the person that stupid Jake needed, for lo'ak. He needs you…" you speak, feeling jake hug you. You both stand there for a moment. "I don't want him to make mistakes that he'll regret later," jake says. "He'll get in trouble if you don't help…try to be a better parent to him. That's all I ask of you" you start walking away from jake. Picking up some things tuk had left on the ground, you go to look for the girl.

"Do you think you would have been happy if instead of me, tom was the one in this body?" jake asks you. You knew this was tormenting Jake. You had been tom's girlfriend just before he went to earth. And there he was murdered. When jake came to the RDA and took tom's place. For you it was a big shock, Jake was just like your ex-boyfriend, but so different at the same time. You had to admit that Jake was the only thing that kept you sane those months. Not to mention the relationship that formed between the two of you. Jake allowed you to see neytiri again and get closer to the clan. Jake could be a fool, but the fool you liked the most. The rest is history.

You turn around before leaving the marui, tears in your eyes. "Believe it or not, I am very happy…but I wish your insecurities didn't affect this family" you speak, walking out of the marui leaving jake alone with his thoughts. You liked that Jake opened up to you, but you would like to see him try to improve his relationship with his children. Because it wasn't just lo'ak, neteyam was also affected by jake's treatment. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath and wiping away your tears. You calm down a bit, and start looking for tuk. Luckily for you, the girl wasn't far away. She was sitting with neteyam playing.

You approach the children, see how they look at you and their eyes light up. "Hello" you greet them, sitting down next to tuk. "Look my love, you forgot these things" you hand the things to tuk. The little girl thanks you, she didn't dare to come back for them. "Thank you mommy" tuk says, now sitting on your lap. You can feel neteyam's eyes glued to you, he knew things were not good between his parents. The news that you were likely to leave had destroyed him. Neteyam could be strong, and always be by Jake and Neytiri's side. But you were his refuge, where he could go and be a child again. If he was to be judged for a second. "Mom?" neteyam speaks to you, you look at him quickly. "Mmm?" you are helping tuk, when you feel neteyam sit down next to you. "Is it true that you are going to go and leave us?" neteyam speaks waiting for you to answer. "Mom? You are going to leave us?" yells tuk. You sigh, you had gone through a pretty strong disappointment a few minutes ago and you wanted to control yourself.

"Where did you hear that neteyam?" you look at the boy, you thought you had argued in private, but you guess your screams were too loud. "We heard it by accident, I promise" neteyam gets nervous, but you hold his hand to calm him down. "mom if you go…can I come with you?" neteyam was getting sentimental, you caress his face a little. Laughing a little and tapping your arms to give him support. "I'm not going anywhere…but if I did. Of course you can go with me." You speak, watching as neteyam pouts. You joke a little, in order to change the topic. You didn't like them getting involved in adult issues, you knew they had been through a lot. At such a young age.

It wasn't long before you started to feel a little dizzy. You tried to hold your child tighter in your lap, but you felt like you were about to throw up. Never having felt like this before. You push tuk a little so that the girl slips out of your lap, placing your hands on your stomach, you were in a lot of pain. Neteyam noticed this, and quickly began to help you. "What's wrong mom?" neteyam holds your shoulders. The vomiting was something you couldn't help, and you swore you were emptying yourself alive. neteyam held you so you wouldn't mess yourself up. "Mom!" the boy whines, he has never seen you like this before. It was so strong that as soon as you recover, your sight goes blank.

You start to get up, you could hear some voices around you. You didn't open your eyes yet, but you could distinguish them. One was from neytiri, and the other was from ronal. You could feel some warm things on your body, and some parts were wet. You start to become conscious, opening your eyes a little at a time. "Ma Y/n!!!" neytiri sounded so happy, she had a nice smile on her face. On the other hand, ronal was moving away from your body. You could tell she looked exhausted. "What happened?" you try to get up, but you barely had any strength. "You fainted again and neteyam warned us" neytiri explains, stroking your hair. Something seemed curious about neytiri, she was supposed to be worried and she looked so happy. "You are sick…you need to rest and take medicine" said Ronal, the woman was already looking in some containers for the herbs to prepare the medicine you had to take. The more you woke up you realized that you were in the marui that Ronal used to take care of the sick na'vi. "And the children?" you look weakly at neytiri. "They are with Jake, don't worry," Neytiri speaks, settling in closer to your side.

You rest a little, but you feel how Ronal starts to remove the towels that were warm before. Drying your exposed skin a bit. He had been using compresses and hot towels to try to get you up. "The medicine is a little strong, but it won't hurt the baby," says Ronal, holding out a jar of carracol. Your eyes widen in surprise, what the hell was this woman talking about, pregnant? This woman is crazy. "Baby? No, I'm not pregnant" you speak, now you had recovered all your strength. You were surprised. You look at neytiri, but she had a look that was worrying you. "ney" you push her a little, you needed her to speak. "Y/N I thought you are…since the symptoms" neytiri can't contain her joy. "Plus we did an abdominal test and we could feel something" ronal looks at you, handing you the drink. You are confused, and now you were about to vomit at the news. How could that be possible, you were sure you weren't pregnant.

Hey, you and Jake had been together. Well…ever since you had joined the clan. You two hadn't kept your hands off each other. Well… the three of you. You were sure neytiri knew you weren't pregnant. The idea of having a baby doesn't enter your head, not now that the atmosphere is so tense. You take the drink, you notice how Ronal is watching you. Making sure you take all the medicine. "Ahh it's disgusting" you complain. Listening to neytiri laugh, you liked seeing her like that. It's been a long time since you've seen her this happy, it was genuine happiness. "Well…I'll let you rest here. I'll come by later and check on you" ronal gets up from the floor, and walks out of the marui. Leaving you and neytiri alone. You were exhausted, but you can feel neytiri touch your stomach. Causing you to look at her with surprise. "We will have another baby ma y/n" neytiri smiles. "But when?" you had many questions, when you found out you were pregnant with lo'ak it was because norm did a test on you. But now it had been a natural test that na'vi women did to find out if they were pregnant. "I think it was the day at the beach" neytir laughs a little, blushing. You start to remember and you want to curl into a ball. You were scared, really scared.

"Hey, don't be scared. I'll be right here with you. And we've been looking for this for so many years," says Neytiri. And she was right, it got to the stage where the pregnancies were more about the two of you. They were very intimate between you and Neytiri. You wanted to be in on the whole process, including the excitement of being pregnant. It would build on the bonds that would be formed with the children. "I know…but this news is very unexpected…and even more so now that I want to kill Jake," you say. ""You haven't talked?"" asks neytiri, she wanted this to be resolved. "Ney…I need him to be a better father to lo'ak and you know I'm right" you speak. Neytiri is thoughtful for a moment, she knew you were right, and she would support you in whatever decision you make. And even more so at this moment. "Well, I'm going to let you rest. Ronal said he would come later. I'll come later." neytiri wanted to break the news to everyone in the family. A baby was big news for her, and she knew everyone would be happy. Giving you a soft kiss, and another on the palms of her hands. You swear you saw Neytiri jump a little in happiness, her tail wagging from side to side and the smile on her face was beautiful. You lay back on the comfortable bed and closed your eyes. You had to rest, otherwise you were going to die of madness.

"Ok, but you have to cut it like this" jake was with lo'ak. The man had decided to go looking for his son after the argument he had with you. Inviting him to go fishing, obviously this was a strange thing for lo'ak to do. But spending the afternoon with his father was making him very happy. Lo'ak was cleaning the fish as jake told him to, looking carefully at the instructions. "And what do I do with this?" lo'ak points with disgust, at the fish's stomach. "Remove it…that's disgusting" jake mimics lo'ak's wince as they both laughed. It was a very nice moment for both of them, jake had to admit that he had missed a lot of moments with lo'ak. While lo'ak and jake were busy, kiri, neteyam and tuk were sitting somewhere in the corner of the marui talking and playing with each other. When they noticed how their mother came in with a happiness. "I have good news," said neytiri.

"How is mom!!!" lo'ak gets up quickly, running to neytiri. "she's fine…but" neytiri pauses, walking over to jake to sit next to him. "What's wrong, she's supposed to just be sick at her stomach" jake says. The last he heard from you, neteyam had taken you to see ronal. And that you had a lot of stomach pain. "It's not a bad thing…come here everybody, come on!" neytiri makes the signal for everyone in the family to come over. Everyone sits around, neytiri looked so excited. "This is so big for this family… Y/N is expecting a baby" neytiri sounds the news, jake gets so excited he hugs neytiri right away. "No way!!!" shouts kiri hugging tuk and the little girl was already very excited. "Another sully to the family" says neteyam, excited. But apparently the news had not gone down well with everyone, "WHAT?" Lo'ak literally screams, capturing her parents' attention. "Lo'ak what's wrong?" neytiri is now confused, this is supposed to be a big surprise.

"Why is mom going to have a baby? She can't have one!!!" Lo'ak was getting a little upset. This was a jealous reaction, and neytiri and jake could tell. "hey lo'ak I need you to calm down" jake tries to calm him down. But the boy stands up in annoyance, getting out of the marui. "Lo'ak needs to stop having tantrums, he's too old to be having these dramas" kiri says. Neytiri taps her knee, kiri complains. Everyone in the family knows how lo'ak was with you, everything that had to do with you affected lo'ak twice as much. Jake was about to get up and go talk to the boy. But he feels neteyam's hand stop him. "Dad…I'll talk to him" says neteyam. Jake looks quickly at neytiri, who signals him to let his brother go get him. Neteyam gets up from the ground and leaves the marui to look for his brother. It doesn't take him long to find him, he was relatively close. Lo'ak was sitting in the sand, he could tell he was crying.

"Little brother…you're jealous" says neteyam. Listening as lo'ak whined. "What do you want you idiot!!!" lo'ak grudgingly replies to neteyam. But neteyam ignores him, laughing and sitting down next to him. "I know you must be feeling jealous," says neteyam. Lo'ak rolls his eyes in white. He didn't want to be messing around with neteyam, sometimes he could be very annoying. "You know…when you were born I felt a little jealous, but when tuk was born I must admit I couldn't help but feel very jealous. Our moms were with her all the time and didn't pay attention to us. " said neteyam. "Yes, but my mom has always paid attention to me" lo'ak says sounding a bit smug. Neteyam laughs, he had to admit that his little brother looked adorable. "And she's always going to love you, I'm the big brother. And having to share everything…but the love mama has for you is special and no one will ever change it," Neteyam speaks. Lo'ak is silent, neteyam stands up and taps his brother on the shoulder. Stepping away to let him think for a moment.

That same afternoon…

You were already up, and it was getting dark. You had to admit that you were pretty bored. Ronal was taking longer than usual. You wanted to be home, you felt a little better. And now that you knew you were sick and the pregnancy symptoms were making it worse, you felt somewhat reassured. Although the news of your pregnancy was not something you were very happy about. Sure, you were happy to have a baby. You had waited for this opportunity for so long, but it had to happen right now. Just now when the situation with lo'ak was very active.

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts, that you didn't notice when Ronal entered the marui. The woman can see that you were a bit lost. "The news of the baby surprises you, doesn't it? Because it does to me," says Ronal, putting some things she brought to refill. You look at her a little startled, and became a little alert at the tone of Ronal's voice. You weren't friends, and ronal tolerated you and treated you well because tonowari told her to. "Yes…it's a surprise," you say. Trying not to sound awkward. "It seems kind of unreal to me…that one" Ronal scans you up and down. "Human is pregnant, I have doubts even with your supposed child" ronal speaks, she could be quite direct. She didn't mind hurting other people's feelings. "Excuse me?" you get more comfortable in your bed. "Don't take this the wrong way…but it's weird" ronal chuckles a little. You decide to ignore her, you didn't want to argue because you still felt a little bad.

Ronal prepared more medicine for you to take in the next few days. Supposedly some food had made you sick. After several days you are supposed to be left with only the symptoms of pregnancy. She might be a little mean, but she wouldn't hurt you. You get up carefully, leaving Marui. Ronal all this time had been making uncalled for comments about you and your child. But at no time did you want to answer him, you didn't want to cause trouble. "Hey by the way" Ronal starts talking. You stop, and look back.

"I heard you wanted to go back to the jungle…and you know what" Ronal laughs again to herself. You didn't understand what you had done to this woman, but she seemed to hate you. "I think it would be best for your family. Even for that child…lo'ak. When you weren't here, we barely heard the sully. And as far as I can see all you've done is mess everything up around here," Ronal says, turning to continue working. You sigh, you weren't going to give her the pleasure of her seeing you cry, getting out of that marui as fast as you could. Back to the familiar marui, you couldn't help but get Ronal's words out of your head, maybe she was right. Maybe they were better off without you. And now you had one more problem.

P.s The reason I wrote that the reader was pregnant is that the original request asked for two children. Lo'ak and the baby on the way. Second, the reader is still upset with jake, but I wanted to fix things up a bit. Because I want it to focus more on the relationship between lo'ak and his mom.

Tag: @baybaybear1@hoodiepandaninja16@teyyyteyyy@anika-rose-walker@victoria2054@raviolisblog@jessi-dan@neteyams-wh0re@jimfiqs@bitchykittenconnoisseur@chershire23@holynightnacho@danilezilla@thepotatoislost @esposadomd @ratchetprime211 @juneonhoth

[msmk11]

Maybe

Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

WC: 1.3k

CW: Pregnancy, giving birth, Coryo being absent, some fluff, ANGST

Summary: You love your husband, but his growing inattentiveness becomes harder and harder to handle, especially with the arrival of your baby.

A/n: I don’t think I’ll ever have it it in me to write Coryo as perfect and sweet cuz he SUCKS. So you get a little fluff here, but a lot of angst still.

Day 8 of mk’s mad dash

The last certainty your husband offered you was on your wedding day when he said “I do.”

That was a year ago.

You knew he was busy. Coriolanus was rising through the ranks so rapidly you wouldn’t be surprised if he assumed the presidency within the next five years. Of course, you were proud of him. Not only was it your duty as his wife to wholeheartedly support him, you also truly, genuinely cared about his happiness and success. But as with everything, there was a cost. In your courtship, Coryo was so very attentive, loving, and dedicated to you. He made you feel special, and you had no trouble falling in love with him. But once he slipped that ring on your finger, all of it came to a halt. It’s not that he entirely ignored you- no, sometimes you saw the glimpses of your old Coryo when he was on top of you at night, or when you went to socialite parties- but you had often been left to fend for yourself this past year.

You absolutely tried to be understanding when your husband would remind you how busy he was, and how he was doing all this hard work for your happiness, but frankly, you missed him. And was it really so wrong for a wife to miss her husband?

Your loneliness and desire for your husband only worsened tenfold when you learned that you were with child. Coryo, of course, was thrilled that you sired an heir. But with him gone all day, and often at outings at night, you saw less and less of him as your pregnancy moved along. You went through your morning sickness alone, felt the first kick alone, learned the baby’s sex alone, and picked out the baby’s room decorations alone. You were desperately hopeful that the birth of your child, your son, would bring Coriolanus back into your arms, a paternal instinct drawing him into the realm of the domestic.

So when the day came that your water broke and contractions started, though you were overcome with anxiety about giving birth, the hope that fluttered in your chest for the return of your husband far superseded it.

You were out tending to the rose garden when it happened, your long, white flowy dress suddenly soaked. You calmly rushed inside to the phone and dialed Coriolanus’ office.

“Office of Coriolanus Snow, this is Lilith. How can I help you today?” A perky, feminine voice asked.

“Hi Lilith, this is Coriolanus’ wife. Can I please speak to him?” You said kindly as you rubbed soothing circles over your swollen stomach.

“Mr. Snow is very busy right now,” Lilith told you calmly, “can I take a message?”

“Lilith, please,” you answered a little more desperately, “this is an urgent call.”

You heard the clacking of her nails against the computer, “one moment.”

The line goes silent, and you know she’s stepped away to speak to your husband. Every second you had to wait to hear Coryo’s deep voice on the other end, the more anxious you began to feel. It was really starting to kick in- you were about to have a baby.

The line crackled and then, “Darling?”

“Coriolanus” you sighed, relieved.

“What’s wrong? I’m very busy here,” he told you seriously.

“The baby. He’s coming. My water just broke.”

Your husband inhaled sharply on the other side of the phone, “Oh, okay. Okay. Well, are you alright? How’re you feeling?”

You cupped your bump gently, “I’m okay right now, sweetheart. But I imagine contractions will start to kick in soon. Can you come home?”

And then, your voice slightly broke, “Please. I need you Coryo.”

“Yes, of course, darling. I’ll be home as soon as I call the doctor.”

“Okay, thank you,” you said, voice shaky.

You hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

*****

Pain. White hot, blinding pain consumed your body and you couldn’t stop the screams that were leaving your body. The doctor was saying something to you but you didn’t care. You just wanted it all to stop.

Tears were streaming down your face and you kept shaking your head, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Suddenly, like an angel, Coriolanus was in your view, white light shining down on his blonde curls creating a halo. Your sobs quieted at his face.

“Coryo,” you hiccupped, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He placed his hand on your forehead, stroking your sweaty baby hairs away from your face, and your eyes fluttered shut at his touch.

“Darling, you can. I promise. You know why?”

You opened your eyes again and stared intently into his bright blue ones, “why?”

“Because you’re a Snow now. And Snows can do anything.”

“Snows can do anything,” you murmured.

Can. Coriolanus said can. The first firm answer from him in a year. If he could give you that, you could do this.

Your husband nodded at you, a soft smile on his face, “Good girl.”

He moved his hand from your forehead down to your hand and clasped it tightly. His encouragement is what allowed you to start pushing again.

As you pushed, your screams returned. But instead of hopeless, frail screams, they were determined and strong. Soon enough, smaller, whiny screams filled the air- your baby’s.

The doctor swooped the baby out from between your legs, “it’s a boy.”

Tears began to stream down your face again, but they were happy tears.

“Coryo, we have a baby,” you sobbed.

Your husband bent down and kissed your forehead tenderly, “well done, darling. Our very own baby boy.”

“Mr. Snow, the umbilical cord.”

Coriolanus stood and gave your hand one more squeeze before walking over to your baby. With slightly shaking hands he cut the cord, and then your baby boy was placed gently into his arms. He walked over to you, the softest look on his face.

“He’s here,” Coriolanus said, placing the baby into your arms.

Your son was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and your heart swelled as you quickly noticed some of Coryo’s features and your own on the face of your son.

“He’s perfect.”

*****

After everything had settled and the doctor left, it was just you and your perfect little family cradled together in the master bedroom of your home. Your baby boy sat cooing in your arms, swaddled in a soft blue blanket, while Coriolanus sat behind you, arm around your shoulders and head peering over you to stare at him.

“We make a pretty good baby, Coryo,” you told your husband softly.

“Mhmm, that we do.”

You leaned into his touch as your husband began to run soothing strokes up and down your side. If everything could stay just like this, you would be perfectly happy. You’d never ask for anything else in your life.

“Sweetheart,” you implore softly.

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to take some time off work, to be with me and the baby?”

His hand on your side stilled and he inhaled sharply, “darling.”

You turned to look at him, big eyes soft and pleading, “Coryo, please. The baby needs his father.”

You paused.

“And I need my husband.”

Coriolanus hesitated, and you wished you could tell what was going on in that always-running brain of his.

“Maybe, darling.”

Maybe.

The death and birth of hope.

It wasn’t a no- the word so ingrained in your brain that you saw it seared on the back of your eyelids. And in that, there was hope. Hope that you’d get your husband back. That you’d get to be a mother alongside him as a father. That everything could be the way it used to.

But maybe wasn’t a yes either. One too many times now you’d gotten your hopes up when Coryo responded to one of your requests with a maybe.

Well maybe you didn’t like his answer.

Maybe you didn’t like feeling abandoned or alone.

Maybe.

But instead, all you said was, “okay.”

[miiukkaa]

raph's subway room 🧸

personally speaking, raph is both an easy and a difficult character to understand. he has grown up with the responsibilty of having to look after his younger brothers. he definitely can be rowdy, playful, goofy and irresponsible but there's a sense of responsibility that he carries and holds onto. i mention this only because i feel this shows in him wanting to let his brothers have things over himself (things like furniture, trinkets, food... just stuff in general). not in a dramatic way in which he'd sacrifice EVEYRYTHING for the sake of others and thus neglect his own needs, no, no, it's not black and white like that. this would simply mean that he owns less furniture/trinkets/things than what you'd imagine. a mindful guy looking out for those he loves (let us not forget that he looks after himself, too).

i gave the big guy a big bed which is supported by the subway car's seats opposite to one another as well as cinder blocks. again, very little space underneath the bed. there're a few teddybears by the foot of the bed (note that the mattress isn't as wide as the car so the bears are just sitting on the seat).

raph is a RnB fan and has shown to own a collection of vinyl records. i was feeling generous so i gave him a vinyl record player with an amp right next to his bed.

while i could have moved his DIY bench press in the car, i rather it stayed outside of the car as seen in the movie. he would probably still have some weights stored in his room (he could easily use smaller weights in his room, too - i feel there's enough room for that).

opposite to the main entrance, he'd have a clothing line to hang some of his clothes. oh, and the door on the right side? that's just half-open. i'm not sure if raph himself would fit through a half-opened door but i like to imagine it's more of a window to him anyway. (from the bed he would lean a little to squint what's happening outside before shouting "hey, what's the commotion about!?" or something).

posters! first we have ghostbear's poster which we have seen in raph's sewer room. i feel he would have ripped the poster off of the wall after feeling betrayed by the wrestler but then later taped it back up after having calmed down and feeling remorseful. he still does admire the sport and ghostbear after all. complicated feelings.

a new lou jitsu poster in which our favorite rat man is simply just posing for the fans. speaking of the rat man, i'd like to think he helped raph write down the famous japanese quote from the show: 「あなたは一人じゃない」 translated to "you're not alone". i mean, if i were raph, i'd want to write the quote down... ESPECIALLY since he doesn't know the language and it's easy to forget for that reason. it's like splinter signed his poster for his son in a way :)

the mad dogs flag looks like it was bought rather than self-made... so i doubt they would have bought just one for leo. i mean "mad dogs" is their thing so you gotta get all the siblings involved kind of like a shared tattoo!!

then a silly little drawing by mikey in which he drew raph flexing :)

and speaking of mikey! there's some graffiti art by him! both of them are near identical to the ones seen in raph's sewer room but... one of them just says "boss!" and the other is just flames.

a very simple room design but i feel it's just enough for raph :]

leo's room

mikey's room

[anghraine]

Speaking of the social context of P&P and Austen in general, and also just literature of that era, I'm always interested in how things like precisely formulated hierarchies of precedence and tables of ranked social classes interact with the more complex and nuanced details of class-based status and consequence on a pragmatic day-to-day level. I remembered reading a social historian discussing the pragmatics of class wrt eighteenth-century English life many years ago and finally tracked down the source:

"In spite of the number of people who got their living from manufacture or trade, fundamentally it was a society in which the ownership of land alone conveyed social prestige and full political rights. ... The apex of this society was the nobility. In the eyes of the Law only members of the House of Lords, the peerage in the strictest use of the word, were a class apart, enjoying special privileges and composing one of the estates of the realm. Their families were commoners: even the eldest sons of peers could sit in the House of Commons. It was therefore in the social rather than in the legal sense of the word that English society was a class society. Before the law all English people except the peers were in theory equal. Legal concept and social practice were, however, very different. When men spoke of the nobility, they meant the sons and daughters, the brothers and sisters, the uncles and aunts and cousins of the peers. They were an extremely influential and wealthy group.

"The peers and their near relations almost monopolized high political office. From these great families came the wealthiest Church dignitaries, the higher ranks in the army and navy. Many of them found a career in law; some even did not disdain the money to be made in trade. What gave this class its particular importance in the political life of the day was the way in which it was organized on a basis of family and connection ... in eighteenth-century politics men rarely acted as isolated individuals. A man came into Parliament supported by his friends and relations who expected, in return for this support, that he would further their interests to the extent of his parliamentary influence.

"Next in both political and social importance came the gentry. Again it is not easy to define exactly who were covered by this term. The Law knew nothing of gentle birth but Society recognized it. Like the nobility this group too was as a class closely connected with land. Indeed, the border line between the two classes is at times almost impossible to define ... Often these men are described as the squirearchy, this term being used to cover the major landowning families in every county who were not connected by birth with the aristocracy. Between them and the local nobility there was often considerable jealousy. The country gentleman considered himself well qualified to manage the affairs of his county without aristocratic interference.

"...The next great layer in society is perhaps best described the contemporary term 'the Middling Sort'. As with all eighteenth-century groups it is difficult to draw a clear line of demarcation between them and their social superiors and inferiors. No economic line is possible, for a man with no pretensions to gentility might well be more prosperous than many a small squire. There was even on the fringe between the two classes some overlapping of activities ... The ambitious upstart who bought an estate and spent his income as a gentleman, might be either cold-shouldered by his better-born neighbours or treated by them with a certain contemptuous politeness. If however his daughters were presentable and well dowered, and if his sons received the education considered suitable for gentlemen, the next generation would see the obliteration of whatever distinction still remained. The solid mass of the middling sort had however no such aspirations, or considered them beyond their reach.

"...This term [the poor] was widely used to designate the great mass of the manual workers. Within their ranks differences of income and of outlook were as varied as those that characterized the middle class. Once again the line of demarcation is hard to draw..."

—Dorothy Marshall, Eighteenth Century England (29-34)

(There's plenty more interesting information in the full chapter, especially regarding "the poor," and the chapter itself is contracted from a lengthier version published earlier.)

[shantechni]

I think an awful lot about Splinter believing in the start of the series that he'd lost his humanity.

For the sake of someone named Pete, I will go through the events in chronological order for once-

In Lone Rat and Cubs, Splinter tells the turtles about their time spent running from the Kraang before they found their forever home, and we learn that Splinter didn't easily slip into his new role. Sure, he cared for the turtles, kept them fed and sheltered them from the elements, but he still called them "creatures" and "turtles" before naming them. He didn't see this as an opportunistic situation where he miraculously became a father to a second batch of kids, but rather that he'd fallen into a pool of misfortune and would need to live with this new form while protecting himself and the turtles.

"What terrible deed did I do in a past life that such a curse has befallen me?"

As he considers the turtles' growth and the possibility of a future with them, he then begins to view himself as a potential father. He explains that he wondered if he had the discipline to be a proper father, especially after the loss of his first family, and he realizes it was something he wanted to be regardless of discipline or odd circumstances.

And so, he claims the turtles as his own, and accepts his role as their father.

Though he'd grown accustomed to being a mutant rat over the years, he still draws a line between "Hamato Yoshi" and "Splinter" without knowing it, albeit a blurry and ephemeral one drawn in ever changing sand.

We hear Splinter in the second episode of the series talking about the loss of his family, his home, and his own name. He more or less tells Leo that being mutated erased whatever connection he formally had to the name "Hamato," and the idea is further supported by a similar and more somber scene in I, Monster. Splinter fights off the Rat King's control as he again laments that his entire clan and family, even his humanity, is gone, and he has nothing but the turtles left for him in this new life. Fortunately, he retains his sense of self post mutation, and he's presented from the beginning of the series as one who's in control of himself, both to his sons and friends of theirs, as well as any enemy that comes their way.

However, that presentation of control gives us a bit of a look into his psyche and allows us to consider the idea of him still struggling to come to terms with not being human anymore.

With the introduction of the Rat King, he's taunted by a potential loss of that control for the first time and it shakes him to his core. It makes sense for him to be shaken up since all that'd be left without him is a mindless, humanoid rat who'd lost touch with the human it used to be. Which is why it's so compelling that his sons, particularly Leo, are so adamant about reinforcing the fact that his mutation doesn't erase who he is. It's incredibly noteworthy what Leo says to him when trying to break the Rat King's control over him, "Remember who you are!"

Not who he once was, or the human he used to be, but who he is.

They never viewed Splinter as a separate being from Hamato Yoshi.

The boys aren't strangers to Splinter's old life before them, and they're very much aware of everything he'd lost; the guy talks about certain things frequently enough for them to know his tragedies and recite them without skipping a letter. It's his recollections of the tribulations he suffered through that helped them understand that his life with them is undeniably disconnected from his life with Tang Shen, but not unrelated.

He's still Hamato Yoshi, and his place will always be with his family.

Having been defeated by Splinter, the Rat King runs to find another way of tormenting him, and his perfect target is fear.

Though we got a brief look into this during their first encounter with Falco's twisted appearance, it's not until Of Rats and Men that we get further insight into another layer of Splinter's concern with his rat half: the repercussions that could result from the loss of control.

Throughout all of his years of raising his sons, not once did he ever treat them with the intention to frighten them and make them wary of his every move. The Rat King can easily use that fear to his advantage and weaken Splinter's mental stability enough to figure out how to make mutants similar to him. And he truly makes use of that fear by turning Splinter into his personal puppet.

There's still a considerable amount of concern on the turtles' end that pierces through that fear though. After Splinter teleports across the room to distance himself, Leo looked ready to leap to his side, and the others, despite being threatened literal seconds earlier, remain where they are and are equally concerned.

Eventually, the Rat King strikes again and everyone begins to piece together what's going on when Splinter loses it. Mikey is absolutely terrified and staggered by what happened, and Raph and Donnie tread with caution while Leo and April are the first ones to approach Splinter.

The TV gives them extra confirmation that Falco is back, and to everyone's surprise, Splinter refuses to help them fight Falco, even when Casey is dragged down a manhole by one of the mutated rats in their first attempt to clear the streets. It's not an easy choice for Splinter to make because we see how guilty he feels for his refusal, but the gang doesn't fault him for refusing either. No matter how much they want for Splinter to join them, he's right to worry about what the Rat King, now stronger than before, could force him to do.

April speaks for everyone though when she tells him they all believe in him. They make it known that they aren't afraid of what may happen, and they especially aren't afraid of him.

Unsurprisingly, Splinter changes his mind at the last minute, and, with the help of a recently mutated cat, he chases Falco down to deal with him once and for all. Protecting his family takes priority over his doubts, and by the end of the episode, he overcomes his fear of the Rat King controlling him.

He has his humanity, and that's what makes him different from the rat Falco constantly made him out to be.

And for the first time in the series, in The Lonely Mutation of Baxter Stockman, he says out loud that he has his humanity and is thankful he's fortunate enough to still have it when others lose it post mutation.

I previously went a bit more in depth about it in this post but the boys have witnessed Splinter grappling with being a rat, particularly with the Rat King's meddling, and Donnie sincerely believed giving him retromutagen would be something he'd want. This was clearly an idea that's been weighing on Donnie's mind for a while considering that he seemingly kept quiet about his plan until he completed the retromutagen, and he's the most upset when he has to use the remaining dosage for Kirby.

But Splinter tells him and the other turtles he's content as he is and wouldn't do anything to change himself this far in. And the boys all seem content with his answer.

With the invasion of the Kraang and his defeat at the hands of the Shredder, Splinter again comes face to face with his mutated genes, and there's no Rat King stringing him along this time. He'd been swallowed by delirium with the lack of familial support to pull him out of it, and he became spiritually disconnected from his body as a result. The gang is initially caught off guard by Splinter's state, but they quickly get over it and work to subdue him.

While the boys are pulled away into battle, April uses her powers to sift through Splinter's memories and, after showing him the time he asked her to train with him, we see a memory with the turtles, Karai, and his only family portrait from before his mutation:

Seeing his family is what manages to bring him back to his senses.

We the audience, as well as Splinter, figured that was the end of his troubles with being a mutant rat, but Shredder decided to bathe in some super juice and sent Splinter careening a thousand feet into a dark cavern, the same one Splinter sent Falco down two seasons ago. Being thrown into near total darkness with a fairly debilitating injury and fever was the perfect recipe for him to begin hallucinating, and he believes the Rat King is attacking him when he's most vulnerable. But just when he feels himself slipping further away, his mind goes straight to the day his sons celebrated their 15th mutation day, and just beyond them is Tang Shen.

He regains his clarity, grasps that Falco's been dead the whole time, and is immensely relieved to see Donnie and Mikey after what he'd been through.

"Perhaps a teacher, but never my master."

Falco inadvertently taught Splinter that he's always had his humanity, and his family serves as a reminder of that fact by remaining a constant and significant pillar for him.

His family is his humanity.

[002yb]

Damian draws Jason and Dick in some kind of romantic setting (holding hands, maybe) and *that* is how Bruce finds out about DickJay... At first he's a bit confused, but then he starts to pay attention to the signs, and they are all there.

No thoughts, just Damian sketching life around him more often than not. A habit that starts when all the galas become grating and the 'eccentric artist' persona grants him some peace by virtue of Damian minding his business and looking both unapproachable and busy.

Because it's actually enjoyable, it carries over into casual outings, too. Bruce doesn't mind it, either. Is supportive of it, in fact. It keeps Damian out of trouble.

Bruce never having been too curious about what Damian draws until one day while they're visiting Clark on his farm, Bruce looks over Damian's shoulder and sees Damian is drawing Clark (who is working the farm and looking like a dream while doing it - sleeves rolled up, buttons undone, hair mused and muscles--)

"Is that appropriate?"

"It depends where your thoughts are, father."

To say that Bruce is amused at Damian's cheek is an overstatement.

That besides, seeing Damian draw something so scandalous sets off the overbearing, overprotective parent in Bruce because what else is his son drawing in the pursuit of 'art'? Damian's hardly a child anymore; more a sullen, broody teenager than anything. Bruce remembers what it's like. Hormones. Urges. Damian's interests in all things social would have died alongside the abrupt shift of his relationship with Jon years ago (the abrupt aging, the equally abrupt dating…his poor boy…), so it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Damian would turn to smut for--

And Damian clicks his tongue at him although Bruce has said nothing. They've been partners for years though, so it's no stretch to imagine that Damian was privy to Bruce's racing thoughts.

"It's no wonder Grayson is the way he is."

Usually this would be a compliment, but in this instance Bruce feels distinctly insulted. He just wouldn't know how.

He's calling you a pervert degenerate, sir. Dick's compatriot in foul-mindedness.

The drawing of Clark being utterly mundane. But because Bruce is a thirsty bitty, he projects the superbats UST onto Damian who is really not about this life, SOS

Also, Jon and Damian being fine contrary to Bruce's beliefs. Unless they're not. That's not the point of this ask, disregard.

So Damian tries to diffuse the situation and spare himself by blandly stating: "I've drawn you before, too."

Which is absolutely the wrong thing to say because Bruce's mind makes impossible leaps once again to: oh, my boy needs therapy.

To which Damian clicks his tongue again because omfg, Bruce is actually worse than Grayson. Disgusting.

So Damian flips a few pages back (the pages in between being normal, mundane life happenings -- socialites milling about the gala the night before, the wait staff prepping in the kitchen, Alfred mending a button on a shirt, etc) and then, ah.

It's Bruce. Tucked away in his study, finishing up work he had to bring home from the office. Tie thrown over his shoulder, furrow in his brow and face squished by his own hand. Focused, intent, and woefully oblivious because while he remembers Damian being there sat on the couch, he can't recall that he'd been doing this. Huh.

Bruce being so amazed and pleased because look at that, his boy is an artist.

But then, with lines merged into those that make up Bruce's likeness is another moment captured. Alongside a couple others that could fit onto the page

Not inappropriate, per se, but disarmingly intimate nonetheless

Dick, he would recognize. And Jason?

The way Bruce would be utterly bemused because oh. There's nothing so defined; that's not the point of these exercises Damian does, but it's there regardless. A closeness and familiarity. Softness.

Bruce would have to wonder if this is how Damian saw them or how he sees them; knows it's both

And it's curious, because Bruce has never...

He'd linger on those drawings. Of Dick and Jason sat next to each other, Dick's arm thrown over the back of Jason's chair and leaned over into Jason's space -- Jason being drawn in just the same to look over something on Dick's phone.

And more: with Jason laid back, propped up on his elbows and keeping Dick away with his foot. Dick's hand wrapped so casually around the arch, bending Jason's leg. The follow up after Jason must have reversed their positions, with Jason sat on Dick's hips and leaning back against Dick's propped up legs, his own legs hiding Dick's face, but all his intention showing in the steady hold of his hand at Jason's knee

Bruce leafs through the rest of the sketchbook. Seeking out more. Captivated by it because somehow he missed something important. It's right here, too. Alongside so many other mundane things from their everyday lives.

Hidden among other sketches in varying degrees of completion, lost between strangers and landscapes and animals and individual portraits are his boys, at ease and content and oh, what a beautiful thing that is

And Damian misses the memo of where Bruce's thoughts wander, still grumbling under his breath about Bruce projecting his unresolved whatever with Clark on him, gross. Accusing Damian of drawing smut. Even if Bruce was interested in commissioning, Damian won't do it even if it's Bruce asking. Damian has his line and this is it.

From then on, Bruce being mindful of Dick and Jason's interactions. Subtly observing. And it would be right there, though it's discreet. Bruce would catch the affection in bumped shoulders and playful shoves; games of chase around the cave or across rooftops. It would be there in their briefs/debriefs, with Dick's chair turned closer to Jason. Or with Jason brushing his pinky against Dick's before pulling away, shy and with his hand hiding his blush.

It's the lingering looks and the bitten back smiles; the bright eyes and the quiet, joyful warmth.

And Bruce should say something, do something. It's a liability, a risk, a distraction, but the relief would leave Bruce loathe to intrude. Because he can't remember the last time he saw and was able to appreciate either Dick or Jason being so happy. He'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

So for once, Bruce minds himself. And he stays quiet. And he contents himself with observing, same as Damian.

Who very cheekily frames that picture of Clark and leaves it on Bruce's nightstand with a note to keep his depravities to himself, thanks

[allyheart707]

1 Year Comic Collab - PART 2

<- Part One

THANK YOU to everyone who has joined this collab and everyone else who has stuck with me through this year of my comic! I am so so so thankful for all of you guys! This comic has gotten me out of my comfort zone, helped me find friends, and taught me SO much about art and animation. I would NOT have stuck with it so long if it wasn't for all of your support. <3 <3 <3

A special thank you to @bambiraptorx who helped A TON in setting up the ID's for this comic, @kitmay05 who helped with advice and writing the extra IDs that were left unfinished, @cupkatwarrior9 who also helped a ton with advice and IDs, and @nootdhoodle who created and modded my discord server for me!!

Credits in order top to bottom: @kitmay05. @rainyraisin, @averagetmntfan (line art) & @cosmocafe (color), @flour-consumer, @dianagj-art , @3mutantsinatrenchcoat , @chaos-potat , @irequirealobotomy , @koolaidashley , @risebabyx2 , @clown-froggi , @riseleon , @beetleviolet , @karonkar , @brightonstudios , @cupkatwarrior9 , @bambiraptorx , @fxliciq-a , @truths33k3r4 , and last but not least, @nootdhoodle

[ID: Panel 21- Carol sitting in the middle of a bunk bed, Mikey cuddled up close arms and legs wrapped around Carol. Donnie sitting to the side getting head pats from Carol. She is saying, "once upon a time...". Both boys' tails are wagging.

Panel 22- Huginn hovering in the air saying, "there was a great warrior." Leo tucked in looking so excited he's sparkling. Muninn floats nearby also looking exited.

Panel 23- Heishi lying in his bed. He is so excited that his eyes are shining stars and his mouth is agape. Hugin off screen says "He could beat anyone or anything with just his hands!!"

Panel 24- A digital drawing of Huginn with his arms and wings spread, though part of his body isn't in the frame. He has a happy expression on his face and his mouth is widely opened. His text bubble says "And every time he won, he would give the crowd a big smile and shout-". The drawing is watermarked by flour-consumer.

Panel 25- Hugin and Munin fly behind Heishi, the three are throwing their fists to the air cheering "Hot Soup!" image watermarked by dianagj-art.

Panel 26- Transitions to Raph bedroom which is decorated with glow in the dark stars and movie posters. On a red bed sits Raph who is excitedly listening to his father tell him the story off screen "But more importantly, he was very good looking."

Panel 27- Raph, sitting on his bed, looks disappointed. Splinter is off screen but a speach bubble with his face in it shows that he is laughing at his sons reaction.

Panel 28- Splinter’s ears drop and his face falls into a frown, sitting on the rug beside Raphael’s bed. Raphael, laying on the bed, looks confused and concerned. The room is colorful, with childish toys and posters, and the blanket and rug are red, his color. It is watermarked with “irequirealobotomy” in purple text.

Panel 29- Splinter looking away with a sad expression saying "Then one day... they dissapearred without a trace". The background is a gradient from orange to purple.

Panel 30- Mikey, Carol and Donnie sit on Donnie’s bed. Mikey holds his stuffed bunny George and Carol’s arm as his tail wags. Donnie throws his arms in the air. “What? But… where did he go?! You can’t just disappear…” He squints in deep thought his hand now at his face. “Can you? Maybe…” He points his finger as his eyes light up with ideas. “Maybe he is being hidden, like us! Or-” Watermarked risebabyx2 in the bottom corner.

Panel 31- Mikey and Donnie, sitting on Donnie’s bed. Donnie with a worried expression, mumbling until interrupted by Mikey who excitedly asks; “Do you think we will ever meet him!?” The image is watermarked by clown-froggi.

Panel 32- Carol looking away from Mikey and Donnie somberly, fiddling with her hands. Image is marked on the top left with RiseLeon.

Panel 33- Mikey sitting hugging his legs on the bed. His pink rabbit, George, hugged close. Carol sitting next to him, putting his head, saying "one day, I hope you can do anything you put your mind to." Donnie sitting on her other side looking slightly sullen. Water marked with purpleviolet at the top middle.

Panel 34- Carol tucking in Donnie while Mikey sits beside her. All are smiling. Image is watermarked by Karonkar.

Panel 35- Carol tucking in Mikey on the top bunk bed. Mikey is smiling as he snuggles his stuffed bunny. Carol smiles and pulls the cover over him. Image is watermarked by brightonstudios.

Panel 36- Carol stands in the doorway, facing the dark hall outside. Her hand rests against the edge of the frame. She is looking back over her shoulder, smiling fondly. She is saying "Goodnight, boys." Image is marked at the bottom right by CupKatWarrior9

Panel 37- Mikey sleeps on his stomach, George next to his hand. His blanket mostly covers his legs and the bottom of his shell, with one foot sticking out. Watermarked Bambiraptorx.

Panel 38- Donnie sleeping peacefully in his bed, mouth slightly open.

Panel 39- Heishi asleep in his bed, blankets tightly wrapped around him with a smile on his face. Signed MD in the bottom right.

Panel 40- Raph is asleep in his bed with an arm above his head. Light from the open door illuminates a portion of the room while the rest of it is shadowed. End ID.]

[christinesficrecs]

It's the time of the year where I sneak holiday fics into all my recs. 🤶🏻

Scent Left Unsaid by bleep0bleep | 2.5K | Mature

In a society where werewolves are second class, Deucslist is an alternative werewolf network (similar to Craigslist) where humans and werewolves offer (mostly sexual) services. Derek is a long-term client of an anonymous human omega whose scent is just perfect. He never expects to meet him, until it happens.

Derek has slept with that faded red hooded sweatshirt every night since he got it in the mail. It’s calming, that scent; it’s everything to him. So it’s strange now that Derek is smelling it wafting from the end of the subway car as it careens towards the L line, lights flickering on the passing platforms.

My World Is Filled With Cheer And You by bleep0bleep | 10.8K

In which Derek and his daughter are displaced just in time for the holidays, matched up with Stiles and his young son in a government protection program.

Sidequest  by bleep0bleep | 11.4K

Agent Derek Hale has been working up the courage to ask his partner Stiles out on a date (finally!) when he heads out on a solo mission—without Derek. Eager to provide support, Derek arrives in Beacon Hills, only there is no mission, and Stiles’ dad thinks Derek is Stiles’ boyfriend.

Well. It could be worse.

The Kiss Doctor by bleep0bleep | 3.5K

“That’s me,” Derek says. “Are you, um— the Kiss Doctor?” “Stiles,” is the reply, and the guy grins. It’s charming.

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleep0bleep | 4.5K

Derek isn’t sure why he buys the house. He doesn’t need the space, that much is certain. While it’s not as big as the one Derek grew up in, something about the cheerful yellow paint and the wide staircase (with banisters wide enough for children to slide down) draws him in.

affettuoso  by bleep0bleep | 13K

Derek mentally kicks himself for just standing there like a lovestruck fool, but it’s been exactly forty-six days since he saw Stiles, and he still remembers the taste of his skin, how Stiles feels underneath him.

The Gentleman And The Fox by  bleep0bleep, Inkforwords | 15.7K

Derek doesn’t expect much from his arranged marriage. When his inattentive husband, Lord Stiles Stilinski, tells him he’s free to look for a lover, he doesn’t know where to start, until a dashing bandit named the Red Fox catches his eye.

All's Fair in Orgasms and War by bleep0bleep | 63.2K | Explicit

The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

nom de plume by  bleep0bleep | 3.9K

There are no more chapters. 22 is the last one. Derek groans in despair. He has to know what happens.

Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed by bleep0bleep | 32.8K

“Did you say–” Stiles starts.

“What?” Derek growls.

“We’re not a couple!” they both retort in unison.

“We’re not together,” Stiles insists.

Lydia coughs pointedly. “An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell.”

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep | 10.5K

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Mauve by bleep0bleep | 7.3K

It’s been ten years since he’s seen Derek Hale, but Stiles would recognize that ass anywhere.

remember my love by bleep0bleep | 23.3K

Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he's no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he's been in love with for far too long.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure. Derek blinks.

of course, of course by bleep0bleep | 12.9K | Explicit

Derek swallows, watching Stiles mull over the paperwork. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, licking his lips. He signs with a flourish and pushes the contract back at Derek.

Derek knows every word of the contract by heart, but his heart stutters anyways when a sentence jumps out at him. The client acknowledges that any bond created during the heat session is temporary.

[roxygen22]

Paper

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

Summary: Reader and Willy discover that Ben/Bean is an aspiring artist. Age: 3 & 17

<><><><><>

You were outside hanging clothes on the line to dry when you heard the back door slam and little feet running toward you. Before your brain could register what was happening, you were nearly bowled over by the force of Ben running into your leg.

You looked down to find that Ben had buried his face and balled up his fists in your skirt. "Pa ell a mm," you heard his garbled speech muffled by the fabric. You knelt down and pried his fingers loose so you could look at his red, tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I couldn't understand you when your mouth was covered. Take a deep breath." You inhaled deeply through your nose and out through your mouth a couple of times, motioning for him to copy you. "Good. Now, try again. What's all this about?"

"P-papa lelled at m-meeee." The boy started sobbing again.

"Oh dear. What happened?"

"I..." he sucked in a breath. "I wanted to dwaw him a picture. I saw paper on Papa's desk..."

"Ah, I see. Did that paper already have words on it?"

"Only on fwont. I dwew on back."

"Oh, Benny. We talked about asking before you touch anything in the study. Papa has very important papers in there for the shop and factory."

"I'm sowwy." He looked up at you with big puppy-dog eyes. You cupped his round cheeks in your hands.

"I know you are. But I'm not the one you need to apologize, too. Why don't you go inside to your room and play while I go check on Papa. After that, you can tell him you're sorry." Ben nodded, then shuffled through the back door to his room with his head hung low.

It was out of character for Willy to snap at anyone. The man typically had the patience of a saint, so you knew Ben must have drawn on something important. You quietly stepped into the study and spied Willy slumped in the armchair, one hand supporting his forehead and one foot kicked out. It looked as if he had collapsed dramatically into it.

"I made him cry," Willy said morosely without looking up. "I didn't- I didn't mean to. I shouted his name. I was just trying to get his attention and stop him before he did more damage. I...I startled him, and he ran off to you."

"Full name or nickname?" you asked as you sat on the sofa next to him.

"Full name," he groaned.

You grimaced. Ouch, you thought. Willy hardly ever referred to the boy as anything but Bean and almost never as Benjamin unless introducing him to others. It's on par with your mother using your middle name when you were in trouble. You shuddered slightly. That probably wounded Ben worse than the volume. "What did he draw on?"

Willy held up the face page of a contract with the hand not supporting his head. He had yet to look up at you.

"Oh dear."

"I'll ask Beth to type up a new one tomorrow before the meeting. It wasn't worth raising my voice at him. I...I just had a long day and...of course, that doesn't excuse anything. Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright," you said soothingly as you placed your hand on Willy's arm. "He's calming down in his room. Like you said, he was startled. You are usually the fun one, not the disciplinarian."

"I should go to him," Willy said as he stood from the chair. You returned to your previous task of hanging out the laundry so they could have some time alone to make amends.

Willy walked to Ben's room and gently knocked before pushing the door open. Ben looked up at him from his desk with big sad eyes.

"Hey there," Willy said softly.

"I dwew you another picture. I'm sowwy, Papa," Ben said pitifully as he handed Willy a piece of paper.

"Oh, Bean. Is this the factory?" Ben nodded excitedly. "Wow, such great detail! Is this what you wanted to draw earlier?" Ben nodded again, with less exuberance this time. Willy's heart broke as he saw his son's face fall.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry for raising my voice and scaring you. That was a very important paper you were drawing on, and I needed you to stop."

"I know, Mamma told me I need to ask first," he responded dejectedly. "I just had a picture in my head that I wanted to dwaw when I was by your desk."

"Ah, that I understand. Sometimes my ideas don't come to me at convenient times, either. Tell you what. How about I set up a drawer with paper that's safe to draw or write on whenever an idea strikes. You never have to ask for permission as long as it's from that drawer. Deal?"

Ben's face lit up again, and he stuck his tiny right hand to shake. "Deal!"

Willy shook his son's hand with his right and looked down again at the picture in his left. It was incredibly well done for Ben's age.

"Can I take this to the factory with me? I want to frame and hang it. If you draw more, I'll have a whole gallery wall of Benjamin Wonka works."

Ben giggled, "Okay, Papa!"

<><><><><>

Over time, Ben's art skills matured to charcoals, watercolors, canvases, and paints. Willy spotted the talent early and took great pleasure in encouraging it, supplying it. Fourteen years later, he had indeed collected enough of Ben's work to fill multiple walls.

"People need to see this."

Willy decided to surprise Ben by converting one of his shops into a limited time art gallery for his 17th birthday. He somehow managed to promote what ended up being the town's social event of the season while also keeping it a secret from his boy.

It was finally the night of the big reveal. "Papa, why are we going to the shop so late? I thought we were going to meet Mamma and Charlie for dinner?" Ben walked shoulder to shoulder with Willy. They were nearly the same height now.

Willy was vibrating with excitement. "I just need to pick up something I left there," he bent the truth slightly. "Your birthday present."

When they arrived, Willy unlocked the doors to reveal a magenta velvet curtain blocking the entry. He took the gold pull cord in his hand and handed it to Ben.

Ben looked at the tassel in his hand, bewildered. "What is this?"

"Your gift! Pull it and find out." As Ben pulled the cord, the curtain drew back to reveal...

"Surprise!!"

Ben stood there with his mouth ajar as he looked around at you, Charlotte, Noodle, his friends and girlfriend. Everyone rushed him for a celebratory hug. He gave you a kiss on the cheek. Then, the background details caught his eye. The crowd separated as Ben made his way to look at the walls that were now decorated with his paintings rather than shelves of candies and chocolates.

He browsed in awe until he stopped at the penciled sketch of the Wonka factory, gently tracing the golden frame with his fingers. He felt Willy step up beside him and gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Bean."

Ben looked over his shoulder to reveal misty eyes. "Thanks for always being my biggest fan, Papa," he said reverently.

"I'm glad I could be right here beside you when your talent is shared with the world."

<><><><><>

A/N: I think it's safe to say that Willy would be his kids' biggest cheerleaders.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

[darksigns-exe]

dad omens - noah sebastian

word count: 767

warnings: unexpected pregnancy, a tiny sliver of angst

Jolly Ruffilo Folio

It wasn’t planned. The news hit him like a brick, and he’s out of it for a good day before he re-assembles his head and calls.

There was no fight, just a I need to think that you had expected from him. You had briefly talked about your thoughts about children and family when you had started going out, but had agreed that it would be something to revisit in a few years — not a year.

You hadn’t even made up your own mind about it yet. But regardless of what you’d do, you knew that you’d have to tell him.

When he calls, he sounds so awfully meek, asks if he can come over so that you can talk properly. Says that he’d understand if you don’t want to see him right now, when the opposite is true.

He shows up at your door twenty minutes later, eyes all red as if he’s cried a little too.

The conversation you have is very honest and open. He doesn’t hide that it scares him like hell, that he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But the bottom line is that he’s with you no matter what you decide. And if that means being a dad, he’ll grow into that. The boy doesn’t back down from a challenge.

Noah has a few expected moments of panic. He wants to do you and this child justice, and sometimes he just can’t stop the panic from settling in.

He’s getting band things in order so that he’s as free as he can be, and of course your friends are immensely supportive in all of that. Calendars are freed up, things are restructured to give Noah more free time. The guys are around to help with whatever they can. Noah tries to be there for as many appointments as he can, helps with everything he can, even though there’s always that little bit of fear in the back of his mind. And sometimes it does get the best of him.

That all changes as soon as he’s handed your baby boy for the first time. That’s his child, you made that little person together. He’s up changing nappies, making deals with your son as if he can understand a word of what he’s saying.

He takes great pride in the bedtime story being his duty. More of than not, you find him fast asleep with your son at his side.

As he grows up, it becomes very clear that he’s the spitting image of his father, and you’re left with not one but two menaces who live for benevolent chaos.

They’re a real dynamic duo, always on the go when Noah’s at home.

He’s showing that kid off to everyone, but draws a very clear line when it comes to showing his face in public. Until he can say yes or no to being on camera, that child is not seen on social media. That doesn’t stop him from taking just so many pictures.

You have physical albums full of your kid growing up, and Noah always takes a picture with him when he leaves for tour.

He tries to call every day when he’s away, tries to make as much time not just for your kid, but also for you. Loves when you visit and takes great delight in chasing your son through the venue.

Maybe he’s not the dad who picks your kid up from soccer practice (mostly because the try-outs for that ended with your son saying that he doesn’t think that the others are in it to win it. Count on your child to be ultra competitive at the age of six) but he’s at every parent teacher conference, and he’s supportive of most new hobbies your son gets into. He draws the line at the fifth sport in one year and sits your kid down for a talk about it instead of getting upset. Turns out sports maybe aren’t his thing and he’d rather do something creative, but somehow got it in his head that sports is what he’s supposed to be doing.

A week later, Folio’s teaching him the basics of playing the drums.

Noah doesn’t ask questions when your son needs a late pickup from somewhere, doesn’t press for details but makes it clear that he can tell you both everything. And that policy of honesty pays off when he tells you about his first kiss and how he thinks that he has a real crush on that boy.

Noah’s by far not perfect, but he’s trying his hardest and that’s good enough.

[slyvester101]

After everything that happened with Crunchbite (the bastard) and Junior’s probably horrific and painful birth, I imagine Tucker is more than a little wary about letting strangers near him.

He gets this hollow feeling in his gut when he’s around people he doesn’t know, gets an itch in his skin if he’s touched by someone he doesn’t trust. His throat tightens and his heart squeezes and his hands shake. He’s not able to sleep well around strangers, has to keep his back to the wall or else he’s waking every five minutes to make sure no one’s snuck up behind him.

He spends his whole diplomacy curled up in a ball in the corner of his room with Junior tucked under his chin, keeps his distance from the soldiers stuck on his missions and keeps them away with sharp smiles and horrible flirting that would make anyone cringe away.

At the desert temple, when he’s all alone with nothing but hostiles banging on the door, Tucker laments in how much he misses touch, misses the freedom of being able to hug someone without fear of harm, of being able to know if a touch was friendly or manipulative. He misses Blood Gulch. He misses blue team. He misses his son.

Even after Sidewinder, Tucker still isn’t in the clear, isn’t allowed some respite with his team because the latest member is yet another Freelancer who was chasing to kill them not even less than twenty-four hours ago.

His skin is buzzing the whole time they’re being shown around their new base by Caboose, his heart not settling despite the action being long over, his brain screams as someone grabs his shoulder. He screams out loud too, it seems, because the hand is pulling back quickly and a soft apologetic voice is echoing through his head.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking touch me, asshole.” Tucker all but hissed before he stormed away, unwilling to let this new prick see the way his hands shake and the way his face has gone pale.

He hates it. He hates it. He hates how he can’t even stand close to the fucker without feeling ill, can’t help but track his every movement and every word for some kind of malice or cruel intent.

He finds none.

He’s kind to Caboose, politely nodding along to whatever he rants about and keeping him out of trouble with much kinder words that Church was probably physically incapable of speaking. He’s kind to Tucker even though he’s been nothing but a paranoid asshole the whole time they’ve been at Valhalla, never taking offense to the distance Tucker puts between them and respecting whatever lines Tucker draws.

It takes a long time for him to feel comfortable enough to let Washington touch him, not quite as long to start giving him shit like he would’ve with Church. Slowly and cautiously, they fall into a groove that’s uniquely theirs and Tucker feels like he can finally breathe in his own goddamn house.

His trust in Wash is cemented when Carolina comes into the picture and constantly steps in as a barrier between the two, Washington knowing that Carolina would try to scruff or yank Tucker around for his big mouth and that Tucker would probably rip her hand off if she tried. He’s the only reason the two aqua soldiers don’t kill each other. That fact becomes undoubtedly true when Wash choses Tucker over Carolina, pointing his gun at her as she threatens Tucker.

Caboose was always a steady presence to the chaos in his head, the gentle giant sometimes being the only reason Tucker didn’t fall apart at the seams while he cried his fears into his chest, but Wash is a different kind of support that Tucker didn’t know he needed, one he doesn’t think he’s ever had.

It doesn’t stop him from getting that itch in his skin when he’s surrounded by strangers, it doesn’t stop the sick feeling he gets when he wakes up from a nightmare, it doesn’t make everything better.

But Tucker thinks, kind of incredulously, that maybe he can finally be safe with these two by his side. Maybe, just maybe, he can really let his guard down and have someone else watch his back.

Maybe he can finally let someone in.