#do a bunch of charity efforts

[theemporium]

Blurb about Nico hand crafting you something because he is the cutest but it actually looks hideous 🥹

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

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Nico had reminded you of the charity event that morning when you had been rushing around to get ready for work. 

Not an awfully detailed conversation, just a reminder that he would probably be gone by the time you came back but that he would leave dinner in the fridge for you to reheat. He had told you more about the event a few weeks ago, something related to the Devils Youth Foundation and some other local children’s charities, but most of it had slipped your mind. 

Not that it mattered because you knew enough to know that, from the messages Nico had been sending you all night, he was having a blast at the event. You had caught up on them as you ate, snorting a little at the sporadic updates about Jack letting a little kid ‘give him a tattoo’ with a sharpie and Curtis apparently somehow swindling Luke out of a lot of money despite no gambling or betting games being involved at the charity event.

You had expected him to come home a little after you arrived. You just hadn’t expected him to come in with one hand hidden behind his back and a huge grin on his face.

“I’m scared,” was the first words to leave your mouth as you watched him kick the front door shut with his foot.

Nico rolled his eyes, though it was fond. “Don’t be, it’s a surprise for you.” 

“That is not reassuring in the slightest,” you told him as you sat up on the couch, the blanket still sprawled over your lap as Nico quickly took the closest seat next to you.

“Hi,” Nico grinned, leaning in to peck your lips with his hand still hidden behind his back. “How was work?” 

“Alright,” you answered, your eyes narrowed in suspicion as you tried to peek around but the boy moved faster. “How did the event go?” 

“Good,” he said, still grinning. “They had us doing crafts with the kids. They had a local pottery place donate a bunch of extra pieces for everyone to paint and decorate.” 

You raised your brows. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” Nico nodded as he finally pulled the surprise from behind his back and held it out for you. “For you.” 

A smile instantly worked its way onto your face as you took in the details of the mug. It was charming, in that way hand-done projects tended to be. But you could see the effort he put into it, from the stick figurines you assumed was meant to be you both to the little objects that were clearly sentimental to you both.

“Is that a dolphin?” You laughed, grinning wildly as you eagerly took the mug in your hands to analyse every inch of it. 

“I tried to paint that one from that weird movie we watched,” Nico said, his eyes crinkling a little when he smiled. “That movie we watched on our first date.” 

And you could envision it so clearly. You could imagine Nico sat amongst a bunch of children, smiling and laughing and joking with them. You could imagine him taking the painting so seriously, his tongue peeking out as he tried to focus on the small details with a paintbrush that probably looked ridiculous in his big hands. 

You could see it all so clearly, and the fact he did it for you made you swoon.

“I love it, baby,” you said, sincere and genuine as you placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “Thank you, it’s my new favourite mug ever.”

Nico’s expression brightened. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, gonna keep it forever.”

.

[mr-celestial-writings]

General Relationship Headcannons (Bats pt 1)

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Richard "Dick" Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy "Tim" Drake

Summary: How do I think these characters would behave in a relationship. How I think you two would meet, their love languages, their first dates. You know the rest.

Gender Neutral Reader

DC Masterlist!

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Bruce Wayne:

You two met at a Charity Fundraiser. He literally bumped into you. It was instinct to check you out, his analytical eyes scanned you. But it was perfectly hidden with his Playboy Brucie Persona.

He immediately went to charm your socks off. You may not have any vital information, but hey, at least you'd be a good lay.

He was very, very surprised when you turned him down. You sited not being interested in him as the reason.

Well, now he's just offended.

After that Night, Bruce began stalking seeking you out more. He learned everything he could about you. He had a point to prove, alright? He totally didn't find you attractive.

The more he spent time with you, the more he learned about you from you... The more Bruce looked forward to spending time with you.

Bruce found that he fell hard and fast for you. You were just... amazing! You were like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day. You were like the few rays of sunshine that Gotham gets a year...

Bruce eventually dropped the Brucie act around you, and he was surprised when you responded positively to Bruce just... being himself.

Bruce asked you out not too soon after that. He went all out on your first date. Candles, the most expensive food, a band. Bruce did not hold back.

You went along with it, but after words you told Bruce that you were okay with low effort, laid back dates. He felt like a bit of an idiot.

Bruce's Love languages would be Acts of Service and Quality Time. He loves doing things and spending time with you.

Richard "Dick" Grayson:

Haley brought you two together. The Puppy had gotten off her leash, and run straight into you. Dick apologized so much as he collected Haley from your arms.

Dick helped you off the ground, for a 3 legged puppy, Haley had a lot of power. He introduced himself, and offered to get you something to eat an an apology.

You two hit it off right away, though! Dick was funny and charming, and you bounced off of him easily.

What was supposed to be an apology hot dog ended up in a new friend and an exchange of numbers.

Hang outs became daily events. Dick would coo over Haley with you and buy you food. You were really fun to talk to!

Some months later, Dick decided to shoot his shot and ask you out. You were amazing, and just so fun to me around!

Your first Date would be at a cafe. Dick wanted to Impress you, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable with some massive, grand gesture. Who was he, Bruce?

Dick's love languages would be Quality Time and Physical Touch. He loves being around you and touching you. He also gives the best cuddles. It's a win-win.

Jason Todd:

Jason encountered into you at the Iceberg Lounge. He was just doing his usual rounds, making sure everybody was happy, along with scrapping together any information he could.

He noticed that you were uncomfortable, being hit on by a bunch of goons. Something told him he'd regret it, but he swooped in. He gently place his hand on you hip, it was sold you could easily escape if needed. With a few sweet words and nicknames, Jason chased the guy off.

He then properly introduced himself. You two got to talking, and Jason found that he... really liked talking to you.

Your friendship blossomed, and a year later Jason was hit with the fact he had a crush on you. Thank you Roy, for that.

He took his chance, and decided to ask you out. He was super relieved when you said yes.

This dork brought you to a bookstore for the first date. After browsing around he then brought you to a decent restaurant. It was all worth it to see you happy.

Jason's love languages would be Quality time and Words of Affirmation. He doesn't feel like he deserves you, reassure him that he does.

Timothy "Tim" Drake:

220k, strangers to lovers, slow burn, coffee shop AU- Sorry. You are a barista at his favorite cafe. You were the one who usually took and made his coffee.

He once asked you why you worked such unholy hours, since you were always in when he patrolled. You looked him dead in the eyes and said that college wasn't going to pay for itself, and that sleep was for the weak.

That's when he decided to look into you. He wanted to study you and everything about you. You were just amazing.

Bruce stopped that in it's tracks and forced Tim to talk to you like a normal person. No stalking and unhealthy relationships on Bruce's watch.

He was terrified as he talked to you. He led the conversation a best he could. The more he talked to you, the more relaxed he was.

You two got along very well! Tim was surprised about how well you two got along. You two shared a lot of interests. Tim felt... seen.

It took a couple months for Tim to work up the guts to ask you out. He was so excited when you said yes.

He brought you to the Observatory. He knew no villains would attack, and it was quiet. He bought you so much from the gift shop.

Tim's love languages are Gift Giving and Words of Affirmation. He has a lot of trouble with his self worth. Love on him, assure him that he is more than his role as a CEO or Red Robin.

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a/n: I split this up, like, a lot. It was going to be a massive post with all the male characters I write for. Then I was going to do the same thing for the fem characters I write for.

But that was very fucking overwhelming. So I decided to split it up into the factions I write for. So, expect A Few of these types of posts lol.

Also Happy American Thanksgiving!

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 10] Late Nights

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Satoru’s behavioral change is something that you never really expected. It seems that he’s warming up once again, even though you’re not giving him the attention he desires. He wants you to be the sweet and loving woman that you were when you were in a relationship, but you aren’t that woman. But it’s fine with him, he’s still warming up and treating you like an actual human being.

The bar is low, but you don’t really expect much from spoiled little Satoru. 

For some reason, you’re not liking this change though. You prefer him as the cold and mean boss that would snap and berate you due to a minor mistake. Maybe it’s because he’s molding and reminding you of the man that you used to love and you don’t want to see traces of the past relationship. Ren is the only reminder you need, and the best reminder because he reminds you how Satoru left you without an explanation.

You hate how he suddenly drops the mean act and is sweet; professional but still sweet. He tries to make an effort by asking how you’re doing, asking you to take breaks during work hours so you don’t tire yourself out so quickly (knowing that sometimes you have to run some errands for his mom), and whenever he orders food he asks if you want anything. You wonder what his mom said to him especially when you remember how he broke down and hugged you out of nowhere. She definitely said something to him.

“Have you started sending out the invitations?” Satoru asks, and you hum in response. Even though he knows you’re busy, sometimes you can’t get out of the task of working late nights. There’s so much to do in one day sometimes, and it’s especially busy with an upcoming charity event. It’s an event that his father would host each year but it consequently stopped when his mother got a hold of the company. Since Satoru is officially the president of the company, he’s honoring his father by bringing back the event– Additionally, it brings great publicity to the company, but that’s just an added bonus.

“Around one hundred people have said yes, a handful declined, and we still have a lot of people that haven’t opened it or are just thinking about it.” You inform him. 

“Have the Zenins said anything? Any of them?” He’s curious to know their response, and you try to recall. You remember the Zenin name coming up a lot while growing up, you never really got to understand the relationship between that family and the Gojos. They’re in constant competition yet they still invite each other to big events.

“Yeah… They declined.” You answer when you remember. He feels relieved to know that. They’re the last group of people he wants to see… A bunch of complicated snobby pieces of shit. He quite literally doesn’t understand why his father insisted on inviting them to every major event. He remembers Naoya, mainly because they went to school together, and that boy was unbearable. Satoru was lucky that he was a year younger. “I remember one of the Zenins–”

You can’t quite remember his name, and you try to remember the name. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite get it. Until Satoru speaks up, “Naoya.”

“Yeah! He asked me out when I was like sixteen. Really awkward… He told me that I’d never amount to nothing and it’d be weird to see him and show him that he was right.” You share, and Satoru finds himself surprised at the information that you share. How has he never heard of that? 

“Good thing that you rejected him. Suguru and I would’ve never allowed that relationship to happen anyway.” He responds, and you raise your brows. It’s weird why he’s bringing it up, but you’re more curious as to why Suguru of all people wouldn’t allow that to happen. You understand why Satoru would’ve been upset– But not Suguru. You chew on the inside of your cheek anxiously, wondering if you should ask the question that comes up in your mind.  In the end you ask,

“Why wouldn't Suguru have allowed that relationship to happen?” And Satoru isn’t sure how to respond. He isn’t sure whether to dismiss the question and get back to work, or to answer honestly. Satoru’s eyes shift back to his computer before he says anything.

“He used to have a crush on you back then.” He clears his throat, grabbing his water and taking a sip of it. You find yourself a bit taken back, a stupid smirk on your lips and it pisses him off. You shift in your seat, adjusting yourself so your back is straight.

“Suguru had a crush on me?” You sound so fucking proud of it, and it takes everything in Satoru to remain his composure. You repeat the question, sounding even more proud than the last time. 

“Yeah, he did.” Satoru says through gritted teeth. You’re way too ecstatic to even care about how he talks. His hands form into fists and he tries to hide them from you. “Why does it matter anyway? We ended up dating.”

“I’m just wondering… We all wonder how life would’ve turned out differently if we had made different decisions.” You answer, and he scoffs. When his hands are visible again, your eyes fall on your wedding band. “It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re here to work.”

“You’re right.” He nods his head in response. He focuses on what you have to do before you go back home. He’s sure you’re in a rush to go back home to your stupid cat.

“Plus, you’re married to someone else. It doesn’t matter if I had chosen to date him.” 

He bites down on his lip. He guesses you’re right. He’s not allowed to get upset. After all, he did leave you without an explanation. Maybe he should’ve let Suguru get with you. 

“Mommy!” Ren yells, the biggest smile on his face when he sees you. You always welcome him with open arms, picking him up from the floor and filling his little face with kisses. Even though you’re exhausted by the time you get home, you always manage to find energy to spend some quality time with him.

As you pay attention to him, brushing his hair out of his face with your fingers, the nanny collects her stuff and says her goodbyes before leaving. It’s your daily routine. While you greet him, she leaves without missing a beat. “Are you hungry, Ren?”

“No.” He answers, and while he says that, your stomach growls. Satoru offered to buy food but you rejected the offer since you wanted to leave as soon as you could. Ren, being the honest little boy that he is, points it out, “Sounds like you’re hungry, mommy.”

“I am. I’m gonna order something.” You say, definitely too tired to cook something up. You smile at him, tilting your head to the side, “Do you have any ideas?”

“Pizza.” He doesn’t waste a second, and you chuckle. You figured. You kiss the top of his head and you put him down on the floor before reaching into your purse to grab your phone. You find a couple of messages on your phone from different people. Mrs. Gojo telling you that you need to talk, a similar message from Shoko, and then Suguru checking up on you.

First thing’s first, you order your food delivery before you send a message to Suguru. You then call Mrs. Gojo, and within the first ring, she picks up the phone. She doesn’t bother greeting you before saying, “What’s up with Satoru?”

“I have no idea. I’m his secretary, not his babysitter nor his mother.” You respond, too tired to care about the way you speak to her. “You should know.”

“I swear to God, if you said anything to him–” She stops mid sentence and takes a deep breath. “Do you have an idea of what’s going on?”

“I have no idea. What did Satoru do?” You ask her. You hear her sigh.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll call you if I need anything.” She says before hanging up the phone. You turn your full attention to Ren, deciding that anything else can wait until he’s asleep. You walk over to him and crouch down to his level.

“You wanna watch a movie, Ren?” You ask him and he nods in response. He follows you as you walk over to the couch to look for the remote control.

“Can we eat ice cream, mommy?” He looks at you with puppy eyes, and it’s hard for you to say no.

“After dinner, Ren.” You tell him, taking a seat on the couch. He takes a seat next to you, laying his head on your lap.

You will always hold some sort of resentment towards Satoru, but you will always be thankful for the little boy that rests his head on your lap. Ren is your whole world.

When Ren is sound asleep, you find yourself on the couch, finger hovering over Suguru’s contact. And just as you’re about to call him, someone calls you first. The man that you were just thinking of. You don’t waste a second picking up the phone and putting it to your ear.

“Hey, Suguru.” There’s a dumb smile on your face. It becomes bigger when he says your name. You don’t waste any time considering your eyes are shutting on their own. You’ve texted the entire night, talking about trivial things. You just have to come out and say it, “Satoru told me that you liked me back in the day.”

“Is that so?” Suguru responds, and you hum. You bite down on your lip, waiting for him to say something else. Any other time you would be embarrassed to just say that, but your brain is barely functioning, and your confidence is extremely high. “What do you think?”

“That if you had said something before Satoru then…” You swallow thickly. Would you have chosen Suguru over Satoru? After realizing just how immature Satoru is, right now you say you would’ve chosen Suguru. Back then though… It doesn’t matter now anyway. “Maybe Ren would’ve been your kid.”

“Is that so?” You hear how he’s holding back on laughing. Finally you hear a chuckle. “Is that your way of shooting your shot?”

“Maybe…” You respond, and you’re lucky you’re half asleep when you’re saying all of this. The silence would be your biggest embarrassment at any other moment. You smile as you hear,

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

[blainesebastian]

home is a person

word count: 11,493 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut, suggestive sexual language, and expletives) summary: London has a house you live in. All of those memories in New York patchworked into a home. London could never feel like that. notes: a while ago, an anon asked me if i took requests. i don't, but ironically, i got inspo from their ask, which was for jealous!nick. so hope you enjoy those moments in here! 🥰 notes2: masterlist is here, gifs are from here!

In all honesty, your move from New York to London hadn’t been pleasant. 

This was the last thing you wanted, but when your mom needed a fresh start after the drama with your father? You couldn’t exactly blame her. You just…didn’t expect her to look for job offers in another state, let alone another country. It wasn’t easy, packing up your entire life, moving to a brand new city, a new house, trying to figure out where everything fit—including yourself. You’ve always believed that things happened for a reason but this? You weren’t too sure. 

Then you met Nick. 

It’s not like you’re trying to center your entire existence around a guy, or anything, but…sometimes he feels like he’s at the center of what makes you feel good. Like he’s become the pinnacle of your orbit, that your friendship with him has really yanked you out of feeling the worst type of way about moving here. You met Lion, Jenna and Nick through Giles, your mother working with his father, one social event slipping into another. At the charity gala you were introduced, you remember being drawn to him, the long lines of his suit fitting him perfectly, the gentle golden hue to some of his curls, the fullness of his mouth, how it seemed to twitch into a smile when he met you. 

You also remember the blonde scowling nearby, practically plastered to his side all night. 

“Events like this are always such a bore,” Anna sighs through her nose, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, can’t we just donate money and move on without all the speeches?” 

You could understand that perspective, maybe. There were a lot of speeches tonight geared towards raising money. But…isn’t that the whole point? To listen to the different voices on why it was so important to do something before it was too late? That’s why there’s a bunch of informational tables as well, all dedicated to something different to help preserve and protect wildlife and oceans. It never bothered you to come to events like this because at least it felt like you were doing something with your money that helped…but you’re also reminded of people like Anna—brash impatience. 

“I mean,” She picks up her wine glass, taking a sip, “Not that our money here will do a lot of good anyways,” She crinkles her nose, “Remind me to choose another charity next time.” She laughs softly with her friend next to her, Nick on the other side with a look of thinning patience. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, standing from the table. Anna’s eyes dart to you, setting her glass down. 

“Oh, hope I didn’t offend you.” She says, but her eyes are a glint of something…territorial. Like she wants you to leave the table. She doesn’t look one iota apologetic. 

You give her a tight smile, “No, not at all. Your dress actually reminded me that I wanted to check out the table on the efforts of plastic removal.” You motion to the right and walk off in that direction, though, not before you hear Giles’s snort of amusement and Anna’s scoff of disbelief. 

You linger at the coat check, waiting while someone retrieves your jacket, chewing on your lower lip. You already made a few donations with your mom’s approval at several conservation foundations, so, there’s really no need to return to your table. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep your mouth shut anyways and…you don’t want to start an argument with a so-called ‘prominent’ daughter of the social circles both you and your mother are now traveling in. 

“Headed out?” 

Turning, Nick approaches the other side of the coat check, handing his ticket to someone as well. You chew on your lower lip, nodding, because…that should seem fairly obvious. You expect the conversation to die there, but it doesn’t. He sticks his hands in his pants pockets, rolling back on his heels, 

“Did you know that half the oxygen we breathe comes from ocean plankton?” 

You blink—out of anything you expected to come out of his mouth, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

He smiles a little bit, amused, like throwing you off kilter was exactly what he intended. He motions that the coat attendant has come back with your jacket and you have to tear your gaze off him to take it. 

“Just seems like this event is a big deal to you, so, thought you might know that.” 

You scoff, unsure if he’s here throwing a factoid in your face because you insulted Anna back at the table. You slide your sleeves through your jacket as he gets his, “Yes, I care about ocean conservation, okay? I want to maybe do something with marine biology one day,” You have no idea why you’re telling him that, “So sorry if your girlfriend’s flippant comment got under my skin.” 

You begin to walk towards the exit, but since you didn’t drive a car here, you’re left lingering on the top step and he slides up beside you. He’s pulling a ticket from his pocket for the valet and you’re fishing out your phone to call for a ride. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He says, turning a bit to look at you. He then takes a backwards step, landing on the stair below the one you’re on. You’re almost eyelevel like this. Almost. Your gaze skitters over him—he’s handsome. Far too handsome. “Can’t date someone who doesn’t care about plastic, or plankton, for that matter.” 

A twitch of your lips at that. Okay so…maybe you judged this, him, all wrong. You got the inkling that Nick might be as uptight and shallow as Anna if he was with her, but now it seems like…he’s not even giving the impression that they’re friends. They’re just in the same space sometimes, that she’s in his space when she can be. 

“Those are some pretty decent requirements.” 

Nick hums softly, motioning over his shoulder. “Did you drive here?” 

You shake your head, lifting your phone a little, “Ordering a car.” 

“I can take you,” He offers, holding his hand out to help you down the carpeted steps in your heels, “Or…we could go for a drink.” At your hesitation, he takes another step down, “I know plenty of other plankton and ocean facts, if you’re curious.” 

A real smile now spreads across your lips before reaching for his hand, “Well how can I deny myself that?” 

—

London has a house you live in. 

When you thought about home, New York always sprung to mind. Not just the city and all the places that you loved visiting, but your loft-like bedroom, the twinkle lights above your windows, succulent plants on the sill, your cat curled up on one of your pillows. You thought of the smell of homemade meatballs that your mom would make, clinging to the space long after they were eaten. Of laughter that stuck to the walls when playing a board game or watching a movie, tears over your first boyfriend, arguments with your father before he left. 

All of those memories patchworked into a home. London could never feel like that. 

—

A few months turn into a handful of years and the seamlessness in which you do things with Nick, Lion and Jenna is something that settles into place in a way you never planned on. Back home in New York, you had maybe one best friend that you did everything with. And what could you claim of that ‘best’ friend now? The relationship completely disintegrated upon moving. But with Nick, Lion and Jenna, it feels like…somehow, you’ve always been an addition to the trio. You’re grateful for that, to find your people that you don’t want to be without. It’s unexpected in the best way. 

Something else you never expected? Jenna’s stamina when it comes to dancing. 

A soft laugh leaves your lips as she does a twirl on the dance floor, her arms coming up over her head. Lion and Nick are nearby, drinking more than dancing, but it’s still fun. The club is a little packed for your taste but the music is good and so are the drinks that are flowing. You lean in close to Jenna, tossing your arms around her shoulders, 

“I’m gonna grab some water!” You’ll get her some too, turning to go towards the bar. 

You push through a small wave of people, reaching a semi-filled space, not as hectic as the dance floor. Letting out a slow breath, you push a few strands of hair out of your face that’s threatening to stick to your neck where you’re slightly flushed from dancing. Leaning against the bar, you wait to get the bartender to notice you. 

When someone slides up beside you, you don’t think much of it. There’s not much room as it is, so you know there’s a lot of accidental encroaching in space, but then you realize he’s not looking to get the bartender’s attention—he’s looking right down at you. He leans far too close to talk into your ear, 

“You’re beautiful, let me buy you a drink.” 

You’ve learned a long time ago that there’s no requirement for you to be nice when someone makes you uncomfortable. You take a step back and shake your head, “No thanks.” 

He doesn’t take the hint, of course, trying again. You’re not sure why guys think they need to push at the word ‘no’. “Come on, what’s one drink going to hurt?” 

Fuck, he’s not going to leave you alone. You’re going to have to leave the bar and come back for the water. Before you can turn around, you sense Nick before you see him. At this point, you know the weight and warmth of his body, how his hands feel on your back or where your hip meets your waist, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that’s purely him. There’s a safeness there, a comfort, a knowing, and you find yourself leaning a bit into it as he touches his chest to your back. 

“Fuck off to the other side of the bar.” Nick says to the hoverer over the music, gently clasping your elbow and encouraging you under his arm, his body creating a bit of a cage to block the guy out. 

The guy eventually disappears, but Nick’s stance doesn’t change. And you…don’t mind that. You turn just a little under his arm, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth, 

“I was just on my way back to you guys.” 

“Didn’t like how long you were gone.” He replies when he leans down to talk to you. It’s a completely different sensation having him do it, his lips brushing your ear. A shiver courses down your spine, despite how warm your body feels against his own. 

“Oh you were worried?” You tease, raising your eyebrows. 

“Jenna was worried.” He insists but there’s a twitch of a smile to Nick’s lips, his gaze flicking to yours and then to the bartender that asks what you want to order. 

When you bring the water back to your friend, handing it off to her, she’s dancing with Lion. When you take a step back, sipping from your straw, you end up leaning against Nick’s side again. 

Neither of you seem to be bothered by it. 

—

You thought it was going to rain today, but it seems to be holding out alright. Tipping your head back to look at the sky, you sit down on the edge of Nick’s pool and dip your legs in. Jenna and Lion are in the deep end, treading while sipping on drinks and Nick pops up out of the water. He runs both hands through his hair but loose curls still sit on his forehead. He smiles at you, wandering over to stand near your knee. 

“Told you,” He motions towards the sky. 

You purse your lips, adjusting your sunglasses, “I dunno, some of those clouds still look suspicious.” 

He shakes his head but he’s smiling a little, “If it rains, we’ll be in by then. Got to take advantage of the sunny days here.” 

You chew on your lower lip, knowing he’s right but…this, admittedly, isn’t your favorite type of weather. Nor your favorite season. You live for snow and while Nick’s right, sometimes it can be rather gloomy in London, that doesn’t take away from wishing for snowflakes. 

He scoffs softly, his hand moving to touch your leg, his thumb tracing a circle along your ankle. “Thinking about snow, aren’t you?” When you raise your eyebrows, he smiles, “Got that look on your face, getting pretty good at reading you.” 

He is. Nick, however, shields his emotions fairly well. You’ve gotten to know him since you moved here, and you’d say you’re nearly close? But he’s still rather guarded with heavier feelings. Big emotions are obvious, but those minute ones that become visible between heartbeats, they’re harder for you to gauge. Which is how Nick likes it. You’re determined though, one of these days you’ll figure him out. One day you’ll be able to read him like a favorite book. 

“I just want to visit a cabin or something. Ski resort.” There’s hope in your voice, sounding a little wistful. 

“Can you even ski?” At the crinkle of your nose, Nick laughs. “Guess that wouldn’t be the point.” 

You huff, playfully splashing him with a bit of water, “No.” 

“Cabin in the woods sounds like a horror movie,” He volleys back, squeezing your ankle. 

“It is one,” You grin, “But again, not the point. You’d be traveling with a seasoned horror movie professional,” You touch your chest, “I’d keep us safe.” 

Nick shakes his head, turning to look at Jenna and Lion—maybe even to ask them if they’d be interested in something like that, but they’re too busy kissing to be paying attention to either of you. 

When he shifts his attention back, there’s a gentle eyeroll that makes your eyebrows pull together. He’s not…annoyed, exactly? But there’s something there that you can’t quite place. And you wonder if it’s because you’re seeing it for the first time, a microexpression that doesn’t usually slip free from the well-guarded emotions he keeps under lock and key. 

He looks up at you, licking his lips, “What?” 

You curl your hair around your ears, your mouth opening and…should you even say anything? Then, “Nothing, I just think it’s cute that you’re jealous.” 

Nick scoffs, “I don’t get jealous.” 

Now it’s your turn to make a noise, giving him a look of slight disbelief, “Seriously?” You expect him to buckle underneath the scrutiny but he doesn’t, just shrugs his one shoulder. “Never?” 

“No,” He smiles a little, floating on his back in the water. You pay special close attention to his face and not water gliding down the muscles of his chest, “It’s a useless emotion.”

You can’t help but laugh, “So is getting pissed off to the point that you punch someone, and yet…” You grin at him. 

Nick makes an O shape with his lips, letting out a sound to let you know that your comment has struck him. He swims closer, almost to your knees—and then grabs you. 

“Nick!” You screech, but it’s too late, he’s pulled your entire body into the pool. 

You pop back up to the surface, splashing him right in the face. Dick. But he’s laughing and honestly, so are you, shaking your head as you lean back against the pool wall. When Lion and Jenna float over, Nick brings up your cabin in the woods idea and while a plan starts to form of maybe actually doing a small trip, you can’t stop your head from spinning about what he said. About not getting jealous. 

Is he lying? But what would be the point of that? Has he never been with anyone that’s warranted the emotion? 

Or does he really not feel it?

—

You don’t know how you allow yourself to get dragged to these things (or, well, you do but—). You can’t help but wince when another punch is thrown in the ring, snapping the other guy’s head back. Fuck. These bare-knuckle fights are brutal and you’re…not sure which is worse; the fight itself or the cheering around you. You suppose you sort of get it? Treating it like a sport and all that, a spectator to absorb yourself in but…it’s just not your thing. 

The only reason you’re here is—

A short gasp leaves your lips as someone’s body hits the concrete, your own turning automatically towards the right and—Nick takes a step closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist. You mold into his side, practically shielding your face into his shoulder, his hand pressing calming circles into your hip. 

“You’re really going to do this?” You ask him, tipping your head up just a little to meet his eyes. 

That’s why you’re here. To support him because he’s got a fight next but…god, you can’t imagine how much worse that’s going to be? Seeing him get hurt. 

“I’m a much better fighter than either of these guys.” He replies but it’s…it’s not even like he’s trying to sound cocky, it’s just matter-of-fact. 

You run a hand over the side of your face, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

He smiles a little, the end of the match in front of you announcing a victor. “You don’t have to stay, Jenna’s not a big fan of these either.” 

And while that sounds tempting? You’re already here and, “I want to support you.” 

Nick watches you for a few moments, nodding, his hand moving to tuck your hair around your ear before he moves to head with Lion towards the locker rooms. 

—

Well, staying and offering support is easier said than done. 

You stand on the sidelines with Jenna, one of your arms wrapped around your middle, your fingers pressing into your mouth as Nick warms up. Your gaze lingers over the toned muscles of his body, his trim waist, the delicate lines of his tattoos, the way his boxers peek out from his sweats…it only serves as a distraction for so long. The fight begins and he chances a glance at you for one moment before punches are being thrown. 

Fuck. 

You take a step back out of instinct, landing right on someone’s foot, and he clasps your arm so you don’t buckle. It’s a tall guy, handsome, brown eyes and dark skin, curls but cut close to his head. He gives you a light smile, letting go of your elbow once you’ve centered yourself. 

“Sorry.” You tell him, your gaze finding the fight again, though a bit reluctantly. It…appears? Nick is winning. At least you think so, it’s difficult for you to tell. The next jab hits him right in the ribs and you definitely have to tear your attention away from that one. 

The guy next to you shifts, “Boyfriend?” He asks. 

You blink, realizing he’s asking about Nick. “What? Oh—no. He’s a friend.” 

He hums, “Does your friend usually ask you to watch things that make you uncomfortable?” 

A soft laugh leaves your lips for a few reasons, sliding your attention to this guy for a moment. “Am I really that obvious?” He glances down at you, a soft smile to his own lips, “And also, no. Nick didn’t ask me to be here, I offered because I wanted to try and support him.” 

Try being the word here, you’re not doing too hot. 

You force yourself to look back at the ring and there seems to be pretty even ground, a shuffling between Nick and the other fighter, moving in circles as punches are thrown and landed. Your hand slips to the back of your neck, 

“Have you been here before?” You ask, trying to at least carry on a conversation now that one’s started. 

The guy nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I don’t put any money down, but I like watching the fights. I’ve been boxing for the past few years, so, observing other techniques sometimes sharpens your own.” 

“My friend Jenna,” You motion to her beside you and she turns her head at the sound of her name, giving a small wave, “Her boyfriend owns the gym.” 

He raises his eyebrows, “That’s awesome. I’m Coleson, everyone calls me Cole, though.” 

You smile a little, introducing yourself as well. When Nick uses the force of his body to get the other opponent on the floor, throwing heavy punches, you find yourself turning a little again. A twitch of a smile pulls Cole’s lips, 

“So if you’re not interested in boxing, what do you like?” 

And you’re not sure whether he’s trying to get to know you or distract you but, either way? You’re grateful for it. 

—

As you wait for Nick and Lion to come outside, you lean back against the familiar red McLaren, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth when you change the unknown number in your phone to say ‘Cole’. Jenna gently nudges you with her elbow, a knowing look on her face. 

“What was going on between you and ‘tall, dark and handsome’?” 

You shrug, chewing on your lower lip, “Think he was just being nice. Practically smashed his foot on accident at the beginning of the fight.” 

“You gonna go out?” 

“Maybe,” A small smile again, a flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Even though you’re pretty sure Cole was just asking you questions to get your mind off what was happening in the ring, you liked talking to him? Maybe going on a date wouldn’t be so terrible? “Probably won’t even see him again after tonight.” 

Her eyes follow a line of sight over your shoulder and you don’t have to turn to know it’s Cole leaving the warehouse, but when you do? His eyes are on you, giving you a soft wave as he makes his way to a motorcycle. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Jenna grins, which only makes heat kiss the back of your neck and your cheeks. But you’re smiling too. 

Turning your attention back towards the entrance, you see Nick and Lion come out, Nick in a pair of black jeans and zip-up hoodie. You grimace just slightly at the bruise forming on his cheek, your fingers itching to reach out and cup his jawline when he’s close enough. Instead, you offer him a soft nod. 

“Celebratory drinks at my place.” Lion grins, grabbing Jenna’s hand and giving her a playful twirl before tugging her towards his car. 

You came with Nick, so you linger, giving in and reaching for his wrist. You run your thumb over his knuckles, a wince pulling at your lips. “Congrats on your win.” 

For someone who came out on top? He seems a little off. Quiet, stoic. But maybe he’s just in pain. He’s got plenty of bruises and small cuts despite winning. You make a mental note to grab an ice pack for him when you get to Lion’s. 

Nick opens his mouth but then hesitates which…you find that’s something he doesn’t often do. He’s not one to hold words underneath his tongue and yet it takes him a moment to say, “I’m surprised you even noticed.” 

You blink, confusion clouding your face. Your eyes scan his face, the way his eyelashes sit on his cheeks as he looks down at your hand around his own, his thumb tracing your knuckles, the darkened gold to his curls because he’s taken a shower, the cupid bow of his lips. And then, a brief glance over your shoulder—where Jenna looked before. 

Where Cole is on his motorcycle. 

Nick confirms it a moment later with, “You seemed a bit preoccupied.” 

Your brain seems to do a double-take. You’re about to argue that you did the best you could while he was fighting—it’s definitely not a secret that being here had you feeling out of your element. But…there’s also something in his tone, in the way his eyes aren’t meeting yours, hyperfocused on your hands joined instead. 

Your mouth opens and then snaps shut. No…because that would mean, “You know, for someone who says they don’t get jealous, your eyes are suddenly the prettiest shade of green.” 

You reach out your other hand to touch his cheek but Nick draws his head back, a scoff leaving his lips even though there’s a twitch of a smile there. He knocks your hand away and that makes you laugh, the giggling seeming to melt whatever ice was holding onto his shoulders. They relax, his movements warm towards you, and he squeezes the hand he’s still holding. 

“No, it’s cute really!” You continue, even when he turns you around to face the passenger side of the car, grabbing the door to open it up for you. “That you wanted my laser focus on you throwing punches, I’ll remember that next time.” 

You expect him to completely ignore you, you expect him to give a wiseass comment and encourage you to get to the car. You do not expect him to lean against your body, his head tilting down to brush his lips against your ear as he speaks, 

“You better.” 

—

Staring down at the card on your desk, you’re unsure of what to do with it. 

You know your mom wanted to move to start over, something disconnected from your dad and all the issues he caused. It’s not a new story—he cheated on your mom, created an entire new family, wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Nothing to do with you. 

And yet, here on your desk, sits a birthday card. 

It’s a month late and you’re not sure whether that’s because he sent it after the fact or he doesn’t know when your birthday is. Both ideas are plausible. 

Either way, the card unleashes a torrent of emotions you thought you’d gotten over. It’s obvious that while your mother wanted to start new, she gave your dad the London address. You’re just…not sure why. You really hope she doesn’t miss him—you both deserve better than that. Than him thinking that he’s needed or something. 

Your fingers dig into your closed palm, wanting to throw the fucking thing away and yet—yet you can’t do it. Which just pisses you off even more. 

“Y/N.” 

Your head snaps towards the doorway of your bedroom, where Nick is lingering, his eyebrows raised at you. He takes a step in but pauses, his eyes falling to your desk before lifting to your face again. He’s supposed to be picking you up to head to a party at Anna’s and you have no idea how long he’s been waiting, or worse, standing there trying to get your attention. 

“You alright? I’ve been calling you.” 

You clear your throat, moving even though your knees feel like jello, “Sorry, I—yeah, I’m fine.” You force a smile on your face that you’re pretty sure Nick can see right through, “Let’s go.” 

Before he can ask another question, you brush past him in the doorway, the scent of his cologne squeezing your ribs against your lungs. You don’t wait to see if he follows. 

—

The party is a lot of fun and while you know it’s not the best coping mechanism? You allow yourself to be tugged down in the weight of dulling your inhibitions. You let the drinks flow a bit more freely, aren’t as concerned with hydrating with water in-between as you usually are, and readily accept shots when Lion or Jenna bring them back over to your group. While Nick is in the midst of it, you can feel his eyes on you every so often, persistent. And you know what it’s about. 

He knows you, knows something is wrong, but doesn’t push either. He just waits—waits for you to offer whatever it is up to him. 

Well, at this rate, he’s going to be waiting a long time.

A laugh slips out of your lips when Jenna wraps her arms around you, twirling to the beat of the music as you all linger in the living room. 

“Think there’s jello shots in the kitchen.” She grins. And while you’re usually not a jello shots kind of girl, the…jiggling sort of freaks you out. Tonight? You’ll have one. 

“Maybe some water would be a better idea,” Nick tosses out, taking a slow sip of the beer in his hand that he’s had for about an hour. 

“Maybe stop trying to kill my buzz.” You volley back, your voice sharp. 

But Nick doesn’t rise to verbal sparring with you, doesn’t take that bait. He just licks his lips, a muscle working in his jaw before having another sip of his beer. You’re not sure whether you’re more relieved or disappointed. Fighting with him won’t solve your problems—he’s not the one you’re really upset with. 

You swallow down a lump in your throat, turning a bit towards Jenna to give her a smile that hurts your cheeks. “Yes to jello shots.” 

If she senses the weird mood passing between you and Nick, she doesn’t say anything, just moves towards the kitchen to grab the shots. You set down your empty glass on a table, straightening out your dress, crinkling your nose at the jello shot when she returns…but take it anyways. It’s absolutely fucking awful, reminding you of some sort of cherry cough syrup but you force it down your throat. 

It instantly makes you nauseous. 

“I’ll be right back.” You turn to head in the direction of the bathroom, not exactly caring if anyone follows you. You just need a moment to yourself…and to make sure you don’t throw up. 

You head right to the sink, splashing some cold water on your face that makes you feel better. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror, unsure you’d like what you saw there. You know this is completely unlike you, to let something like this sway you right into trying to bury your emotions instead of meeting them head-on. It’s just…too much for you to deal with right now. Especially since you thought the problem had been solved with moving. 

You rub the back of your neck, shaking your head. Fucking birthday card. 

When you open the bathroom door, you bump right into— “Cole.” 

He smiles down at you, his eyes a little glassy, probably matching your own. “Hey! I was wondering if you were here. I was gonna text you.” 

You raise your eyebrows, warmth blooming in your chest. He looks really handsome tonight—black jeans, white button down that’s slightly open, sleeves rolled up his forearms. “Yeah? Well, here I am.” 

He licks his lips and nods, his gaze finding your mouth. You’re wearing a berry shade of lipstick tonight—always a crowd pleaser. “Here you are.” He glances past you towards where the stairs are, “You uh, you want to head up to the second floor? Anna’s got a balcony—we could smoke.” 

A few things that sound altogether like a bad idea—stairs, heading upstairs with someone that you barely know even though he seems nice, and smoking. You don’t smoke at all, it’s just not something that’s ever caught your appeal but…sitting on a balcony does sound like something you’d like, the fresh air and everything. 

But…there’s a dip in your stomach, that same nausea from before. It’s not a good idea. You’d rather have your wits about you to hang out with Cole for the first time, not like this. Not heading to the second floor into rooms that are probably a lot more private when you don’t…you don’t know him. You don’t trust him. 

“Uhm,” You shake your head, “No, I think—”

“C’mon,” He grins, taking a step closer but not touching you, “I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” He promises, sticking his hands in his pockets. “These hands will stay in these pockets.” 

You can’t help but laugh, glancing towards the stairs before letting out a sigh—he does look utterly defenceless like that, “Alright.” 

But you don’t even make it up two steps before you feel a firm hand on your elbow. For a moment you think it’s Cole breaking the promise he made but…you’d know that touch anywhere. Your gaze finds Nick’s, on the bottom step, heat in his brown eyes so potent that you’re surprised something hasn’t caught fire. 

He’s pissed—which just causes a flip in your stomach and an affronted yank of your arm. 

“Get off, what are you doing?” 

He’s gentle but he manhandles you down the two steps, pulling you past Cole, “Stopping you from making a choice you’ll regret tomorrow.” 

You scoff, bumping into him when you lose your footing. He has zero clue what you were about to do with Cole. But a small voice whispers in the back of your mind that…yes, you were headed somewhere quieter, more private, that while Cole was going to keep his hands in his pockets, it doesn’t mean he could have changed his mind. Doesn’t mean something wouldn’t have happened. Your inhibitions are low and you’re feeling just a bit reckless tonight. 

A little embarrassed and a lot indignant, your fingers dig into the palms of your hands, creating fists, “I don’t need your help.” 

Cole glances between you and him, his hands slipping from his pockets. “Dude, I think she’s good.” 

Nick’s gaze is frigid, ice that’s capable of cutting right through someone, “She’s drunk,” He snaps, his one hand holding onto you while the other shoves Cole in his shoulder, hard. There’s a slight height difference given the steps but Nick’s got a boxer’s stance—balanced, “Fuck off or I’m going to lay your ass out.” He warns but you’re not about to give him the opportunity to do that. 

You quickly yank Nick by his arm in the direction of the front door and once he realizes that’s the direction you’re going, he shifts, his hand hovering along your lower back to guide you towards his car. 

You squirm, picking up on unspoken words, “No, if you want to leave, then leave. I’m not ready yet.” 

“Think you’ve had enough.” Nick mutters, practically through clenched teeth. 

“You don’t get to tell me that,” You turn so fast to shove him that you nearly twist your ankle on the gravel, the only thing keeping you off the ground is Nick’s arm now around your waist—which just pisses you off more. “I can handle myself, I’m fine.” 

Now he scoffs, stopping short, his arm slips from your waist but his fingers graze your forearm, “No,” He replies, shaking his head, “You’re not. You haven’t been fine all night.” 

You swallow over a lump in your throat at the scrutiny, the fact that he sees right through you. You draw in a deep breath, trying to center yourself. You’re not even upset at the whole Cole thing, not really…because despite that you thought you were making an okay choice, anything could have happened. Nick did do you a favor—not that you’re going to admit that now. 

No, you’re not fine. You feel your chest beginning to cave in over this—over him standing in front of you, picking apart your emotions like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. So bold of him, given that he never lets you in. Never lets you see how he feels. Him wanting to be there for you offers comfort just as much as it enrages you. 

You shake your head; you’re not going to get into this. You make a shift to walk past him, back into the party. If you’re not going to head upstairs with Cole, you can at least continue your night with Lion and Jenna. 

But Nick blocks your path. 

“Move.” 

“No,” He says, voice calm, “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you about it.” You snap, trying to go past him again but he’s quick, repositioning his weight so that you end up bumping right into him. “Get out of my way.” 

“Oh so you’d rather play pretend?” Nick asks, his words cutting you more than you thought they would. “Like that’ll fix anything?” 

“Fuck you.” Though there’s no fire behind your voice. His commentary has landed far too sharply, leaving debris in their wake. Fuck him. Like he’s suddenly the poster child for handling his emotions the way he should? 

You don’t even realize your eyes have filled with tears until a sharp breath leaves your lips.  

Nick’s gaze softens and you have to look away as your lip wobbles, a tear slipping down your cheek. He lets out a slow breath out of his nose, reaching up to thumb it away. You push his wrist but he doesn’t let you pull too far away. 

“C’mon,” He whispers, “C’mere.” And wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his chest. 

The bridge of your nose stings as you squeeze your eyes shut, your face resting against his shoulder as his arms wrap around your frame, hand tangling in your hair. You’re unaware that you’re holding onto him so tightly until he gently pries your hands off just to get you into his car. 

—

Seated on top of the hood of Nick’s McLaren, in his leather jacket, you wait for him in a diner parking lot. He comes out of the front door with two milkshakes and a brown bag of food. Despite feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, you know better than anyone that grease will help you feel grounded. He sets the bag down, handing you a milkshake, 

“They were out of strawberry, that within itself feels criminal.” A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you take a sip. “Figured chocolate is a good second bet.” 

You hum, licking your lips as he pushes himself up onto the hood next to you, a few burgers and fries spread out between his leg and yours. Reaching for two fries, you dip them into ketchup after Nick squirts some onto an open burger wrapper. You glance over at him, the lights from street lamps create a warm glow against his handsome face. It’s something that feels…utterly comforting in a way you can’t explain. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, throat sore from holding back tears, even after crying a bit against his chest. 

Nick looks over at you, shaking his head as he picks up some fries too, “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, “I dunno.” You were…a lot tonight. “I almost hit you when you brought me outside.” 

A flicker of a smile pulls at his lips, “I could have taken it.” 

You think that’s true—if you would have done something like slap him, you think Nick just would have rolled with it. Still would have said the same things. Still would have held you. Still would have ended up right here, on his car, with milkshakes and food. 

When a few french fries and your milkshake doesn’t seem to make you sick, you reach for your burger, having a bite. It’s quiet between you two, just the sound of cars and traffic, the night spilling over your bodies. You draw in a soft breath, using a napkin on your lips, wiping away most of your lipstick. 

“My dad sent me a birthday card.” 

You put your burger down, not automatically speaking for a few moments. You appreciate that Nick allows that sentence to sit in the silence. 

“I’m angry my mom gave him our new address, that…he sent a card in the first place.” You swallow, “That it’s late or whatever stupid reason I ended up getting it today and not a few months ago.” 

Your gaze wanders over to him and he’s watching you, listening. You bite down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood, so you don’t cry. Admitting this outloud feels like some sort of shameful secret even though you know Nick would never look at you like that, like you have any reason to feel embarrassed. 

“I’m angry that I miss him,” You confess, “That I thought I was done feeling that way.” 

Nick reaches over to place his hand on top of yours, squeezing briefly, “Two things can be true at the same time,” He offers gently, “You know you can hate him and still miss him.” 

You let out a slow breath, sniffling as one more tear escapes. You wipe your cheek and even though your chest is still heavy, you feel better. You’re not sure why you do it, but you lean over and press a kiss to his cheekbone. It’s soft, far too quick, but hopefully enough to convey that you’re grateful for him. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but other than that, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

After you eat a little more of your burger, you pick at the fries, resting your head on his shoulder. He shifts a little closer, can feel his lips brush your temple, picking up his milkshake to have another sip. 

“I think the fries taste better with the chocolate shake,” You say after a moment, “Even though we usually get strawberry.” 

You can hear the smile in Nick’s voice when he replies, “I know. I was thinking the same thing.” 

—

But maybe, it’s not about London at all. Maybe you realized that home was never meant to be just a place. 

—

Cole texts you a few nights later apologizing for the party. He admits that he was a little drunk but that he had no intentions of doing anything other than just talking to you on the balcony, or smoking a little, if you wanted to. And you believe him. That night’s a little fuzzy to you for a few reasons but…you do think, overall, Cole’s a good guy. 

Which is why when he asks you out, you say yes. 

—

The four of you tend to have dinner together a lot. Whether it’s ordering in food or making something, time is spent talking around a table and then usually having a late-night swim. Tonight’s no different, making tacos is on the agenda. Lion and Jenna are running late because Jenna wanted to pick up ice cream (amazing of her, to be honest), so that leaves you and Nick in his kitchen messing around with pans of different meat on the stove. Chicken, chorizo, shredded beef, and managing seasonings for this taco night. 

“Mind your business, I got this,” You insist, pushing Nick with your hip towards where he was making homemade guac. All of a sudden he’s super concerned about you adding spices to the meat, like you don’t know what you’re doing. 

“Yeah, the last time I let you help manage what was cooking the carbonara was so spicy I nearly threw it out.” 

You scowl at him, “It was not.” 

“My tongue still hasn’t recovered.” 

“And yet you’re still talking just fine—” A squeak leaves your lips as he attempts to reach for the cayenne in your hand. You lift it above your head which…does nothing because he’s taller than you. 

So you twist a bit, a laugh skittering from your lips as he grabs onto your hip, “C’mon, just a little! We need a little spice in our lives.” 

“That sounds like a threat when you say it.” 

You slip out of his grasp and round the counter, sprinkling it on the chicken with a triumphant grin. Playfully putting your fingers to your mouth, you pull them away with a muah! sound. 

Then, pursing your lips, you pick up the red pepper flakes and pretend (maybe) that you’re going to add them to the chorizo and Nick moves, quicker this time, grabbing the container. Though you realize attempting to take the pepper flakes off of you is pretty much just his fingers wrapping around your own. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

You pout, “Yes, chef.” 

Nick smirks as he looks down at you and you realize very quickly that the front of his body has mapped out against your own, slightly pressing you into the counter. The moment the smile fades just a touch from your lips is the same moment he recognizes it too, going still. But he doesn’t move. 

There’s something that you want to say but it’s stuck in your throat, words you don’t recognize, your eyes instead drinking him in while he’s this close. The gentle gold touching the front of his curls, the layers of brown in his eyes, a shade lighter given the natural sunlight pouring into the kitchen, the warmth of his breath on your face, the beauty marks on his one cheekbone. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage and you must say his name because he swallows, his other hand moving, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes along the bone there, drawing down, until it plucks at your lower lip. 

You don’t even realize you’ve kissed the pad of his thumb until it’s too late—a muscle feathers in Nick’s jaw, his restraint seeming to snap as he leans down, his lips touching yours—

And then a loud bang as something drops in the hallway, the space between you two suddenly cold and wide. You draw in a sharp breath, swallowing sour butterflies as your friend’s voices fill the space. 

“Lion!” 

“The ice cream is fine,” He replies, “Slipped out of my hands, Jen.” 

They both come around the corner, moving about the space as your brain spins like it’s on an overactive rinse cycle. You don’t even feel like putting the red pepper flakes in the chorizo anymore, instead, moving to stir all the meat on the stove and turning the fire off. 

“Everything smells amazing.” Jenna grins, setting her hands on the counter. 

“Yeah, we can eat now that you guys are here.” Nick clears his throat, throwing scraps of avocado away from when he was making guac. 

Lion puts the ice cream in the freezer, reaching for a fingerful of cheese from a small bowl to pop into his mouth as you focus on filling a taco shell with chorizo. Something to just…keep your hands busy. You’re not even sure what toppings you add at this point, just anything so that you don’t have to look up at Nick. Your cheeks and the back of your neck feel hot and you hope you’re not as flushed as you feel. 

“Babe,” Jenna says, getting your attention. You blink, realizing you’ve missed something. 

“Sorry, food focused.” You lie through your teeth, giving her a small smile. 

Her eyebrows draw together briefly like she doesn’t altogether believe you, but she repeats, “I said, I worked out those dates for the cabin. We can go this weekend.” 

Oh that’s right. How did you fucking forget? One conversation about wanting to grab some sort of cabin in the woods turned into renting an airbnb in the countryside, not too far away from where Nick’s mother lives actually. It wasn’t exactly the snowy escape you were picturing but it was close to a lake and cold enough in the wooded area to do some sort of bonfire outside. The fact that it was put together and decided on was good enough for you, it’s different from the usual set of things that you guys do together. 

“Right,” You clear your throat, “I actually…I have a date on Friday? But it’s early. It should wrap up right before I drive out to meet you guys.” 

You can feel more than see Nick go motionless across the room. 

Jenna raises her eyebrows with a grin, “No shit—is it with Cole?” 

You swallow, your eyes flickering across the counter towards Nick. It’s brief but you see it—the straightening of his shoulders, a muscle working in his jaw when he grits his teeth, a slow breath out of his nose when he leans against the counter. It’s gone almost as soon as it appears, replaced with a neutral expression. A lie. 

“Yes,” You tell Jenna, and then she asks for details, pushing aside the airbnb weekend plans for right now. 

Nick doesn’t meet your gaze for the rest of the night. 

—

You and Nick don’t talk about what nearly happened in his kitchen which is…fine. Because nothing happened. There’s no reason to talk about nothing, is there? It was just a moment, a blip in time, not quite a mistake but the unsure, quiet promise of what if? And yet neither of you bring it up. That has to be a sign too, right? 

So you keep pressing forward, plan for your date with Cole, pack for a long weekend cabin trip. Which is what you’re trying to do right now. 

Nick lounges on a cushy chair in your walk-in closet, scrolling through his phone as you toss another sweater towards an open suitcase on the floor. He glances down at your growing pile, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“You do realize we’re going for three nights, not for a month.” 

You crinkle your nose, your hands slipping to your hips as you regard him, “Uhm, who has the extensive knowledge of horror movies that happen in the woods? It’s not you.” 

A grin spreads over his handsome face and he puts his phone down, leaning up a little to rest his elbows on his knees. “And that explains why you need…” He tilts his head, “Four sweaters?” 

“I’m going for variety, options—you never know what you might need.” You state, like it’s obvious. You then sit on the floor in front of your suitcase, tossing things out of it so you can neatly fold everything in…oh right, you need shoes too. “This is why if there’s an axe murderer, I’ll be one of the only ones to survive.” 

Nick reaches for a lacy bralette sticking out from under one of the sweaters, holding it between two fingers, “Oh why, because you’ll have this?” 

You scoff out a laugh, snatching it from his hand, “Shut up.” 

Grabbing a pair of lounge slippers and two pairs of sneakers, you place them in the bottom of your suitcase, starting to fold sweaters. Your phone vibrates and when you take it out of your pocket, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you see Cole’s name. Nick shifts in his seat in front of you and when you follow the movement, your eyes fall to his. 

He motions to your phone with his chin, “Cole?” 

You let out a slow breath before nodding. Unsurprisingly, this topic feels like a series of landmines. You want to regret what almost happened in the kitchen because it spun you through such a loop. Though, at the same time? You again wonder why it should matter—why should nothing happening make you feel like your insides are tied into knots? 

You almost believe that...until you get a good look at Nick's face. 

While it might seem impassive, you know him. There's a taut line of his spine, a gentle crinkle between his eyebrows, his jaw clenching like he’s grinding his molars together, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how. Isn't sure of the words. 

You draw in a breath, “You don’t like him?” 

You try to convince yourself that Nick’s opinion is as important as Jenna’s would be, or Lion’s. That he cares about you and therefore has your best interests in mind. 

But really, you know that it’s more than that. His opinion matters the most, even though you’re not sure why. 

(Yes, you do.) 

Nick leans back, “Kinda rubbed me the wrong way.” 

Right. That whole night is kind of foggy for you, which you suppose is Nick’s point. The whole ‘going upstairs with unclear intentions’ thing. Not entirely Cole’s fault, but…you’re not about to jump in and give an explanation either. You’re not sure if it’d matter—he’s not going to budge on it. It’s in the set of his shoulders, the chill in his unwavering gaze. 

You nod a little, looking down at your suitcase like it’s holding something far more interesting than this conversation. Then, a twitch of your lips, a familiar comment sitting on your tongue as you look up at Nick, 

“Are you sure you just don’t like him because you’re jealous?” Your voice is warm and teasing, yet it meets a wall of ice. 

Nick holds your gaze for a long moment, his fingers playing with the silver chain-link bracelet on his one wrist, “I’m not.” 

You wait for that moment for the air to shift, for a teasing tilt to come to his lips, for him to make a joke about you bringing this up again. That moment doesn’t come. 

He clears his throat, looking down at his hands, “I just…I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

That…is not what you expect him to say, and while you’d usually appreciate a comment being made like that, it just…slips under your skin in the worst way, like little pin-pricks in your veins. You straighten your back a bit, reaching for a sweater to fold, 

“I can take care of myself.” 

The soft smile you were after flickers across his lips, just barely, “I know.” He picks up a sweater as well, folding it too, “Doesn’t mean you should have to.” 

There’s something in the way that he says that, it digs between your ribs, right into the cage. Like he’s trying to pluck butterflies out and set them free. All at once, this feels far too complicated—not talking about what happened in his kitchen, about Cole, about your date, about what you deserve, about Nick sitting here in your closet as you fold clothes into your suitcase like it’s the easiest thing you two have ever done. 

You shake your head, “I don’t want you to worry about me.” You stand with the suitcase, carrying it into the other room to set on your bed. There are some other things you can pack. Toiletries, or something. You just need to move around. You slip into your bathroom and just like you knew he would, he follows, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. 

“Someone ought to.” 

Swallowing over an emotion in your throat, you point out, “Not you.” 

Nick’s quiet for a moment, reaching out to touch your wrist. Only when you stop moving does he lift his hand to brush his thumb over your jawline. “Why not?” 

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, nothing feels like it fits. You tilt your chin into his touch, lips brushing over his skin. You hate how you wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, making you take a step back from him. The energy fizzles between you two, like an atom being ripped in half, something so brash and sudden that it makes you draw a deep breath into your lungs. 

You glance up at him, “You know why.” 

Walking past him, you try not to think about that if he’d just admit that something was there, that maybe, he was in fact jealous—you probably wouldn’t be going out on this date with Cole at all. 

—

Admittedly, you’re still trying to figure it out, how jealousy can be considered a ‘useless’ emotion. That’s what Nick had called it right? Useless? And yet, you feel like it’s colored everything in your relationship thus far, whether he realizes it or not. Whether he wants to admit it or not. 

You don’t mean for it to happen, but when you’re with Cole, your mind wanders. You think about if the roles were reversed, if Nick was the one on a date night now, if he was out with Anna…would you just sit idly by? Would you not tell him how you felt? 

You’re not about to justify anything that your father has done, but didn’t he just walk around bottling his emotions? Keeping them under lock and key, festering them like an open wound until it turned into something ugly, unsalvageable? You don’t want that. 

You and Nick are complicated, messy, and he may have trouble sharing how he feels but you know what? So do you. 

“You’re distracted tonight,” Cole comments, having a sip of his drink. 

You blink, your thoughts shuffling back to him, and you at least have the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Thoughts elsewhere?” He asks, a small smile, far more polite than you deserve. “On him? Nick?” 

You swallow, waiting for the moment where he gets upset, where he gets angry—you wouldn’t blame him, you’ve obviously wasted his time. But he doesn’t look at you like that, just takes some cash out from his back pocket to pay for both of your drinks. 

“Glad to see it’s that obvious.” A soft, humorous laugh leaves your lips. 

Cole shrugs, “I could kind of sense something when I met you, just wasn’t sure if it was serious or not.” The unspoken end of that sentence is, it’s obviously serious. 

And yet, “It’s complicated.” 

He doesn’t like that answer, crinkles his nose a little as a scoff slips out, “So uncomplicate it. You waiting for something specific?” 

Another laugh rumbles in your chest but it doesn’t make any sound, because…yeah. For some reason, you’re waiting for him to admit something he shouldn’t have to, for him to acknowledge that something is there, crackling between the two of you. 

“Haven’t you seen enough?” Cole asks quietly and you hold his gaze for a long moment—

thinking about Nick. 

Thinking about the way he smiles at you, the way he holds your hand, the way his arms wrap around you to pull you close, the soft laugh he does which is mostly just air leaving his nose, the soothing timber of his voice. The way he bends over backwards to make you feel better, to hear you, to see who you really are, even the uglier parts, and not looking away. The way he makes you laugh, especially when you’re sad, the way he knows exactly what to order for you at the diner, even when they’re out of strawberry milkshakes. 

And Cole—Cole’s right. 

Haven’t you seen enough? 

—

Maybe home was never meant to be a place. Maybe home is a person. 

—

You get to the cabin a little later than you wanted. 

The place you guys rented is tucked into trees, near water, and you remember thinking that Nick’s sister would probably love to explore a place like this. It’s a large, contemporary space, dark green paneling, a large porch with plenty of cushy seats and a bench swing. While you teased that the cabins in all those movies you’ve watched don’t have things like WiFi or televisions, you’re glad that this comes with amenities. You’re not exactly a ‘rough it in the wilderness’ type of girl, even though the aesthetic is admirable. 

Cole’s car slides over gravel, pulling up next to Nick’s McLaren. You get out, giving him a warm thanks before grabbing your bag from the backseat, waving as Cole backs up out of the driveway and heads on his way. 

You breathe in deeply, the scent of trees and earth greeting you, bugs trilling and adding to the ambiance even though the weather isn’t warm. You pull your sweater a little tighter around you, turning to walk towards the stairs—

“Take it the date went well.” 

You almost jump out of your skin, your hand going to your chest as Nick stands from the bench swing on the porch in a pair of black sweats, and a large oversized knit-sweater. Jesus. The sight is striking, which is the last thing you need, given how your heart is hammering at his surprise welcome. 

“Jesus Nick, haven’t I told you enough about these movies not to sneak up on people like that?” 

But then you realize what he’s said, about Cole dropping you off, the slight dip in his voice. There’s a wall there, wrapped around himself, like he could care less about how your night went. Except, that tells you everything you need to know. 

That he cares far too much. 

You walk up the stairs to the porch, setting your bag down on one of the chairs. He turns a little, facing you, leaning back against the banister, eyes brushing over your form in a way that shouldn’t feel so intimate. 

“My car wouldn’t start,” You reply, “Cole offered to drive me, so you can stop sucking on that lemon at any point.” 

“I’m not—”

An amused noise leaves your lips, “That scowl is practically etched into your face. Hasn’t anyone ever told you you’ll get wrinkles like that?” You touch his cheek, brushing your thumb along the bone there. Jealous, he’s jealous. You don’t need him to confirm anything this time. 

You expect him to roll his eyes, huff off your accusations, maybe even gently push you away. But he doesn’t. He just holds your gaze—and doesn’t deny it. It solidifies in his pretty brown eyes as he looks down at you, his silence is answer enough. He turns his head just a little, his lips pressing against the end of your hand, near your wrist. 

Your heart ricochets right into your throat, encouraging you to keep talking. 

“Do you know why my date didn’t go well tonight?” You ask quietly and there’s a flash of something in Nick’s gaze—protectiveness, you think. Like he expects you to tell him that Cole did something awful. You suppose, given the last interaction Cole and Nick had, you shouldn’t be surprised. 

But you don’t want him to think that. Cole actually helped you work through emotions that you didn’t know how to say. 

You press your thumb against his lower lip, “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

The words barely leave your mouth before Nick pulls your hand away and kisses you.

Something unlocks in you, a shuddered sigh that feels like finally and that seems to be all Nick needs to encourage you forward, against him, picking you up in a fluid motion to carry you inside. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs around his waist, holding onto him and savoring the groan that leaves his throat when your tongue teases the seam of his lips, meeting his own. 

You have no idea where Jenna and Lion are, and honestly? It’s a fleeting thought as he takes you into a sitting space, depositing you on one of the couches. You don’t let him get very far, not wanting him to pull away, like if he…backs up enough, he might realize what you’re both doing. He might stop. He might have time to regret this. 

You’re not sure you’d ever recover if that were the case. 

His hands travel to your hips, squeezing to get your attention, and when your eyes meet his, he nips at your lower lip, “Do you want me to stop?” 

God, that’s the last thing you want. You appreciate the sweet concern, but you give an insistent shake of your head that makes his lips twitch into a smile. His hand slides between your bodies, thumbing at the button of your jeans. Again, a hesitance, and when give a soft yes against his lips, he undoes them and slides them down. 

The cool air kisses your heated skin and you don’t even care that he’s fully clothed and you’re missing some of yours, all that you care about is how Nick sinks to his knees, pressing yours open to accommodate his body. He plants a kiss to the inside of your thigh, not close enough to wear you want him. His hand slips up, his thumb brushing over the center of you—

“You’re practically soaked through.” His voice rumbles, eyes alight with something possessive. You almost laugh at all the claims about not being jealous. Almost. The giddiness is somewhat swallowed by how turned on you are. 

You follow that train of thought easily, “All for you,” Your voice comes out in a whisper, breathing slightly heavier, “Just you.” 

Fuck. Your hips roll just a little, your hand threading through the front of his curls, resisting the urge to tug him closer. 

Nick’s fingers curl around your underwear, tugging them down and out of his way, his body warm and solid when he settles between your legs again. The anticipation of his lips on your skin makes you cry out when it finally happens, his tongue circling around your clit before traveling down the center of you. His one hand places your leg on top of his shoulder, while the other travels up your body, cupping your cheek, almost covering your mouth. 

You tip your chin, encouraging that, because you’re not sure you’re going to be able to keep your sounds to yourself. 

Nick works you open with his tongue, eventually using his fingers while he pays close attention to your clit. He reads you like an open book, words printed directly onto your skin, knows what you need and when you need it, a build-up of pressure that makes your body tremble until you’re chasing after that release. When his tongue flicks quickly over that bundle of nerves, fingers curling up—you cum, hard, his name on your lips. The sounds are muffled by his hand, which is quickly replaced with his mouth as he kisses you. 

You feel slightly dizzy when he pulls his hand back, a series of pecks from his lips along your jawline, his body resting against your own. Your eyes slip closed as you come down from your high, heartbeat in your ears, only tipping your chin down to look at him when you feel like you can breathe normally again. 

Nick smiles a little, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. 

“So just to be clear,” You whisper after a moment, “This is you not jealous?” 

He playfully pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger before he draws you into another kiss. 

—

The patio area behind the house is spacious, filled with an in-ground fire pit and cushioned seats. You sit on the center seat of the couch, leaning back against the oversized pillow, a pair of sweats and a hoodie on. Tugging the sleeves over your hands, you breathe in the scent of Nick’s lingering cologne, your eyes slipping closed as the high flames kiss your face. 

A yawn slips out of your lips when you stretch your legs out, your gaze falling to Jenna who’s curled up in a chair across from you, a light smile tugging her mouth. 

“So,” She says after a moment, her voice almost lost to the crackling fire. It sends orange flecks that remind you of fireflies into the sky. “No more Cole?” 

You smile a little, can’t help it. 

It’s been a day and a half at the cabin, you and Nick nearly inseparable. So it’s…obvious that something has happened between the two of you. You’re a little addicted to kissing him, at the feeling of his hands on your body, at the way he smiles into your skin when he pulls you close. And while the physical changes are nice? It’s not just that. It’s the way you’ve always been with one another, that intimacy and closeness in the way you can share anything, talk about everything. 

Jenna lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, I didn’t think he was going to stand a chance.” 

You scoff out a laugh too, “Bullshit.” 

“I was trying to be supportive!” 

Cole will definitely be someone nice to date for someone else, just…not for you. 

You smile, glancing up as the backdoor springs open, Lion and Nick coming out with hot coffees and a few extra blankets. Your stomach does a tell-tale swoop, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth as he wanders over where you’re seated. He passes a coffee into your hands, fingers brushing, pulling himself onto the couch to sit in the corner. 

He wastes no time drawing you close and you fold easily into his chest, careful not to jostle the coffee, taking a small sip.  As you lean into his chest, Nick flutters the blanket over you both, his hand cupping your arm. He rubs back and forth to create friction, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth as your gaze meets his. He presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, 

“Good?” He asks softly, though you’re not sure if he’s asking about the coffee or just…everything. How comfortable you are on the couch, if you’re warm enough, if you’re enjoying the time spent at the cabin. If you’re happy. 

You smile, tipping your chin up to kiss the corner of his mouth, covering all the above. “Good.”

—

Home is a person. 

[boopshoops]

Common sense doesn't feel all that common when coming from a fella such as this.

template by ai-kan1! dividers here! sound on :)

Alias: Creek

Nickname(s): Cricket, Piranha

Gender: Xenogender

Pronouns: Any with they/it preference (they>it). Also prefers masculine language/titles (i.e. lad, mister, sir, etc.)

Sexuality: Unlabeled

Birthday: June 1 (Gemini)

Age: Somewhere close to 200, they've stopped counting

Height: 5'8 or 172cm, though the height of the doll is adjustable.

Voice Claim(s): Yuri Lowenthal, Keiichi Nanba

Twisted From: Jiminy Cricket

Unique Magic: None! It's magicless.

Job: Playful Land Owner

Hobbies: Terrarium making, architecture, entrepreneurship, bug collecting, raising bug colonies, reading, violin, creating soundscapes, fashion.

Likes: Bugs, spiders, nature, Italian roulade, their doll body, cricket song, old locomotives, leaving large impressions on others, seclusion.

Dislikes: Existentialism, extreme pessimism, extended periods of boredom, drawing in an unwanted crowd, unrewarded extended efforts.

Fears: Being completely numb, feeling nothing, being stuck in one place for too long.

Summary: The eccentric yet secluded benefactor of Playful Land, both feared and loved by many for their charities. The owner is known for exploring many different business ventures, to the point where their company is behind a startlingly large amount of big names and faces. It's been around for a suspiciously long amount of time... at least others find it suspicious, Creek's lifespan isn't that much of a secret to their close circle... that circle mostly consisting of a bunch of insects, but still.

Creek, evidently, is more so focused on doing their own thing and finding constant sources of emotion rather than living up to the standards their business has risen to. After all, once you reach the top, it has to find out just what else life has in store for them. That, and what life has in store for others. Whether that is dangerous or not is up to you, long as you stay on your toes.

Playful Land's owner is known among their hires - even in avenues outside the amusement park - as being oddly generous, if not even incredibly intelligent. Guidance is something they are almost always willing to offer, in any topic or field. Don't get it wrong, though. They're not kind or overtly rude. What you see is what you get, even if it gets you sent straight to hell. Thems the facts, lad.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST - CREATION STORY - DEATH STORY

Author's note: koisdghdosieeee theyre so sillayyy! theyre just sooo sillay guys trust me guys its just a sillay lil geek mk! wym they abandoned isola and stole whats practically her skeleton. what could u posibly mean i jhave no idea what you're talking about :) they just like little critters theyve never done anything wrong no human trafficking into labour here noooooooooooooooooooooooooo pal!!!!!! perfectly legal lived a perfectly normal amount of time totally is NOT a peepaw and has not fed ANYONE to their massive supply of crickets.

anyway ernesto/fellow bombing their giantass ship was the most entertaining thing thats happened to them in a decade <3

mr. "why are you charging those two for the destruction of the park" "i just wanted to see what would happen lol" Creek

Tag list :)

@skriblee-ksk @lowcallyfruity @justm3di0cr3 @kitwasnothere @cecilebutcher

@distant-velleity @thehollowwriter @techno-danger @scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch

@beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @qsoap @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto

@gimmeurmoneyagh @tixdixl @sillyslipperybananapeel @twstinginthewind

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (LET ME GET WHAT I WANT)

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SUMMARY ↳ ;) Damian and Jon are easy to spot, standing together near a large decorative display. Jon's bright smile is a beacon, and Damian's more reserved demeanor contrasts starkly with his friend. They’re standing in front of a window. It paints the image of being surrounded by snowfall as they chat away. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: threats of bodily harm wc: 4.3k

Nothing quite says party like a Tony Stark party. You distinctly remember your first one. You weren’t even planning to come, but when Tony saw you in bed with pajamas he bullied you into getting dressed. He said that you ‘needed to get out more’, which was bull, but whatever. As payback you drank as much alcohol as you could sneak. The scolding from Steve you got was worth it seeing Tony’s appalled stare.

This time, you intend to stay in bed.

Bruce Wayne has decided to throw a New Year’s Gala, for whatever reason. You think it doubles as a charity, but you don’t know why else he would throw it, nor do you care enough to find out. He did invite you, but you’re not too keen on being perceived by society.

“You look nice,” you muse, seeing Damian in his little formal wear. He’s made a quick stop in your room, for whatever reason. He’s a cute sight, so you’re not complaining.

Damian adjusts the cufflinks on his formal wear. "Thank you," he mutters, glancing away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "You should come.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Nice try, hun. But I’m really not in the mood to be around a bunch of snooty elites."

He sighs, looking slightly disappointed. "It would be more bearable with you there."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you tease, reaching out to straighten his tie. "Besides, someone has to stay and hold down the fort. Unless, of course, you’re asking me to be your date?”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t dignify your comment with a response. Finishing fiddling with his tie, you step back from him. You see his hands twitch just a tad.

“Hi, [Name].” You turn to see Jon poking his head through your doorway, smiling cutely. He steps in, letting you see that he too is dressed up for the party.

“Well shit, look at you,” you grin, eyes roaming his figure.

He spreads his arms out, bashful. “Look at me,” he says, hands coming up to fidget with his tie. “I wasn’t sure about the tie, though. Damian said it was too flashy.”

You chuckle softly. “He’s just jealous he can’t pull it off like you.”

Jon laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you glance between Jon and Damian, both looking unexpectedly nervous in their formal wear. It’s a stark contrast to their usual confident selves when they're out on patrol or facing down villains.

“So,” Jon starts, his tone casual, “are you coming with us?”

“Absolutely not,” you grin. “I do not have the energy to deal with people right now.

Damian huffs softly, exchanging a knowing glance with Jon before turning back to you. "You're missing out on Father's attempt at social philanthropy," he remarks dryly, clearly not a fan of the gala idea either.

Jon nods in agreement, his smile widening. "True, but I guess we'll have to suffer through it together."

You chuckle at their banter, appreciating their effort despite your reluctance. "Well, make sure to bring me back a good story or two. Preferably involving Bruce embarrassing himself on the dance floor."

Jon grins mischievously. "Deal. We'll keep you posted."

As they leave your room, Damian pauses at the door, looking back with a faint smile. "If you change your mind," he offers quietly, "you know where to find us."

You nod, blowing them kisses as they leave. You settle back into your cozy spot, grateful for the quiet evening ahead. From here, you can hear the chatter and glasses clinking from partygoers downstairs. You sigh and sink into your bed with no further plans for the night. Just as you start to drift into a more relaxed state, your thoughts briefly return to Damian and Jon.

Damian. Damian is so complex. So rich in character. He carries an air of absoluteness around him. Every now and again you have that realization that everybody around you is living their own complex lives. You guess that realization hits harder, since you had never entertained the thought of him being real. Foolish on your pat, with what you know.

Jon, Jon exudes a warmth that contrasts with Damian's reserved nature. His easy going manner and quick smile charm you so. Only he, who gets his powers from the sun, could shine so bright. He's the kind of person who can brighten any room he enters.

The sounds of the party drift up faintly, a reminder of the world outside your cozy sanctuary. For now, you're content to enjoy this peaceful moment to yourself, letting your eyes drift close.

.

.

.

“Hello?” a voice echoes out. It’s yours. An amalgamation of bright lights closes in on itself behind you. Footsteps echo as you walk down the alley. You don’t hear any civilians walking and talking or any cars going down the roads. New York is quiet tonight.

Swinging up onto a building, you began making your way across the city. The eerie silence is unnerving you. The usual hustle and bustle is conspicuously absent, replaced by an unsettling calm. In fact, New York is… completely dark. Not one apartment light is on.

Avengers tower looms over the city. It’s the only building with—some—light. The building… isn’t really a building. Half of it is gone, jagged and broken edges pointing skyward. Cracks litter the walls, glass broken.

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach the tower. The air feels heavy with a sense of desolation. There’s pieces of broken armor and weapons. Flickering lights casting eerie shadows.

As you move through the ruins, a faint voice calls out—a whisper carried on the wind. You turn, but there's no one there. The silence intensifies, punctuated only by the distant sound of your own breathing.

Suddenly, a figure appears before you—a spectral image of Tony Stark, his armor battered and glowing faintly. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"You were supposed to be here," he murmurs, his voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Where were you?”

You reach out, but your hand passes through his ethereal form. He fades slowly, leaving you alone. You see a broken red, white and blue shield in the distance. 

“No, no, nononono. This wasn’t supposed to happen–”

There’s a woman behind you. She seems familiar. “You left us.”

You left them. All to die.

There’s a piercing scream as you're sucked into an explosion of colors below you. You try to reach out, to grab onto something, but there’s no one there.

You sit up with a gasp, suddenly at a loss for breath. Your body is tense and sweaty and you’re breathing heavily. Your heartbeat is booming in your ears. It feels like it’s going to burst from your chest. The sensation of falling fades as you orient yourself to the familiar surroundings of your room.

You glance around, reassuring yourself with the reality of your peaceful sanctuary. The sounds of the party downstairs continue to drift up faintly, a distant reminder of the world outside your door. You rub your temples, trying to dispel the last traces of the unsettling dream.

Taking a deep breath, you reach for a glass of water on your bedside table, sipping slowly to calm your nerves. “Karen, how long was I asleep?”

“Only an hour.”

You bury your face in your hands, breathing. Sometimes you think your mind is your biggest enemy. You should’ve figured, really. You haven’t had a proper nightmare since you’ve gotten here. It was only a matter of time.

“Might I suggest heading to the Den to take your mind off things?” Karen's voice is soft, achingly so. It’s comforting.

You don’t respond verbally, only nodding your head. You throw off the covers sluggishly, still trying to ground yourself. You put on the first clothes you find. They’re definitely not gala material, but that’s fine. You’ll only pop in to tell someone where you’re going.

Titus is loitering the halls, but he comes to you when he sees you out and about. He sniffs you, gruffing like he’s disturbed by something. Maybe he can sense that you’re a little unnerved right now. You give him good pets before moving on past him.

The grandeur of the gala spills out into the hallway, the lights casting a warm, inviting glow. Chatter floods your ears as you arrive just outside the entrance to the grand room. The place is perfectly lit up and shiny. The sounds of laughter and conversation form a stark contrast to the silence of your dream, grounding you.

Damian and Jon are easy to spot, standing together near a large decorative display. Jon's bright smile is a beacon, and Damian's more reserved demeanor contrasts starkly with his friend. They’re standing in front of a window. It paints the image of being surrounded by snowfall as they chat away.

You hesitate at the entrance, your eyes drawn to Jon and Damian standing together. The way Jon's eyes light up when he looks at Damian, and the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugs at Damian's lips in response, speaks volumes. They stand close, their bodies angled toward each other.

Damian reaches out to brush away a curl from Jon's face. Jon smiles, mouthing something. He talks animatedly, eyes bright. Damian watches. Fondly, you realize, he’s watching. There’s even a little small smile on his face. It puts a matching one on your face. It reminds you of Pepper and Tony, the way they look at each other.

Like they’re in love.

…

Oh.

Oh.

Holy shit, they’re in love, aren’t they? Holy shit. How did you not notice? Well… you’re not often hanging out with both of them at the same time, are you? You know they hang out on their own without you. They were friends before they knew you of course. Since they were children. Oh God, you hope they aren’t, like, secretly dating or anything. You’ve been flirting with them, but it was playful! You swear!

.

.

.

God, what have you been doing?

You need to get home. You’re not supposed to be here. You should be at the tower, playing darts with Clint, or looking for colleges you want to go to. Not here, not pretending like everything is fine, everything is normal, everything is how it’s supposed to be. You’ve forgotten yourself, gotten too comfortable. You feel a sudden detachment, like a thread just snapped. This is a borrowed fantasy.

Like clockwork, you put on a grin, baring your teeth. You take a step back, the sounds of the party fading into the background. It's as if everything is moving in slow motion, every sound is distant and every breath is drawn out. The party fades away as you turn, making your way towards the exit. Each step feels heavy, like you're carrying a weight you can't quite name.

All you hear is a constant ringing in your ear as you swing from building to building. There are people in the streets, no doubt celebrating the incoming new year. The city seems especially alive, lights twinkling. You’re grateful you can’t feel the biting cold air thanks to your suit. You fear you’re already feeling too much right now.

By the time you reach the familiar tunnel, your stomach is in knots. You’re on autopilot as you move the rubble, climbing in. The cute fairy lights feel too bright now. Your mask retracts, letting you breathe in.

You grab a screwdriver, not yet knowing what you’re going to do. “You might be able to finish before midnight,” chimes Karen.

Really? Had you been that far along in your progress? Oh. Maybe you knew and just forgot. You don’t really know right now. Your legs feel stiff as you approach the particle accelerator, screwing in a part tight. You work methodically, hands steady despite the turmoil in your mind. Each screw, each connection, each calibration is a step closer to completion, closer to... what? A return to your old life?

Karen's voice interrupts your thoughts gently, "You're almost done. Just a few more adjustments."

You nod absently, tightening another screw. The particle accelerator is nearly ready. Your mind drifts to the dream again—Tony, the absence of life, your home that you don’t recognize. "You left us," echoes in your mind.

Finally, the last screw is in place. You step back, wiping a hand down your face, and take a deep breath. The machine hums with a soft, steady power. It's ready. You're ready. Or at least, the machine is.

You stand back, staring at the particle accelerator with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The steady hum of the machine fills the air, a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. It's a portal, a bridge to another reality (the start of one, at least) another chance to set things right—or at least, to find some semblance of peace.

You insert a prism into it, making sure it’s secure. “Initializing…” hums Karen. The particle accelerator hums, lights flickering on and running down it. Sound whirls as you grab the little wheel you attached to it. “Approaching maximum power.”

The machine shakes as you turn the wheel. The prism turns, guiding a light. The light cuts through the space, producing fire and sparks where it hits. It cuts an old pipe in half. Whoops.

In front of you, lies an object akin to that of Tony Stark's arc reactor. Of course, it’s not actually an arc reactor, it’s just there to hold the new element. The light pierces and cuts until finally, it reaches its target. You think you hear the prism chime as the light hits the little triangle in the holder. You know that that’s the case when the chime gets louder as the light gets brighter. Brighter, brighter, brighter—oh.

You turn the machine off, looking at the glowing creation. The light fades, showing you the bright glowing triangle that is the new element. You sigh in content.

You duck under the particle accelerator, approaching the mimic arc reactor. Your fingers flex in anticipation, reaching out. The claws of your suit clink against the tiny triangle as you pick it up.

“Congratulations, [Name]. You’ve successfully recreated Tony Stark’s new element.”

You hum. “Well, couldn’t have done it without you and your awesome know-it-all abilities, my dear.”

A symphony of crackles, pops, and booms that fill your ears. Each pop rattles off as it fades. Oh, the fireworks. Is it…

“What time is it, K?”

“It is currently twelve AM, on the dot. I think this was an appropriate way to start the new year, don’t you?”

You chuckle, bowing your head. “Happy New Year.” You wonder if Damian and Jon… no. Probably shouldn’t think about that.

“Happy New Year, [Name].”

“...Happy New Year…”

You whirl around, fist tightly curling around the badassium. There’s no one there. Um. Were you imagining things? Oh, you see now, a figure there in the corner. A figure, somebody. Somebody that looks like…

Looks like…

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now…”

How did your senses not pick up on them?

“I… don’t know what I’m doing here myself.”

They’re stepping closer to you.

“I guess… well. I don’t know.”

It’s… it’s…

“But I do know… that I’m sorry. I was… I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

It’s the spider… the one from the warehouse. The reason why you’re here.

“You…” Suddenly, you can’t breathe.

They clasp their hands behind their back, looking around the room. Then they look at you. Stare at you. The eyes of their suit squint as they take in your face. “Pretty cozy place. More cozy than mine, that’s for sure.”

You put down the badassium, afraid you’ll break it in your fist. They turn to look at it, then at the particle accelerator. “You work fast. Faster than me. It took me way too long to make that big stupid thing. I didn’t have any blueprints or even confirmation that it would work, but–”

A scratchy yell erupts from your mouth as you pounce at them. They dodge, fucking spidey senses.

They hold out their hands. “Woah woah woah, wait–”

You don’t wait. You lunge at them again, claws swiping out to them. It lands, leaving behind red. They don’t have an armored suit like yours. You have the advantage.

They scramble out of your way, knocking over things as they go. “Please–”

You grab their suit at their collarbone, pulling them to you. “You!”

“Me?” they squeak.

“You’re the reason I’m fucking stuck here!”

“I know I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I was being stupid! I just–”

“I don’t care,” you growl, showing your fangs. Your shoulders flex, releasing the nano spider legs. They emerge hauntingly, their sharpened points glinting, poised and ready to strike.

“You know, I’m not really like the other spiders. Most of ‘em anyways,” you drawl. “Apart from being the only [Name] I know, my moral compass is a roulette wheel. I’m a hero of course, I save who need saving, and punish who needs punishing.”

“Truth is,” you lean in, eyes wide and flickering with hot pink, “I am much more keen to violence than the others. I’ve killed people. A couple of people, actually,” you admit, voice low and intense. “Doesn’t make me a true good person, of course, but it does make the world a bit safer for those that are.”

They try to struggle free, but you hold them firm. "I'm going to figure out what you need. So tell me, what the fuck are you doing?”

They sniff, taking in a deep breath. “I never wanted to hurt you. I don’t hurt people.” Their hands quiver as they latch onto yours. “I just wanted to go home, and I thought you were gonna stop me–”

You growl and they yelp. “It’s not an excuse! I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s my explanation. I just.. I felt bad. I was…” they pause.

“I was working on this machine. A particle accelerator,” they sigh, oblivious to the way your ears start ringing. “I was messing around, and I got stuck in your universe. I tried to go back home. I tried for so long, acting like everything was normal, like I belonged but I… I had to go back home.” Their voice gets wobbly. “I spent so long there, I got desperate.”

They start sniffling, and you know they’re crying. “I thought, if I could find where you went… I could help you get back to your universe. So what happened to me won’t happen to you.” They take a step back. Oh, did you let them go? “I can’t take you with me. Other things can't pass through my portal without turning to dust, but…”

They reach into a pocket, pulling out a small, intricate device. It glows softly in their hand, emitting a faint, steady pulse.

“...What is it?” you croak.

"It's a catalyst," they explain, their voice still shaky. "It’s what I used to stabilize the rift. You know, so my atoms wouldn’t get scattered across space.”

Your gaze narrows, skeptical of the device in their hand. "Why should I trust you?" you demand, voice edged with exhaustion and anger.

They take a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a mix of desperation and sincerity. "You shouldn’t,” they admit. "But I know what it's like. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone."

You stare at the catalyst, the faint pulse mesmerizing. "And if this doesn't work? If you're lying?"

You feel their eyes on you through their mask, voice filled with regret and determination. "Then you can do whatever you think is necessary. But I promise you, I'm not lying."

Your silence hangs heavy between you. The sounds of the fireworks outside are distant echoes, reminding you of the world outside this tense moment. Finally, you reach out and take the catalyst from their hand, feeling its weight and the subtle hum of energy within.

“You really want to help?” you whisper, fist curling around the catalyst. “Find Miguel O'Hara from Earth-928.” Your grip tightens around the catalyst as you step back, letting the weight of the moment settle in. The stranger stands still, their eyes fixed on you through their mask. You can see the weariness in their posture, the heaviness of their own burdens reflected in their stance.

“Find him, and tell him where I am.”

They nod slowly. “I’ll find him. I promise.” Their voice holds a note of determination.

You step back and wave an arm. “Just go.” You’re well and truly done with everything at the moment.

They stand for a moment, looking at you. Looking through you. Then they turn away, and all you see is an eruption of bright and colorful light, before it’s gone just as fast as it came. The Den feels unfamiliar to you now.

You sink to the floor, mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. Sound is distant, the only thing you hear is a loud ringing. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving. Your face feels wet. Ah, it’s tears. You’re crying. Why are you crying?

“–me]! [Name]! Come on, come back. I’m here, it’s okay–”

“Jon?” Is that your voice?

An arm curls around your shoulder and crowds you into his embrace. His warmth contrasts starkly with the cold dread that had settled in your chest. He holds you tightly, his presence grounding you. You cling to Jon like a lifeline, his warmth grounding you in the present.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hand smoothing down your back.

Sniffling, you sink into his embrace. “What are you doing here?” you mutter.

“Where else should I be?” With Damian. “I stuck my ear out, heard your heart beating fast. And the sound of you… well.”

You sigh heavily, cheek against his chest, listening to his own heartbeat. It's strong and steady, everything you want to be. “My heartbeat?”

He nods against your head. “Your heartbeat.”

You sigh again, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Oh, Jon...”

"Shh," he soothes, his hand still moving gently along your back. "You don't have to say anything right now."

"I don't deserve you," you murmur into his chest, your voice barely audible.

Jon tightens his hold on you, his voice firm yet gentle. "Don't say that. Please don’t say that."

You take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the night’s events settling over you. Jon’s presence is a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I just… I don’t know what to do, Jon.”

He tilts your chin up gently, his blue eyes filled with concern and determination. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time, together.”

You don’t say anything, simply resting your head against him. His lips press against your forehead, gently and warm.

“In other news,” you sniffle, moving to get out of his embrace. He holds on to your for a moment, uncertain. But a persistent tug from you makes his arms drop. You reach up, grabbing the small glowing triangle. “Look what I made.”

He eyes the small thing in your claws. “What is it?”

“The badassium. The new element that I’ve created.” You rock it around gently. “I did it.”

Jon's eyes widen with surprise and admiration as he gazes at the glowing triangle in your hand. "That's incredible," he says, reaching out to gently touch the shimmering surface.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering heaviness in your chest.

He looks up at you, his expression softening with concern. "Are you... okay?"

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. Instead of words, you hand him the glowing badassium, letting him examine it closely. The warmth of his touch is grounding. He studies it, turning it this way and that, before looking at you again. He puts it down where it was, coming back to you to hold your hand.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes. You don’t have any words, so you keep your mouth shut. 

“...Wanna go home?” he asks tentatively. You nod. He slowly steps forward, kneeling down and hooking his arms under your legs and back when you show no sign of hesitance. Jon lifts you effortlessly, cradling you close as he stands. You rest your head against his shoulder, eyes feeling heavy.

“I'm not invalid, Jon.”

“Just let me take care of you.” He shouldn't say things like that.

He makes sure that the Den is properly blocked and hidden by the rubble. After that, all you feel in the cold air biting at your cheeks as he flies you across the city. The lights below blur into streaks of color as you soar through the night sky. You cling to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his flight beneath you.

People are still at Wayne Manor as you approach, lights shining bright. Jon serves around the side, pulling up to your room's window. You sigh in relief as he gently sets you down in your room.

You see Damian rush over to you both, suit jacket forgotten. Was he waiting here for you?”

“Where were you?” he demands, hands coming up to rest on your arms. His concern is evident, his eyes searching yours for answers.

Jon steps forward, his hand resting on Damian's shoulder. "It doesn’t matter now. They’re okay," he reassures Damian, who nods slightly, though the crease in his brow doesn’t go away.

"Sorry," you say sincerely, looking at both of them, "for worrying you." You gently push Damian’s hands off you and go to your bed. Your clothes are comfortable enough, you decide. The soft pillow feels heavenly as you sink into the mattress. Hands come up the pull your blanket over you, lightly caressing your forehead before leaving.

Hushed voices bickering are the last thing you hear before darkness pulls you in.

notes: so... how we feeling? LOL

ngl i feel like the reasoning is cheap but how y'all liking the parallel? it'll make more sense later on, i promise ;)

also am i evil for using the "oh. oh." in that context? yes. yes i am

[gullemec]

Reunion

Golden Ruin - Chapter Eleven

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: You've finally been reunited with the man you love and the people you call family. Will it be enough for you to make it out unscathed, or will Homelander get what he truly wants?

Warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, description of injuries and torture/abuse, Homelander, description of a reader having a panic attack, death/dying, smut, unprotected P in V, fluffy butcher, HEA (like i promised <3)

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 13.9k

Seeing him again feels like falling back to earth.

You knew he was coming, knew he was alive, and still, there was some part of you that refused to truly believe it until you could lay eyes on him yourself. He looks healthy, maybe a little thinner than when you saw him last, and the shadows under his eyes are more pronounced but… He’s your Butcher all the same.

It hits you then, what he’s here to do. To sacrifice himself for you, for the Boys. Your freedom in exchange for his life. There’s no plan here, no daring rescue. This is the end.

You hold his gaze, trying to let him see everything you can’t say aloud.

I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

You can’t say for sure, but you think he understands. Tears prick your eyes before you can stop them. Whatever happens next, at least you got to see him one more time, to feel his presence in the room with you. 

You realize Homelander is watching this silent exchange between you, and his smirk falters. His eyes narrow, assessing Butcher before flicking over to Soldier Boy. He seems displeased, almost, but he quickly recovers, contorting his face back into his signature dead-eyed smile.

“Well, well. The gang’s all here,” he coos, leaning casually against the table, like he’s hosting a dinner party and not a hostage situation.

Butcher stops in the middle of the room, his dark eyes scanning the group. When his eyes sweep over you, they linger for a fraction too long, and it feels like a condemnation and a blessing all at once. He’s assessing you, making sure you’re okay. You’re not and he knows it, and it kills him. Then his eyes shift to Homelander.

“Let’s get this over with,” he growls.

Homelander saunters forward, hands clasped behind his back, like a predator circling prey. “Oh, no need to rush, Butcher. We were just having such a delightful chat. Your little crew here is such a lovely bunch. So loyal. You must be so proud.”

Butcher’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. His silence is louder than any threat could be.

Homelander chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, I’ve got to hand it to you. You lasted a hell of a lot longer than I expected. Most people fold after the first crack in their little team. But not you. Not even when I dragged Annie out of that little charity event, or when I had Frenchie and MM’s arrests broadcasted on every news channel. Radio silence. Impressive, really.”

He stops directly in front of you, leaning down so his face is level with yours. “But then I got her,” he says, dropping into a satisfied whisper. “And you came running. Just like I knew you would.”

You clench your fists under the table, forcing yourself not to shrink away from him.

Homelander straightens, turning his attention back to Butcher. 

“You’re a sentimental old dog, aren’t you? But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean…”  He pauses, his smirk sharpening, becoming crueler and hungrier. “I didn’t realize you were a family man. If I’d known she was pregnant, I might’ve put more effort into finding her sooner.”

The words detonate like a bomb.

The room freezes.

Butcher’s eyes snap to you, widening in shock. His mouth falls open, his brows pulling, like he doesn’t quite believe the words at first, like he’s looking for the truth in your face.

But you can’t lie to him. Not here, not now.

You mouth I’m sorry.

His face falls, just for a fraction of a second, before hardening again into a mask of pure coldness. His hands clench into fists at his side, eyes swinging over to Homelander, pure malice radiating off him in waves.

Homelander’s grin grows impossibly wider, his eyes sparkling with glee. “Oh?” he says, tilting his head like an amused child. “You didn’t know? Oh, this is just… delicious. This day keeps getting better and better!”

A sob breaks free from your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks as your heart pounds against your ribs. You feel every pair of eyes in the room turn to you, but you can only look at him. 

“Butcher…” Your voice cracks. “I-I’m sorry. I–”

“I’m sorry,” Homelander mocks, affecting a high-pitched falsetto. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Didn’t think he deserved to know? Or were you just waiting for the perfect moment to drop that little bombshell? Gotta say, this was a pretty good one.”

You ignore him, keeping your eyes locked on Butcher. If this is the last time you ever get to see him, he needs to know. “I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I should’ve told you. I-I didn’t know how, and then everything happened, and –”

“Enough,” Butcher growls. His eyes drop to the floor, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks ready to snap.

Homelander claps his hands together, the sound loud and jarring in the tense silence. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. This is riveting.”

“Homelander,” Butcher spits. He lifts his head, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “You’ve had your fun. Now, let’s get this over with.”

Homelander raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. “So eager. Don’t you want to savor the moment a little longer? I mean, come on, Billy. It’s not every day you find out you’re going to be a daddy.”

Butcher doesn’t respond, his silence more damning than any words could be.

Finally, Homelander sighs, feigning disappointment. “Fine, fine. But it’s fitting, you know? Her being knocked up. Because, you see, this really is a family reunion. Stanley?”

With a casual wave of his hand, Homelander gestures toward the door. It creaks open slowly, and your heart nervously skips a beat.

A man appears in the doorway.

Your father.

The Boys seem to inhale all at once, a collective gasp of disbelief echoing through the room. There he stands. Or rather, he’s being held upright by guards. The once imposing Stanley Morgan is unrecognizable. His clothing, always impeccable, his armor of arrogance and power, are now crumpled and stained. His hair is stringy, his skin pale and waxy, and his eyes… empty. Hollow. Like he’s not even fully alive, not entirely present in his own body.

A cold chill passes through you, like you’ve seen a ghost, because, for all intents and purposes, you have.

“Dad?” The word falls from your lips in a broken whisper.

His head turns slowly, almost mechanically, his lifeless stare landing on you. But there’s no recognition in his eyes, no flicker of familiarity.

“What the fuck is this?” MM mutters from beside you, disbelieving.

Homelander claps his hands together, the sound echoing sharply, jarring you back into the moment. The bastard is basking in the chaos he’s created. “Surprise!” he crows, absolutely fucking gleeful with cruel amusement. “Don’t you just love a good family reunion? So heartwarming.”

He gestures toward Stanley, who wavers on unsteady legs. “The long-lost father, back from the dead. Well… not quite dead. But close enough.”

The room stares in stunned silence. Confusion and disbelief and horror ripple across the faces of everyone present. Even Soldier Boy, who up until now seems wholly unaffected by the scene, narrows his eyes at Stanley, his expression twisting into disgust.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. If it weren’t for the stutter of your heartbeat and the sensation of tears on your face, you would swear you were dreaming right now. God, you wish this was all just a nightmare, that you’ll wake up and find yourself back on the springy mattress of the cottage.

“How…” Hughie squeaks out. “How is this even possible?”

Homelander doesn’t answer right away, savoring the fear and confusion like it nourishes him. He steps forward leisurely, stopping in front of you. 

“Funny story, actually,” he begins, all faux sincerity. “Turns out, ol’ Stan here didn’t quite die in that little CytoGenix explosion, did he? No, he survived, thanks to being injected with V2. But you didn’t even bother to look for him, did you? Just thought he was dead and buried, nice and neat.”

Anger and grief storm inside you, threatening to consume you. 

“Why are you doing this?” you force out through gritted teeth. “What did I do to you?”

Homelander chuckles, low and menacing, the sound crawling under your skin. In one swift, terrifying motion, his hand darts out, grabbing the back of your neck. His grip is like iron, unyielding and cold. You see Butcher jump in your periphery.

He leans in close, his breath hot and venomous against your ear. “Why?” he hisses.  “Well, sweetheart, you screwed me out of a lobotomized Supe army, so jot that down.”

His grip tightens for a brief, agonizing moment, and then just as suddenly, he releases you with a shove. The force sends you reeling, and the room tilts around you. Before you can hit the ground, MM’s strong hands catch your shoulders, steadying you.

“But more importantly…” he continues, spreading his arms wide like he’s delivering a grand proclamation. “I’m doing this... because we’re family.”

The air is sucked from the room. The silence is deafening. Every eye in the room is on him, trying to parse the meaning of his words.

Homelander’s smile widens, a predator savoring its cornered prey. 

“You see,” he chirps, “when I dragged your dear old dad off the streets and brought him back to Vought for a little... cleanup, I got curious.” His tone is casual, conversational, but his eyes are black and shark-like as they flick between you and Butcher, his hatred on full display.

“Now, I already knew V2 was powerful,” he continues, pacing leisurely, hands clasped behind his back like a smug professor giving a lecture to an enraptured classroom. “Hell, I personally funded half of the V2 trials. But becoming a walking bomb? Now that’s different. That’s... special.”

He pauses, turning to face the room, his expression theatrically contemplative. “So, naturally, I started digging. And oh, did I find some fascinating things.” 

His smirk deepens, his eyes locking on Soldier Boy. “Turns out, Stanley Morgan isn’t just your average Supe experiment gone wrong. Oh, no, no, no. He’s... well, let’s call him a legacy project.”

Soldier Boy steps forward, his jaw tightening. “What the hell does that mean?” he growls.

Homelander stops pacing, turning to face Soldier Boy with an expression of mock innocence, like the answer is painfully obvious. “Oh, I thought you’d have figured it out by now, big guy. After all, it’s your legacy I’m talking about.” He lets the silence stretch before twisting the knife deeper. 

“Stanley here isn’t just any Supe. He’s your son.”

In an instant you’re plunged into unreality, the world around you moving in slow motion, sound filtering to your ears as if through water.

Soldier Boy’s face slackens, confusion twisting his features into a grimace as he takes a step forward, fists clenched. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he snaps. A guard shifts to block his path, but he barely notices. “I don’t have a son.”

Homelander’s grin only widens, a Cheshire cat delighting in its game. 

“Oh, but you do,” he purrs. “Back in the ’60s, you had a little... Let's call it an indiscretion with a Vought secretary. What was her name? Susan? Sally? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Ring any bells?”

Soldier Boy’s brows furrow as his mind races, the gears turning. But he says nothing, his silence betraying a sliver of doubt.

Homelander seizes on the moment, circling him like a shark scenting blood. “Of course, Vought couldn’t let a juicy little scandal like that go public, could they? Oh, no. So they covered it up. Took Stanley here away from his mommy before he could even crawl. Kept him in one of their labs, experimenting on him. They wanted to see if your incredible genetics could produce something... Extraordinary.”

He waves a hand toward your father, a silent, broken shadow of a man. “They were disappointed, of course. Turns out, whatever powers he inherited from you were... Underwhelming. A little enhanced intelligence here, a bit of extra durability there, and, ooh, the ability to heal faster than your average Joe. But nothing flashy. Nothing marketable. A dud.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your stomach twisting into knots. The room starts to close in around you, suffocating and cold. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head like that could undo the words hanging in the air. “No, that’s not true. That can’t be true.”

Homelander doesn’t even glance at you, his focus still fixed on Soldier Boy. “When he didn’t meet expectations, they dumped him in some foster home and wiped all traces of his existence. But here’s the kicker, folks.” 

He spreads his arms, turning to address the entire room like a showman at the climax of his act. 

“Stanley’s existence... his heritage... gave Jonah Vogelbaum an idea. A little experiment of his own. If Supes could pass on their powers through genetics, why not build the perfect Supe from the ground up? Using your DNA.” 

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. 

“And that’s where I come in.”

The revelation hangs in the air, suffocating. Soldier Boy looks like he’s been punched in the gut, his eyes wide as he stares at Stanley, who stands silent and broken, his shoulders slumped under the weight of the truth. You feel tears sting your eyes, your hands trembling as you grip the edge of the table. This can’t be real, there’s no way.

“You’re lying,” Soldier Boy finally spits, but he lacks any conviction. “This is bullshit.”

Homelander shrugs, a smug smirk on his face. “Believe what you want. The DNA doesn’t lie. Stanley here? He’s your kid. And because of him, I exist. So, in a way...” He points a finger at Soldier Boy, his smile turning venomous. “You’re my daddy and my granddaddy.”

The room explodes into chaos, voices colliding into a fray of rage and disbelief. MM shouts furiously at Homelander, curses flying from his mouth, and Annie’s eyes flicker, glowing with defiance despite her dimmed powers. Across the table, Kimiko and Frenchie frantically communicate in hurried gestures, clearly trying to communicate to find a way out of this.

Your father crumples to the ground, his legs buckling under him, jaw going slack. The guards quickly move to keep him upright, each holding an arm like a puppet dangling from fraying strings. His head lolls forward, and for a moment, you fear he’s gone, until you notice the shallow rise of his chest.

Homelander, of course, stands tall at the epicenter of the chaos, drinking it all in. His laughter rings out, sharp and grating. He basks in the discord he’s sown, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, like every raised voice and horrified expression is fuel to his fire.

You turn to look at Butcher. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t move. He just stands there, a marble statue amid the storm. His eyes burn with an intensity that freezes you in place, calculating as he silently dissects the scene. You know that look. It’s the look of a man meticulously plotting something, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. That realization keeps you grounded, even as the floor feels like it’s falling out from under you.

Homelander rounds the table, and you feel his presence by the hairs rising on the back of your neck. He stops behind you, leaning down until his lips are almost brushing your ear. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t look so shocked,” he coos. “You’re Vought royalty. That makes you my niece. And Soldier Boy here? Your dear old granddaddy.”

The words hit you like a sledgehammer. For a moment, it’s all too much – the chaos, the revelations, the overwhelming sense of unreality. But then the anger kicks in, burning away the shock. You whip your head around, glaring at Homelander with every ounce of hatred you can muster. “Fuck you,” you spit, the venom in your voice almost surprising even yourself. “You’re a lying piece of shit.”

Homelander’s grin widens, reveling in your disbelief. “Oh, come now. Don’t be like that,” he says, faux hurt lacing his words. He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an entertaining curiosity. “I mean, look at you. Gorgeous, stubborn, full of that little spark of Supe potential. It all makes sense, doesn’t it? Just think about how powerful your baby will be once we start pumping them full of Compound V.”

You shake your head violently, like the motion itself could somehow dispel this nightmare. Your body trembles with rage as you hiss, “I’ll kill you.”

Homelander laughs darkly, a sound that seems to reverberate through the room. “Who would’ve thought? My own niece, threatening to kill me. How delightfully ungrateful.”

He straightens to his full height, his expression shifting from mockery to calculated menace as he turns his attention to Butcher. 

“And you, Butcher.” He shakes his head, looking at Butcher like he’s just stepped in dog shit. “You’ve spent your whole miserable life trying to wipe us out, and here you are, standing shoulder to shoulder with one of us.” He gestures toward you. “You shacked up with a Supe. Let her worm her way into that hollow little heart of yours. And now…” He pauses for effect, his grin widening into something truly vile. “Now your little one is going to have our blood — my blood — running through their veins.”

Butcher’s face twists into something feral, his teeth bared in a snarl as his fists tremble at his sides. You can feel the rage radiating off of him, a palpable force threatening to detonate at any moment. 

“Shut your bloody mouth,” he warns, eyes like blades.

Homelander, unfazed, takes a step closer to him, his smirk practically daring Butcher to make a move. “Or what?” he sneers. “Go on, Butcher. Do something. Hit me. Try me. Show your new Supe family what you’re really made of.”

The air in the room is electric, like you’re in a stormcloud about to clap. Every muscle in Butcher’s body tenses, and for a moment, you think he might actually lunge at Homelander. But he doesn’t. He stays rooted to the spot, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists tighter, the fury in his eyes tempered by cool control.

Homelander begins to pace again, his boots thudding against the smooth floor. “You know,” he starts casually, as if recounting a fond memory, “This wasn’t easy for me. No, that bitch Ashley fought me every step of the way, begged me to stop what I was doing. Offered me whatever I wanted if I’d just let go of my preoccupation with finding you. The lengths we go to for family, huh?”

He lowers his voice, eyes on Soldier Boy again. “So I took my dear brother on a little... World tour. Russia, mostly. Had to follow the trail of breadcrumbs left behind after Vought dumped you in that freezer. Oh, and the fun we had there. Dragging Stanley from lab to lab, watching those scientists scramble for answers while his skin started to burn.” He chuckles darkly, almost fondly. “Of course, most of those labs didn’t have what I needed. But that’s the beauty of being me – I don’t leave loose ends.”

He raises a hand, miming an explosion with a flick of his fingers, accompanied by a soft boom sound he makes with his lips. “One blast from Stan. Lab gone. Scientists gone. No one left to squeal. Over and over again. Russia’s got a lot fewer labs now, thanks to me.”

You glance toward your father, who remains limp in the guards’ grasp, motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Once a force to be reckoned with, a corporate juggernaut, reduced to a weapon for the selfish whims of a narcissistic super villain.

“And then your little band of merry fuckwits had to go and ruin it.” His voice hitches into a childlike whine. “We were this close to waking him up, to having a little family reunion of our own. And then you clowns came storming in, dragged our father out from right under our noses.” He stops then, shaking his head like he’s amused by the whole thing. “I’ll admit, I was mad about that at first. Really mad. But then I thought, ‘You know what, Homelander? Maybe it all worked out in the end.’” 

He spreads his arms wide, as if to present the room itself as evidence. “Because look at us now. One big, happy family. Grandpa Soldier Boy, Uncle Homelander, dear old Dad Stanley, and you, sweet little niece.” He punctuates the last word with a patronizing smile aimed directly at you.

The room feels like it’s about to implode, either because of the tension or the pure, unbridled rage billowing off you in waves.

“And the best part is…” Homelander continues, taking a moment to glare at each member of the Boys. “We get to celebrate the only way a family like ours knows how. By tearing apart every last one of you.”

Your heart drops.

Homelander’s eyes sweep over the group, his expression brimming with cruel anticipation. “We’re going to take our time. Make it... memorable.” He snaps his fingers sharply, the sound like a gunshot in the weighted silence. The guards immediately stiffen at attention.

“Out,” he orders.

One of the guards hesitates. “Sir, are you sure —”

“I said, out!” Homelander roars, walls practically shaking with the sound. The guard snaps to attention and ushers the others out, none of them willing to test his patience further. And then the door is swinging shut behind them, leaving only you, the Boys, and your father, a crumpled heap on the floor, in the room with Homelander and Soldier Boy.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rasp of your father’s breathing and the skittering of your heartbeat. Homelander turns back to you all.

“Now,” he says gleefully, “Where should we start? Decisions, decisions. Should it be MM first? The mouthy one always gets it bad.” He points a finger at Frenchie and Kimiko. “Or maybe those two, they’re adorable, aren’t they? You guys sure do like to fuck the other members of your squad, don’t you?”

He moves toward Butcher, his grin growing impossibly wider. “Or maybe the big bad himself, Butcher. I can’t decide if I should save you for last so you have to watch your team die one by one, or if you should go first, so they all have to see it.”

Butcher doesn’t flinch. “You think you’re so bloody clever. But you’re just another sad little wanker desperate for someone to love you. And your dear ol’ dad here don’t love you.”

Homelander’s smile wavers and in that instant, you see the way his eyes darken, his jaw tightens, as the mask he clings to so desperately slips.

The room holds its collective breath.

“You’ll regret that,” Homelander says, and he’s so calm, too calm, and it terrifies you.

He turns on his heel, pivoting toward Soldier Boy. For a moment, he is a child again, petulant, on the verge of a tantrum, a storm of uncontrolled emotion raging beneath a perfectly manicured facade. 

“Alright, then, Dad,” he says. “Would you do the honor? Show him how we take care of rotten bastards like him in our family.”

Your eyes snap to Soldier Boy, and your breathing quickens. You don’t know this man, not really. He’s a stranger whose blood courses through your veins, a ghost of the past you never asked to confront. He might be your grandfather in the biological sense, but that means nothing. No loyalty, no connection.

Whose side is he on?

You search his face for an answer, but all you find is hesitation. His brows draw together, his jaw shifts, and with a sick twist in your gut, you realize he’s actually considering it.

Homelander steps closer to him, his face softening, demeanour turning into coaxing, pleading. “Listen, I know what it’s like to have your team betray you. But with you and I together, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Nobody would.”

Soldier Boy’s face remains stoic. “Unless we kill each other first.”

Homelander flinches. “Why? Because he says so?” He jerks his chin toward Butcher. “He’s nothing. He’s human.”

The walls seem to constrict, the tension boiling higher as Homelander’s voice falters in a way you’ve never heard before. The invincible god, the untouchable force, sounds... small.

“He ain’t your kid,” Butcher spits from behind Soldier Boy.

“Yes, I am!” Homelander snaps, and a lock of hair falls free from his perfect coif. His fists clench at his sides, his lips curling down in his fury. “I am your son! I am your blood! That’s all that matters!”

“Maybe,” Soldier Boy murmurs.

Homelander drops to one knee beside your father’s slumped body. He drapes an arm around Stanley’s shoulders, propping him up like a broken doll. “And this is my brother,” he says softly. “We’re your sons. And her,” he adds, tossing a glance your way. “Your granddaughter. You have a family now. You have us.”

There’s a childlike vulnerability in his voice that makes your stomach churn. For all his power, his cruelty, his monstrous actions, you see him now for what he is. A boy who never stopped yearning to be loved.

And with a sickening clarity, you realize how alike you are. The methods may differ, but the hunger is the same. The need to be wanted, to be seen, to be enough. How much destruction have you left in your wake chasing the same elusive dream?

Soldier Boy’s face shifts, softening as he regards Homelander. For a moment, you think he might give in. “It’s a shame I’ve missed... so much,” he says, almost regretful. “I wish I could’ve raised you. Taught you, father to son.”

Homelander’s face crumples. Tears stream freely down his cheeks now, and his jaw quivers as broken sobs escape him. 

“Me too,” he chokes out. “That’s okay. We’re not alone anymore. We have each other.”

The room stills, every breath held, every eye locked on the scene unfolding before you.

Soldier Boy steps closer, closing the gap between them. He places a hand on Homelander’s shoulder, fatherly, almost gentle. “Maybe if I’d raised you...” His voice trails off, and for a fleeting moment, it seems like reconciliation is within reach.

Then he twists the knife.

“Maybe I could’ve made you better,” Soldier Boy says, hardening. “And not some weak, sniveling pussy, starved for attention. But there’s no fixing that now.”

The words are a thunderclap.

You can’t suppress the shocked laugh that bursts from you, half gasp, half giggle, before you slap a hand over your mouth.

Homelander’s expression shatters. His tears freeze mid flow, and his face falls, twisted in disbelief. His lips part, but no words come out. Finally, he whispers, “Weak? I’m... you.”

“I know,” Soldier Boy replies without hesitation. “You’re a fucking disappointment.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. Homelander stares at Soldier Boy, his expression hollow, his mind visibly fracturing under the weight of the words. And then, slowly, the hollow look fades, replaced by something far more terrifying.

Pure, unbridled rage.

With a roar that shakes the very foundation of the building, Homelander lunges at Soldier Boy, a blur of red, white, and blue fury.

The impact is explosive. They collide like titans, Soldier Boy throttling Homelander and throwing him across the room, and Homelander landing on V-shaped table, the center of it splintering beneath his weight. The polished wood explodes into shards and shrapnel, fragments blowing into your face, slicing your skin.

Chaos erupts.

Everyone scrambles for cover, chairs screeching against the floor as people dive behind whatever protection they can find. Kimiko pulls Frenchie to safety behind an overturned chair, while Annie grabs Hughie, shielding him as they duck behind a column. Screams and the sound of cracking wood fill the air as Homelander and Soldier Boy grapple, each trying to overpower the other.

But you’re frozen.

Your mind refuses to process the chaos surrounding you, your body paralyzed as your eyes dart around the room, taking it all in. The splintered remains of the table, Homelander and Soldier Boy locked in a frenzy of punches and screams, your father lying on the floor, the sheer carnage of it all. It’s too much, too fast.

A deafening crash pulls your attention back to the center of the room. Homelander’s fist slams into Soldier Boy’s jaw, sending him reeling. Soldier Boy counters with a brutal punch to Homelander’s ribs that sounds like a thunder clap. The floor beneath them groans under the weight of their fight, cracks spiderwebbing outward from the impact.

Your eyes flit frantically, searching for something — anything — to ground you. Your eyes find Butcher, almost instinctively.

He’s not diving for cover like the others. He stands perfectly still, his body rigid, his eyes locked on you. For a moment, you can’t breathe. His face is unreadable, but there’s something in there that forces you to release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. A reminder of why you’re here, why you’re all here.

He’s on you in an instant, cutting through the chaos. His hand grabs your arm and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s pulling you into his chest.

“Come on, love,” he mutters, but there’s a tremor there that betrays his composure.

You barely have time to react before he’s dragging you toward one of the larger pieces of the broken table now toppled on its side. He pushes you down behind it, his arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders as he crouches down beside you.

The sounds of battle rage on around you, the deafening explosions of their fight tearing through the room. But all you can hear is the frantic pounding of your own heart, the world narrowing to the shelter of Butcher’s arms and the broken piece of wood shielding you both.

He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Stay down. No heroics, alright?”

You nod, though you’re not sure he even sees it. Your whole body is trembling, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire.

Butcher peeks over the edge of the splintered table, eyes scanning the chaos unfolding in front of him. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, and you can barely hear him over the roar of Homelander and Soldier Boy’s clash. His hand tightens on your shoulder, anchoring you, pulling you back from the edge of panic.

His touch sends a jolt through you, equal parts comfort and pain, grounding you in the moment but still tearing at the wounds you’ve carried since the day he walked away. His proximity is overwhelming, the very sight of him blurring everything around you into nothingness. All these months, you’ve thought about this moment in your mind, this reunion, wondering and wishing and weeping. And now, as he crouches beside you, he is both impossibly real and a spectre, a figment conjured by your desperate, delusional mind.

You can’t help yourself. Trembling, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw, like touching him is the only way to confirm he’s real.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Tears spill unabashedly over your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Billy. I should have told you. I should’ve said something before I left. If I’d known… If I’d known —”

 “Hush, love,” he cuts you off gently, his voice a stark contrast to the carnage around you. The softness in his tone is a balm and a blade all at once. He leans in closer, so close you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin. “None of that, alright? Ain’t the time for regrets. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Before you can respond, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your hairline, lingering there for a moment. His breath shudders against you as he inhales deeply, like he’s committing this small, fleeting moment to memory. When he pulls back, his hazel eyes meet yours, and what you see there terrifies you.

Tears glisten at the edges of his lashes, though he blinks them back quickly. His face is a study in contradictions. There’s tenderness, an aching kind of care that you’d almost forgotten he was capable of. But behind it, there’s fear. Not for himself, but for you. A fear so visceral, so consuming, it makes your stomach turn.

You know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t believe he’s getting out of this alive. But he’s made peace with it. He made peace with it the moment he walked into this room. He’ll gladly give up his life if it means saving yours.

“No,” you say, the word escaping you in a breathless whisper. You shake your head, gripping his face tighter like that might anchor him here, keep him tethered to you. “No, Billy. Don’t do this. Don’t you dare leave me, not again, don’t you dare.”

He swallows hard, his eyes flicking away for the briefest of moments before returning to you, steady and resolute. “Ain’t got a choice, love. You know that.”

Your heart cracks open, the weight of everything you’ve left unsaid crashing down on you all at once. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. Your lips tremble, but you force yourself to keep going. “I love you, Billy. I’ve always loved you. I love you so much it hurts, and I-I don’t care if you don’t want this baby, or if you don’t love me back, or if we both die in here tonight. I just need you to know. I love you.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, and your heart lurches painfully. Then, slowly, something shifts in his expression. His lips part, his breath catching, and for the first time, the steely mask he always wears shatters.

“Oh, you silly girl. I love you. Of course I love you,” His voice cracks, a tear falling quick right down his face. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the tears staining your cheeks. “How could I not?”

The question is rhetorical, but it steals the air from your lungs.

“You think I’ve spent all this time fighting, bleeding, losing everything worth a damn in this world, just to let you walk out of it? You’re all I’ve got, love. You always have been. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that for a second. I love you, I love you.”

Your breath hitches, and for a beautiful, blessed fraction of a second, the world outside the shattered piece of wood shielding you both ceases to exist. There’s only him. His voice, his touch, his love. You grab onto both sides of his face and press your mouth to his, and your bodies collide like you need each other more than air.

“Now,” he says, pulling back as the sounds of battle roar back into focus. “We’re gonna get out of here. Both of us. You hear me? No bloody heroics. Just you and me. You fight like hell, and I’ll do the rest.”

You nod, your lips trembling into a weak smile despite the tears still falling. “Okay,” you whisper.

Butcher’s grip on you tightens, and he presses a quick, desperate kiss to your mouth before glancing back over the edge of the broken table. The fight rages on, and you know the moment of peace is over. But you’re no longer frozen. You’re no longer afraid.

The sound of cracking bone pulls you from the moment, and you dare to peek over your cover. Homelander has the upper hand now, forcing Soldier Boy onto his back and slamming him into the ground with enough force to crack the floor beneath them. The  other half of the table is reduced to little more than shards and rubble, scattered across the floor like a  mosaic.

Homelander presses his forearm against Soldier Boy’s throat, his face twisted up in rage and desperation. "Stay down, old man!" he snarls. Soldier Boy struggles beneath him, his teeth bared, but the weight of Homelander’s power bears down on him.

Then, Homelander’s eyes dart across the room, landing on Stanley’s crumpled body. “Stanley!” he bellows. “Get up, you useless piece of shit!”

You flinch at the venom in his words, your breath catching as your eyes dart to your father. He��s still slumped where the guards left him, his head hanging low, his body slack. For a fleeting moment, he doesn’t react, doesn’t move, and you pray he’s too far gone to hear.

But then, slowly, he stirs. His head lifts, his eyes glassy at first, but something in Homelander’s voice seems to ignite a spark.

“Did you hear me?!” Homelander snarls, his grip on Soldier Boy tightening. “I said get up! Do something for once in your pathetic life! You’ve got my blood in your veins, and all you’ve ever done is waste it. You’re a joke. A failure. You’re not even worth saving!”

The taunts hit like blows, each one eliciting a flinch from his crumpled body. You feel a lump rise in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots. Your father, beaten and broken, is responding to the words. You see his hands twitch, his shoulders tense, and then his head jerks up fully. His eyes burn with an all too familiar anger. 

You glance down at his hands and see a weak red glow pulsing beneath his skin. It flickers like an ember, growing brighter with each passing second. 

How fitting, you think. Anger was always his greatest weapon, his power even before V2 coursed through his body. 

Butcher catches the shift in your expression and follows your gaze to your father. He sees it too. The red light rippling just beneath the surface of his skin, spreading like a slow burning fire. "Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath.

"Stop him," you plead, gripping Butcher’s arm tightly. "Billy, you have to stop him. If he goes off —"

Butcher’s jaw tightens, and he looks at you with resignation. “There’s nothin’ we can do, love," he says quietly, his eyes flicking back to your father. “Not now.”

Your father rises unsteadily to his feet, his movements jerky, like he’s hardly in control of his own body. He is wracked with violent tremors, and the red glow intensifies, spreading across his arms, neck, and face.

“That’s it,” Homelander shouts. “Come on, Stanley. Show them what you’re made of. Show them you’re not just some worthless reject. Fight, goddamn it!”

The taunting pushes your father further. His fists clench at his sides, and a low, guttural sound escapes his throat. The air around him begins to hum, vibrating with an unnatural energy. His skin pulses now, the red glow pulsating in time with his racing heartbeat.

Butcher pulls his arm around your shoulder, ushering you out of the room, away from the intensifying heat, but you can’t. You can’t walk away, not yet. You duck out from under his arm. 

“No!” you cry out. “Dad! Don’t do this. Please, you have to stop!”

He can’t hear you, your words are being swallowed by the roar of the fight. His head tilts back, and he roars, a sound so powerful it reverberates in your bones, shaking you to your core. The red light explodes outward, casting the entire space in a neon red glow, and for a moment, everything slows, like the world is holding its breath.

It’s like you’re watching a sick, twisted home video of the worst day of your life almost a year ago.

The lifeless chrome and mahogany of your father’s office. His body sprawled on the ground, shirt torn open exposing his chest where Monica had plunged the vial into his heart. Her screams echoing in your ears. The sickening scent of burning flesh invading your lungs. Smoke choking you, sweat dripping into your eyes. The wet, nauseating crack of your arm shattering.

You feel the air rush from your lungs, like the room is closing in. Your throat claws for breath, your hands trembling as the wave of impending doom crashes over you.

Not now. Not again.

But then, like an anchor tethering you to reality, you hear his voice. Butcher.

“Breathe, baby. You need to breathe,” he says. “We need to get out of here. Come on.”

He’s pulling at you, trying to gather you into his arms, but you shove him away instinctively, your hand pressing to your chest like you can physically force yourself to calm down. The heat rolling off your father intensifies, turning the room into a sauna.

It flashes before you. All of it. Every earth-shattering blow life dealt you, every jagged piece you’ve had to stitch back together. Every time you rose from the ashes, battered but unbroken. For what? To die here, in the Seven’s fucking meeting room? Or to run away, a coward?

No.

No.

You gasp, a heaving breath that scorches your lungs, and brace yourself against Butcher’s steady frame as you force yourself to stand.

“Dad!” you scream. “Look at me! Right fucking now!” You channel all the anger you’ve ever kept inside. Every belittling word, every missed birthday and recital and Christmas. Every time you heard your mother weeping to herself late at night and cursed your father’s carelessness. 

The volume of your voice surprises even you, but it works. His head snaps toward you, his glowing eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you see nothing but rage, blinding, consuming rage. But then, in there, there’s something else. Recognition.

“I don’t know what that asshole’s been telling you,” you continue, fighting against the shakiness of your words. “But you need to listen to me now, okay? I’m your daughter. You remember me. I know you do.”

His eyes flicker, like he’s struggling to process your words. And then, so quiet you can hardly hear it, he says your name. It’s rough, broken, but unmistakable. A question. A prayer.

Your heart clenches, but you push forward. “That man,” you say, pointing a trembling finger at Homelander, “is trying to kill me. He’s trying to kill my friends. And I can’t die right now, okay? Because… I’m having a baby.”

You cough as the heat steals the air from your lungs. It’s unbearable, searing, but you don’t stop. You place a hand over your belly, cradling the life within you, and meet your father’s glowing eyes.

You swear you see a glimmer of knowing, of softness. You know it. It’s rare, but it was there. In those fleeting moments of love he sprinkled throughout your childhood like it cost him greatly to do so. You saw it when he told you to run out of CytoGenix, to leave him behind and save yourself.

“I have a feeling it’s a girl,” you say, softening. “I’m going to name her Katherine. After Mom.”

For a moment, his glowing eyes dim, the red light faltering.

“I’m going to be such a good mom to her, Dad. I just know it. I’m going to be there for her in every way you couldn’t be there for me. And I know why now. I get it. You were never shown how to love the right way. And I’m sorry for that.”

Your body heaves with a sob, tears streaming down your face as you take a step closer. The heat is almost unbearable now, sweat dripping from your brow, but you don’t stop.

“But I can’t do that if I don’t get out of here alive.”

His eyes shimmer with something you’ve only seen in fleeting moments, something buried beneath the rage and pain. Love. You see it in the way his face softens, the way his lips tremble like he’s trying to form words his brain won’t let him make.

“I need your help,” you say, your voice breaking. “Just one last time. Please, Dad. Help me.”

All at once you are both a little girl asking her father to love her, and a mother protecting her own child.

His tears spill over, evaporating into steam the moment they leave his eyes. He takes a step toward you, his glow dimming as his trembling hands reach out.

“Please,” you whisper.

For a moment, the room stills. The chaos fades into the background. It’s just you and him, father and daughter, standing at the edge of the abyss.

And then, with a shuddering breath, he nods.

He turns around and advances toward Homelander.

“Stanley, stop!” Homelander is frantic now, the cocky bravado stripped away. He staggers to his feet, his pristine uniform torn and bloodied, his supreme confidence replaced with pure desperation. “Please! Don’t do this!”

Your father doesn’t stop. His skin glows brighter, the red hot intensity flickering across his body like molten lava. The very air around him shimmers with heat, warping reality, and the low hum of his energy crescendos into an ear splitting whine. He’s a walking bomb, seconds from detonation.

Homelander stumbles back, his hands raised, pleading. “I’m your brother!” he shouts. “I’m your blood! I’m your legacy!”

Your father’s eyes remain locked on Homelander. Steam rises from his clenched fists, his jaw tight like he’s bracing himself for what he knows he’s about to do.

“Dad…” you cry, but it’s too late. You can see it, feel it. The point of no return

Homelander’s hands are raised in surrender, braced forward like they might keep your father where he is. “Don’t do this! We’re family, damn it! I’m all you have left!”

But your father doesn’t hesitate. He picks up speed, his shoes cracking the floor beneath him, the glass walls vibrating with every move. The heat is unbearable now, the room an inferno. You feel Butcher’s arms tighten around you, shielding you from the worst of it, but it doesn’t matter. Your focus is entirely on the unfolding nightmare.

“No! No, no, no! Don’t you dare!” Homelander screams.

Your father lets out a guttural roar, a sound that drowns out everything else. With terrifying speed, he charges at Homelander, the ground quaking beneath him. Soldier Boys ducls away at the last second, and before Homelander can react, your father slams into him, his arms locking around him in an ironclad bear hug.

“Dad!” you scream, lunging forward, but Butcher grabs you, pulling you back behind the broken table.

You watch in helpless horror as your father, glowing like a living sun, pushes Homelander back, crashing into the massive sheet-glass window. The glass shatters into a million shards, the sound pierces your ears as the glass rains down, and the two men disappear into the night sky.

Time slows as you run out from behind the table and rush to the edge, your hand outstretched like you could somehow stop them. But all you see is their silhouettes tumbling together, locked in a deadly, burning embrace, falling toward the city below.

“No!” The word tears from your throat.

A blinding flash of red erupts in the air, followed by a deafening boom that rocks the entire building. The shockwave tears through the room, shattering every remaining piece of glass, ripping paintings from the walls, and knocking you backward.

The heat of the explosion washes over you, searing your skin even from a distance. For a moment, the world is nothing but light and sound, chaos and destruction. 

And then… Silence.

You lie on the floor, shaking, ears ringing, the smell of smoke and burning debris filling your lungs. You manage to push yourself up, your vision swimming, your heart pounding against your ribs. Through the shattered remains of the window, you see the glowing remnants of the explosion fading into the night sky.

Butcher is at your side, gathering you up in his arms, tilting your face up to him. His face is grim, his jaw tight, but his eyes are soft as they meet yours. “You okay?” he asks, searching your face. You nod limply.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, pulling you in tighter.

You can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t think. All you can do is stare out into the night, where your father, your complicated, broken, infuriating father, sacrificed himself to save you. Again.

The room is a shattered ruin, the air hazy with dust and smoke, but you don’t care. All you feel is the ache in your heart, the unbearable weight of loss, and the flutter of life beneath your hand as you press it to your belly.

The child you carry, his grandchild, will never meet him. But you will tell her. You will tell her everything.

~~~

The night air cuts through you like a knife, but you hardly notice. The cement block beneath you is cold as death, leeching away what little warmth you have left, but you refuse to move. You sit with your arms wrapped around yourself, shivering, your eyes locked on the long dirt road that winds through the dark expanse of the lumber yard. Every shadow catches your attention, every sound a false promise of their arrival. Behind you, the warehouse looms, its rusted walls and broken windows rising like a half-buried skeleton.

It was Butcher’s idea to come here, this old lumber mill tucked away in the middle of nowhere. He said Mallory used it back in the day for covert ops, back when they still had to operate under strict secrecy. Though, you suppose, perhaps it’ll be that way again now. Now that your faces have all been plastered on the news and branded terrorists. 

The place is a goddamn wreck. A cracked asphalt lot stretches in front of the building, weeds sprouting in haphazard lines through the concrete. It’s mind-achingly silent, save for the occasional groan of rusted metal in the wind and the sound of Butcher and MM talking inside.

After your father and Homelander fell, things happened quick. Butcher had bundled you into the van so fast it still feels like a blur. One moment, you were high above Manhattan, surrounded by the carnage of Vought Tower, and the next, you were in the backseat, crammed in with MM and Soldier Boy as Butcher drove like a madman through the city. His orders were quick, and no one had time to question him. Split up, disappear, and regroup here. Safety in numbers would have to wait.

That was hours ago. And still, they haven’t arrived.

You pull Butcher’s jacket tighter around yourself, the leather stiff but warm, its smell, smoke and tobacco, grounding you even as your mind races with worst case scenarios. Your teeth chatter, and you can see your breath in the air in front of you, but you won’t go inside. Not until you see them. Not until you know they’re safe.

The warehouse door groans open behind you, and Butcher steps out. The sound of his sigh reaches your ears before he does, but when he crouches beside you, his presence beside you feels like a barrier against the cold. Without a word, he adjusts the jacket around your shoulders, his touch tender.

“You’re gonna freeze your bloody arse off sittin��� out here,” he mutters. “C’mon, love. They’ll be here.”

You shake your head, your eyes never leaving the road. “I can’t. I need to see them. I need to know they’re okay.”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve heard that before.”

Before Butcher can respond, MM and Soldier Boy emerge from the shadows of the warehouse. 

“You still out here?” MM asks. He glances at you, then at Butcher. “Man, you’re gonna catch pneumonia or somethin’.”

“Leave her,” Soldier Boy drawls. “If she wants to sit out here and freeze, let her. Builds character.”

“Shut up, Soldier Boy,” you snap. But there’s no anger there. You’re just exhausted.

You just need to see them, to know they’re safe. To apologize and beg forgiveness and say all the words you wanted desperately to be able to say to them in the cells but couldn’t.

Time stretches unbearably, every second dragging like an eternity. Then, finally, in the distance, a pair of headlights. They’re dim at first, flickering like dying fireflies, but they grow steadily brighter as the ancient sedan crawls up the dirt road, its engine sputtering and coughing. The car looks like it’s held together by duct tape and prayer, rust coating it like armor, one headlight cracked.

Your breath catches. “Is that…?”

Before anyone can answer, the car screeches to a halt, and the doors fly open. Frenchie is the first to emerge, his movements slow and uneven, his face pale. Kimiko follows closely behind, and Annie and Hughie climb out last, both looking worse for the wear but unmistakably alive.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, Butcher’s jacket slipping from your shoulders as you sprint toward them. Your legs feel like lead, but you push through, your heart fluttering wildly.

“Annie!” you cry, throwing your arms around her the moment you reach her. She stiffens at first, startled, but then her arms come around you, holding you just as tightly.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you choke out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so sorry, for everything. For not telling you about the baby, for running into that tower, for —”

“Hey, hey,” Annie interrupts, pulling back to look at you. Her face is streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but her eyes are soft and full of understanding. “Stop. You don’t have to apologize. You did what you had to do. I get it. I was angry, but… I get it.”

“I put you all in danger,” you insist. “Everything they did to you and you never folded, and I just —”

“You’re here,” Annie says firmly, gripping your shoulders. “We’re all here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. She pulls you into another hug, and this time, you let yourself sink into it, the weight of your guilt easing just a bit.

Behind you, Frenchie limps toward Kimiko, his hand brushing hers as they exchange a silent look. Hughie leans heavily on the car, and MM is already moving to help him inside. Butcher watches the reunion silently from a distance, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes unreadable.

“Well, isn’t this a Hallmark moment,” he drawls. “Can we move the group hug inside before the sappy music starts playing?”

“Shut it,” MM mutters as he walks past, shaking his head.

You laugh, the sound wet and shaky but real, as the group begins to make their way inside. You glance back at the road one last time before following them, the cold night finally starting to feel just a little less unbearable.

~~~

The inside of the warehouse is no warmer than the night outside, but at least it shields you from the wind. The air stinks of mildew and wood rot, the remnants of sawdust still clinging to the corners of the massive room. Old crates are stacked haphazardly against the walls, and a rusted, broken-down forklift sits abandoned near the back. Overhead, steel beams crisscross, their shadows dancing under the light of a single, exposed bulb swinging from the ceiling.

Kimiko is already moving, her eyes scanning the space with practiced efficiency. She finds an old supply locker against one wall and pries it open with surprising ease. Inside are scraps of the past, dusty bandages, bottles of antiseptic long past their expiration date, and a few rolls of gauze. She holds them up, giving you a small nod.

You nod back, grabbing an empty crate and pulling it over to use as a makeshift table. Together, you and Kimiko sort through the supplies, discarding anything too degraded to be useful. Frenchie limps over, his face lighting up when he sees her, despite the obvious pain etched into his features.

“Mon cœur,” he says softly, brushing his fingers against her arm. “Always the resourceful one.”

Kimiko gives him a smile before gesturing for him to sit down. He complies, easing himself onto another crate with a wince.

You grab a roll of gauze and kneel beside him, inspecting his foot. It’s swollen and bruised, clearly broken. You glance up at him, eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

Frenchie chuckles, though it’s strained. “Ah, do not apologize. It was not you that did this to me.”

Distantly, you wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling so much guilt for what happened to your friends. 

Kimiko places a gentle hand on his shoulder, her silent reassurance grounding him. You grab a couple of splints from the pile and begin wrapping his foot, your movements careful but swift.

Across the room, Annie sits next to Hughie, her hand resting lightly on his arm. He has a gash running along his forehead, and she’s using a damp cloth to clean away the dried blood. Hughie winces, but he doesn’t complain, his eyes never leaving her, like he needs the constant reassurance to make sure she’s really there.

MM sits on the ground nearby, his arm cradled against his chest in a makeshift sling you helped him fashion earlier. He watches Butcher warily, the tension between them a palpable undercurrent despite the exhausted calm.

Butcher, for his part, leans against a stack of crates, his arms crossed. His sharp eyes dart around the room, taking in every detail, every movement. He meets your gaze, his expression softening for a moment before he looks away.

“You’re next,” you tell him, nodding toward the shallow cut along his jaw. It’s not deep, but it needs cleaning.

Butcher smirks. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not risk it. Sit,” you order, pointing to an empty crate.

He hesitates, his eyes narrowing, but then he pushes off the wall and sits down. You grab a bottle of antiseptic and a clean piece of gauze, standing close as you dab at the small cuts on his face from the exploding glass. He doesn’t flinch, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

“And what about you, hm?” he asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” you reply, trying to sound calm despite the hurt in your heart. “Just a couple scratches, that’s all.”

His jaw tics, but he doesn’t respond. The silence stretches between you, swirling with unspoken words, before you step back, tossing the bloodied gauze into a nearby trash bin.

“All done,” you say, trying to sound casual.

Butcher grunts in acknowledgment, rising to his feet and resuming his place against the wall.

The quiet buzz of activity continues as you and Kimiko move from one person to the next, patching up cuts, wrapping sprains, and doing your best with what little you have. Despite the somber mood, there’s a warmth in the room, a sense of rightness in all of you being together again, even after everything.

Annie catches your eye from across the room and gives you a small, tired smile. You return it. You glance at Hughie, who nods at you. MM offers a quiet thanks as you adjust his sling, and Frenchie pats your arm affectionately when you finish with his foot. Kimiko squeezes your hand briefly, her silent way of saying she’s grateful for your help. You squeeze back.

For a moment, the world outside feels distant, its dangers held at bay by the fragile bubble of love and family inside this derelict warehouse. It won’t last, you know that. But for now, it fills the emptiness in you.

~~~

The hum of low voices and the clatter of footsteps echo through the warehouse, but now that everyone has been patched up, you’re left with the reality of your situation. The relief of everyone being here, being safe is soothing, but it doesn’t erase the reality of what lies ahead.

The choices you made, the consequences you will face. 

Butcher stands by the open front door, quiet, his eyes scanning the dark expanse of the lumber yard outside. He exhales, before finally stepping toward the door.

“Back in a tick,” he mutters to no one in particular, pushing the metal door open. It groans loudly, the sound grating, before he disappears into the night.

You exchange a glance with MM, who raises a brow but says nothing. Soldier Boy doesn’t even look up from where he’s rummaging through an old crate. The tension is palpable, though no one dares voice it.

Minutes pass before the door creaks open again. Butcher steps back inside, brushing a hand over his jaw, glancing at each of you before finally speaking.

“Mallory’s on her way,” he announces. “She’ll want to debrief all of us, figure out what’s next.”

That draws murmurs from the group, Frenchie grumbling, while Hughie and Annie share a brief, wary look. MM nods, and Soldier Boy just snorts, clearly unimpressed.

You, however, feel a different kind of tension brewing, the kind that has nothing to do with Mallory or plans or even the dangers outside. Because Butcher’s eyes linger on you now, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his expression. He scratches the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic hesitance in his movements.

“Oi,” he says quietly, jerking his head toward the far end of the warehouse. “Need a word. Just us.”

The butterflies you’ve been ignoring suddenly take flight, a wild, uncontrollable flurry in your stomach. You knew this was coming. You’ve known it since the moment you saw him enter the room, blessedly alive, back in Vought Tower, when everything was falling apart, and yet… you still aren’t ready.

The others don’t say anything, though MM shoots you a sidelong glance as if to gauge your reaction. Swallowing hard, you nod and follow Butcher as he leads you deeper into the warehouse, away from the others.

He stops in front of a small office tucked into the corner of the building. The door hangs crookedly on its hinges, and the single window is smashed out, but it offers a sliver of privacy. He pushes the door open, the rusted metal protesting with a screech, before stepping inside.

The room is barren, like the rest of the warehouse, dust coating the surfaces, and the remnants of old office furniture are scattered haphazardly. A desk leans against one wall, its surface littered with scraps of paper that look decades old. 

Butcher stands near the desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, watching you as you step inside. His gaze is steady, but there’s something in it that makes your heart race, a vulnerability he rarely shows.

You close the door behind you and the butterflies break into a frenzy, battering against your ribcage with a force that makes you dizzy.

This is it.

“Figured we should talk,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. “About time, after everything, don’t you think?”

You nod, your throat too tight to form words. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, the only sound in the room the creak of the old desk as you rest against it.

Butcher sighs, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the desk. “Look, I ain’t good at this… this talkin’ shite. Never have been. But after everythin’ that’s happened, I reckon we owe each other a bit of honesty.”

Your palms grow sweaty, tears already threatening to form. You knew this was coming, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

Butcher exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. His usual bravado is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a vulnerability that you’re not used to seeing from him.

“We’ve made a bloody mess of this, haven’t we?” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Dragged you into all this chaos, all this pain. Should’ve kept you out of it. Should’ve…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

You take a hesitant step forward, wrapping his jacket tighter around yourself. “Butcher… You didn’t drag me into anything. I made my own choices. You know that.”

“Maybe. But it don’t change the fact that you deserve better. Better than this… better than me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. You’ve heard Butcher push people away before, have seen him do it time and time again, but hearing it directed at you feels different. Feels worse.

“I don’t need better,” you say firmly, stepping closer. “I need you. Us.”

He scoffs. “Christ, love, you don’t know what you’re sayin’. I’ve got more blood on my hands than most people’ll ever see in a lifetime. And I’m not done, not by a long shot. The things I’ve done, the things I’ll keep doin’... It ain’t a life fit for you. Or the kid.”

You flinch at the mention of the baby, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach. “You think I don’t know who you are, Butcher? You think I don’t see every piece of you, the good and the bad? I don’t care about any of that. I care about you. I love you. And I know you love me too.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t deny it. He can’t. But the war inside him bleeds through in the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes dart away from yours like he’s afraid of what you’ll see.

“You don’t understand,” he says finally, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about. Becca. Lenny. Everyone. And every bloody time, it’s my fault… I’m cursed, love. Everythin’ I touch turns to ash. I can’t… I can’t let that happen to you.”

You take another step forward, closing the distance between you until you’re standing just inches away from him. Your heart is pounding, but you force yourself to stay steady, to hold his gaze.

“I’m not afraid of you, Butcher,” you say softly. “I’m not afraid of what might happen. I’m afraid of losing you because you’re too scared to try. You think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is pushing me away. And I won’t let you.”

His breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, you see his armor crack. A flicker of vulnerability flashes across his face. Vulnerable, scared, human. His jaw clenches, but it’s clear he’s fighting a losing battle with himself.

“And the baby?” he whispers, the words small, like he’s afraid to speak them out loud.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you —” you begin, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“I ain’t mad about that,” he says quickly. “Truth is… I don’t blame ya.”

He runs a rough hand over his face, pausing to scrub at his eyes. When he looks back at you, there’s glimmers of unshed tears. It takes your breath away. Butcher doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself. But here he is, stripped bare before you.

“I’ve got this… this habit, yeah?” he continues. “Of pushin’ people away. ‘Cause I know I’m no good. I’m a bad man, love. Always have been. I ain’t got no business raisin’ a kid.”

“Butcher —”

“How the hell am I supposed to be a father?” he cuts in, a hair's breadth from despair. “Look at me. I’m a bloody monster.”

Slowly, deliberately, you reach up and cup his face in your hands. He flinches at first, his muscles tensing, bracing for something, but when you don’t pull away, he leans into your touch. His eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, he is a man on the brink of breaking.

“You’re not a monster,” you say firmly. “You’re a man who’s been hurt. A man who’s lost more than anyone should ever have to. But you’re still here, Butcher. You’re still fighting. And that’s all I need. That’s all our baby needs.”

His eyes snap open, and the look he gives you is so intense it feels like it might swallow you whole. For the first time, he’s not looking at you as someone he’s trying to shield or someone he’s afraid of losing. He’s looking at you as his equal. His partner. Someone worth fighting for.

“Christ,” he mutters, letting out a shaky laugh. “You’re bloody relentless, you know that?”

A smile breaks across your face, tears prickling at your eyes. “I learned from the best.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t deserve you, love. Not even close.”

“Maybe not,” you tease gently. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the silence filled only with the sound of your breathing. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is strong, desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“I’ll try,” he whispers into your hair. “For you. For the kid. I’ll bloody try.”

Tears spill over, but you don’t care. You hold him just as tightly, letting yourself sink into the moment, into the promise of something better, even if it’s messy, even if it’s uncertain. It’s enough.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of everything you’ve been through hangs between you, but there’s a quiet understanding now, a truce in the war you’ve both been fighting within yourselves. Butcher holds you, gently swaying, his breath warm against your hair. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

When he pulls back, his hands frame your face gently, like he thinks you might break. His thumb brushes across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen. The tenderness in his touch is disarming, a stark contrast to the roughness you’re so used to from him.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss is tentative at first, testing, but when you don’t pull away, it deepens. His mouth moves over yours with a fervor that takes your breath away, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this single act.

You respond in kind, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. It’s desperate, consuming, but beneath the urgency is something deeper, an unspoken promise, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through and everything you’re willing to fight for.

Butcher pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “Are you sure, love?” he asks, almost a whisper. His eyes search yours, looking for any hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’m sure.”

He exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. Then, without another word, he captures your lips again, this time with even more intensity. His hands trail down your sides, warm and rough against your skin, and you shiver under his touch, not from the cold, but from the heat building between you.

The two of you move together as if guided by instinct, the rest of the world fading away until all that exists is the space between you. He walks you backward until your back meets the edge of the old desk, the wood creaking under your weight as he lifts you onto it. His hands skim under your shirt, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat wherever he touches.

You help him shrug off his coat, the fly of his pants, your hands trembling as you tug at the buttons and zipper. He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rough and heady, but there’s no teasing in it, just a shared anticipation that sends a shiver down your spine.

His lips move to your neck, then lower, each kiss a silent confession, a piece of himself he’s giving to you. You arch into him, your hands roaming across the broad planes of his back, holding him to you like you’re afraid he might vanish if you let go.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath feels like a salve against the wounds you’ve both carried for so long. In this moment, there’s no pain, no fear, only the certainty of each other right here, right now.

When he finally presses into you, it’s like the culmination of everything unsaid in the past months between you. His movements are slow at first, savouring it, but they quickly become more urgent, more desperate, like he’s trying to convey everything he feels in the only way he knows how.

You cling to each other like lifelines, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that feels timeless, instinctual. The old desk groans beneath you, but neither of you cares. The world outside might be falling apart, but here, in this moment, you’re whole.

When you finally come undone, it’s together, your breaths mingling as you collapse against each other. He holds you close, his hands stroking your back soothingly as your heartbeats slowly return to normal.

Finally, Butcher presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back just enough to look at you. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it, the hard edges of his face softened by vulnerability.

“You’re somethin’ special, you are,” he says quietly, eyes glittering with a wet sheen.

“So are you,” you reply, reaching up to rub a thumb across his cheek.

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he doesn’t argue.

As the two of you hold each other, tangled in the quiet aftermath, Butcher’s hand slowly slides down your side, his fingers grazing the curve of your hip. For a moment, the stillness between you feels like it could last forever. But then, his hand moves lower, hesitating just before it reaches the small swell of your belly.

You feel the heat of his touch before his fingers make contact, and despite everything, despite the weight of what you've just shared, you tense. His touch is tentative, like he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to be this close, this gentle.

"Love," he murmurs, his hand hovering above your belly, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed. "Can I…?" His words trail off, and for a second, you think he might withdraw, retreat back to the walls he’s so carefully built around himself.

But then you take his hand, guiding it gently to your stomach. The warmth of his palm spreads over your skin, and you hold your breath for a moment.

Butcher’s eyes soften, and there’s a tenderness you’ve never seen before, something he hides so well behind his tough exterior. He presses his hand against you, like he’s trying to feel the life growing inside you, trying to believe it’s real.

A few seconds later, you feel it. A gentle flutter, a kick, small but undeniable. The baby, responding to the world outside, to the sound of Butcher’s voice, to the touch of his hand.

Butcher freezes. His eyes widen, and you see a shift in him. His fingers move, tentative at first, but then with a surety as he presses gently against your belly again, trying to coax another movement.

“Did you feel that?” His voice is breathy, like he can’t quite believe it. His thumb traces the outline of your belly, and it’s like the weight of everything, his regrets, his pain, his doubts, melt away for a moment.

You nod, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah. It’s really happening, Billy. We’re really going to be parents.”

His hand lingers on your belly, and for a long moment, there’s only the quiet sound of your breathing, of his hand against your skin. His expression is soft,in awe as he lets himself feel the reality of it, the life that’s growing, the life he’s part of, the future he’s afraid to believe in.

“I never thought I’d be… This,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “Never thought I’d be the one to… I don’t deserve this, love. I don’t deserve you, or the baby. I’ve fucked up too many times.”

You turn your head to meet his eyes, your fingers brushing over his jaw, silencing him with a soft, reassuring touch. "You don't have to be perfect, baby. You don't have to have everything figured out. You just have to be here. That's all you need to do."

He lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time, you see him truly allow himself to be vulnerable. There’s no bravado, no masks. Just a man, a father-to-be, feeling the weight of everything and yet… still here. Still willing to try.

“You’re already a good father,” you say softly. “Just by being here. Just by loving us.”

Butcher lets his hand stay there, on your belly, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of the baby’s kick, a piece of the future that feels too fragile, too precious to let go of.

~~~

Eventually, after a long while spent in your warm little cocoon, the two of you meander back out to the rest of the group.

The door to the warehouse creaks open again, everyone’s heads snapping to attention. Mallory steps in, her sharp eyes sweeping over the group, assessing, calculating. Despite the weariness in the air, there's that familiar, unmistakable authority about her. You breathe a sigh of relief knowing she’s here now.

“Right, listen up,” she starts. “There’s a crater in downtown Manhattan, right outside of Vought Tower. Big enough to swallow half a damn city block. From what we can gather, the impact came from Stanley Morgan and Homelander’s crash. It’s still a fucking mess, but the blast was so powerful that both of them are MIA, presumed disintegrated.”

The room falls into a heavy silence. The words hang in the air, and despite the brief flicker of relief that Homelander might be gone for good, a gnawing uncertainty settles in. No one’s ready to accept the idea that Homelander could be gone, especially when they haven’t found his body. And you certainly aren’t ready to believe your father is dead, not after what happened last time.

“Not confirmed,” Mallory adds. “We can’t rule out that one or both of them survived. We’ll need to start making moves, finding out where they could have gone if they’re still out there. I’ve got people looking into it.”

She looks over at everyone, her eyes lingering on each of you in turn. Soldier Boy, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, Annie, Hughie. Everyone nods, acknowledging the grim task ahead.

But not Butcher. 

He clears his throat, and everyone turns to look at him.

“I’m out,” he says simply.

The room stills again, his words sinking in like stones in still water. For a moment, no one moves. Everyone's eyes snap to him, confusion and disbelief flickering across their faces.

“What do you mean, you’re out?” Mallory demands, her eyebrows knitting together in disbelief.

Butcher turns to face her, his eyes hard. He stands tall, his broad shoulders set, but there's no arrogance in him now. Only a man who’s made up his mind.

“I started this thing because I had nothing left,” he says. “Vengeance was all I had. I had nothin’ else. But that’s not me anymore. I’ve got a purpose now.” 

He glances at you now, a softness in his eyes that threatens to send more tears cascading down your cheeks. "The woman I love, and our child she’s carryin’."

The room is silent, the implications of his words hitting everyone.

Mallory looks at him, disappointment flashing across her face, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. She’s… impressed. She gives him a long, hard look, like she’s seeing him in a new light, something she never thought possible.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Butcher,” she says quietly. She then nods at you, then Hughie. “And I will admit, I owe the two of you an apology. I thought I was making the right call removing both of you from the equation but… I fear if you hadn’t gone in when you did, we might not all be standing here right now.”

Mallory watches you, and she can see the weight of everything on your shoulders. After a long moment of quiet contemplation, you speak up.

“I’d like to take you up on your offer,” you say, meeting Mallory’s eye line. “For an official CIA position, once I’m ready to start working again. Given... Well, I’m not really in a position to be on missions anymore.”

Mallory studies you for a moment before the corner of her mouth lifts, nodding. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And you’ve always been more than just a fighter. You’ll do well.”

You nod, the weight lifting off your shoulders. It’s not the life you thought you’d have, but it feels right.

Butcher stands beside you, a hand resting on your shoulder. There’s no bitterness between the two of you anymore, just a shared understanding. The past can’t be undone, but the future is something you’re both determined to face together.

One by one, the others rally around the two of you, giving their congratulations in their own unique ways. Frenchie and Kimiko pull you both into hugs, telling you they’re going to miss you both. MM pulls Butcher into a bear hug, making him promise to reach out with questions about fatherhood. Soldier Boy gruffly mutters something about family values and that Butcher better marry you now.

Then Annie and Hughie step forward as well, and this particular goodbye hits harder than the others. Your two best friends, the ones who protected you and cared for you at your lowest. Who believed in you. You’re going to miss them the most, if you’re honest with yourself.

Annie’s eyes glisten with tears as she pulls you into a tight hug.

“We better be the godparents,” she whispers into your ear, and you both laugh.

When you pull away, Hughie places a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ve been through a lot, you and I,” he says.

Your first ever mission with the Boys, when you and Hughie broke into the CytoGenix lab. Running through the subway in your pilfered Lost and Found outfits. The mission that, in hindsight, should have been your first warning sign you were pregnant. And the two months spent in each other’s constant presence. 

“You’re family now, you know that right? Both of you.” You want to blame the tears cascading down your cheeks on the pregnancy hormones, but that would be a bold-faced lie. “This baby is going to have the best godparents ever.”

You know they’ll protect your child the same way they’ve protected you. 

“Guess it’s official then,” MM says, and you swear you can see a sheen of tars in his eyes now too. “You two are on your way to something different now.”

You nod, and you allow yourself to feel the weight of what you’ve gained, not just the baby, but the love that’s surrounded you in a way you never thought possible. It feels strange, in a way, but also like the first step toward a new chapter.

You may be in a cold abandoned warehouse, but right now the space hums with love, like a patch of warm sun in the wintertime. People who have loved and lost and decided, boldly, to love again. People who have been through the worst things imaginable and found that little spark of hope and clung to it like hell.

It’s not over, not by a long shot, but you’ve survived. Together.

End.

A/N: I promised I'd deliver on a HEA! I have a wee epilogue coming next week as well! Thanks for the love and support on this little series <3 xoxo

taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @buckybarnesbestgirl

[amphibiahawks321]

Hey I was wondering what do you think about the hoyoverse company and it's fandom? (The same company that made both Honkai star rail, Honkai Impact, Genshin, ZZZ and Ggz) (You don't have to answer this if you don't want to)

Okay let's put the fandom aside first, for the company it'd say it's pretty good considering they created great rpg games with solid story telling, memorable characters, the great but sad backstories even to the NPC's and background characters! but they have flaws don't get me wrong few examples : Poor response to players feedback, glitches (failed logs, lag, etc), delayed updates and or content, focus on popular characters over the others, making characters clearly with fan service and cultural diversity missed

......

Now for the fandoms, where shall I begin for the bad side...

Toxic, ungrateful, entitlement, gatekeeping, Toxic ship wars, Toxic Diehard shippers, unrealistic expectations of the games, overly and I mean OVERLY critical expectations, Harassment of voice actors and developers–oh ESPECIALLY developers, doxxing, privacy violations, mischaracterization of the characters a LOT, unnecessary aggression towards casual fans and players, cancel culture, pressure on content creators, hyper fixation on the characters male and female, hating over stupid part of the games ( from tiktok and other platforms I've seen someone made a whole video about: hating the gacha animation yeah you heard me not the prices but the ANIMATION and for some reason some people in the comments AGREED, criticising a characters designs even though there's nothing at all wrong with it, (for genshin) hating citlali for having a crush on aether and also hating on aether for this huh????), Massive sexualisation to characters even to the minor characters (basically almost every fandom if I'm being honest), disrespecting the developer's effort, toxic theories, cross fandom conflict (I mean duh), racism, heterophobic, homophobic, hating the man and women characters for no reason like literally for NO reason AT ALL Aaaaaand making unnecessary drama... I would've added more but these should do for the games fandom

There's some positive side though : Creativity and a BUNCH of beautiful fanarts like damn those fanarts are beautiful, cosplay culture, Makes Awesome Fan music and remixes, appreciation for characters depths, content sharing, Event and charity support, definitely does have supportive, fun, enjoyable, positive fans not to mention actually appreciating the games and developers and voice actors! (Not all of them are whiny a hole it's just that there's more of them)

[etherealspacejelly]

i wanna explain something real quick because i learned it as part of this module im revising right now and its really interesting. im counting this as part of my revision lets fucking go

ok so in ecology theres this thing called elasticities where basically you get a bunch of data on the life cycle of an organism and plug it into a computer program and mess around with it to see what happens. you could change the survival rate of juveniles or the reproductive rate of large females etc etc and you see how that effects the overall population growth rate of the species.

a proportionally small change can have surprisingly large effects. and you look at this table of values it spits out and you ok so a small change to the survival rate of 7 year old desert tortoises makes a massive difference to the population growth rate so if we focus on protecting that life stage we can save the species

but like. for a lot of conservation efforts people just decide to save the babies. because they think thats the best way to save any species. and so we have all these charity conservation programmes doing shit like. harvesting sea turtle eggs from beaches and incubating them and releasing them when they hatch and its just. a bunch of money being spent on something thats not actually helping that much

so the ecologists come in and they're like hey uh. we have this thing called a Turtle Excluder Device (yes thats a real thing) that stops adult turtles from being caught in fishing nets and its actually way better at conserving the species than just saving the babies. could we maybe. get some funding for this. to implement it on a wider scale. and people are like no gotta save the eggs!!!!11!!!1 the babies!!111!1!!

so uh. moral of the story. listen to ecologists. they know what they're on about. and sometimes saving the adults is way more effective than saving the babies.

[call-me-strega]

How to Become a Step-Dad: Lore

Edited: 10/16/2023

While I am currently in between writing chapters I thought I’d release a little bit of the lore that will be incorporated in the story or that I think is canon but might not get mentioned since the story is mostly Jason’s perspective.

What’s up with Jason?

So in this au Jason went through basically all his canon backstory and stuff already so that’s established and done with. Some smaller points that may or may not come up are things like his possession of the all-blades, his time on Nanda Parbat, Talia essentially adopting him, or his experience being Catatonic. Speaking of which, I have decided his resurrection came from his righteous anger combining with the ectoplasm in Gotham’s atmosphere, and he is essentially a revenant for the purposes of this story (he’s about a fourth ghost? Or maybe 3/4ths? 3/5ths? Idk yet).

He does already have a reputation in the Infinite Realms as “The Avenger” and “Son/Knight of Gotham” due both to the existence of city spirit Lady Gotham and the ghosts of people who’ve died in Gotham. He actually has a rabid fan club who want him to kill the Joker( if he became a ghost he’d be tried and banished to the nightmare realm).

I am also going to use “the pits are corrupted ectoplasm” trope in the story. However, they’re gonna be corrupted less in the sense of being straight-up poison and more in the sense of eating a weird mushroom with weird side effects (rage, slightly sentient/vocal core, white trauma streak)

As for his relationship with the Bat Family, we’ve moved to a point where everyone’s more or less made up. For Jason and Bruce specifically, they are now more civil. Their relationship is less “ What you’re doing is wrong and you have to stop.” vs “ I’m just doing what you won’t” and now it’s more “ I don’t fully approve of your decisions, but as long as you’re not killing people and coming home for dinner, I don’t care enough to nag you about it” vs “ You’re my dad and I love you. Plus actively killing people is no longer super necessary so I will give in but I still enjoy pissing you off”.

In terms of sibling relationships, Jason has like the cool older brother vibe but he’s actually the semi-responsible one that feeds you when you come over and makes you do homework and sleep properly. He’s still down for shenanigans but is low-key a mom friend. (Dick is not the “responsible one” he is a certified chaos gremlin. Not to say he can’t be responsible, he’s just not the one enforcing these things. He cares more about your social, emotional, and/or, mental state and would help you skip school to steal a penguin or go to ComiCon or smth if you said it was a “mental health day”). I think he has semi-regular hangouts with his siblings on a weekly basis.

I like to think that he and Damien did have a bit of interaction when they were both with the League so they do have a close bond there. He’s definitely apologized to Tim a bunch of times and they’re pretty close now they like scheming together, especially on how to annoy Bruce. Overall he’s largely made up and re-integrated with the family. It’s going to be mentioned later in the story that they resurrected his civilian identity as Jason Todd, so he can publicly be seen with his family and also to do work with the family.

This brings me to my next point of lore: that as Jason gains more control of Crime Alley, he focuses his efforts more into charity work. He’s helping the people get their education, get better access to healthcare, get better job opportunities, running soup kitchens, etc., and doing more humanitarian-focused work. He has got a pretty firm grip on crime and drugs so he’s shifting his focus more towards helping the people now. Even just being part of his gang can be helpful because he works with the Goonion (Goon Union) and offers good insurance plans and stuff. That’s part of the reason they resurrect his civilian identity is so that he can start working with/taking over the Wayne foundation.

What’s up with Danny and Ellie?

Okay so first things first in the story Danny is going to be the ghost prince (not king yet for a long while) and he acts as a junior member on the Council of Ancients who rule with Clockwork acting as his main regent. Meaning that Council + Danny make decisions and Clockwork is Danny’s ghost dad and is formal regent but mostly just handles things with help from the council. Essentially, after at least a couple thousand years Danny will be considered “of age” or eligible and take over the Infinite Realms; and after several billion he’ll become the ancient of space/reality and essentially become a god or primordial being of sorts. Also being of age is different than being an adult ghost. To be an adult ghost you need to have been a ghost for at least 20 years after your lifetime, unless you’re an eternal kid ghost like Youngblood or BoxLunch. So ghosts like Technus, the Box Ghost, and Lunch Lady are all adult ghosts. Whereas ghosts like Johnny 13, Kitty and maybe Ember either aren’t yet adult ghosts or became adult ghosts recently. Ellie ranks as princess and second-in-line, she’ll go through a similar process and eventually join the Council, become a diplomat, and/or rule as regent if/when Danny leaves the Ghost Zone. I’m gonna say all other afterlife’s and stuff are connected to the Zone and their respective leaders make up Phantom’s Court. (So basically he’s king and they are like the nobles). They all govern their own territories and Phantom handles any rouges or conflicts. When Ellie gets older she’ll move between realms on diplomatic missions to lighten some of Danny’s work. I haven’t decided what this means for anyone who is currently mortal and/or liminal. I might just have them live, fulfilling lives and pass away and move on to different afterlives. Or I might have them take places within the Phantom’s court or as advisors. And on the topic: Jazz, the Fenton parents, Sam, and Tucker are all fairly liminal, Jazz and the Dr.s Fenton a bit more than the other two. Everyone in Amity has a little bit of liminality, but not enough to affect their life spans or anything. Also, Vlad is still currently his usual, creepy, Frootloopy-self. But after screwing him over in this fic eventually, I want to have him arrested by the ghost police and spend several thousand years in ghost prison before he gets let out. Then he works on improving his relationships and post-redemption he’s going to be like that annoying, overbearing Uncle who tries to be cool and annoys you but ya don’t hate him. Another thing I wanted to go over is their obsessions. I wanna say the halfas all have dual obsessions bc it fits nicely with the half-and-half concept. Danny is protection and space. Ellie is freedom and family. Vlad is power and love. If I include Dark Danny he’ll be power and destruction and a reformed version would have control and safety.

As for his rouge gallery? Danny is able to help them find healthier outlets for their obsessions so they've become less of an issue. Now they kind of just act like Danny's annoying friends and/or extended family. The ones who were straight-up evil though are on indefinite time out in ghost prison though (e.g. Spectra and Freakshow). The gang still comes to visit him and Ellie from time to time though and he regularly sees them when he goes back to the realms for prince duties and stuff.

What’s up with Amity?

So after he turns 18, Danny decides to tell his parents about being Phantom. He’s legally an adult now and has been working toward getting emancipated anyways so he might as well. They took it like how I imagine slightly homophobic parents would react to learning their child was lgbt (side note: the Fentons are pro-lgbt. When Danny told them he was bi Jack said “Me too son!”, happy to have something to bond over). He tells them about the portal and becoming Phantom. They believe him and they are devastated and guilty.

In the next few weeks, they get into a couple arguments over them wanting to “fix” his ghost half. He blows up and tells them that by doing that they’d end up killing him and that Phantom is a part of who he is and they’ll just have to accept that. That night Danny leaves and with help from Sam stays in an apartment with Jazz near her college. He takes a two-year gap to get a handle of Infinite Realms and GIW stuff, plus doing a few small jobs to save up some money. Within that time the GIW gets taken down and the Fentons reach out bc their love for their children is stronger than their dislike of ghosts. Their relationship is still strained but getting better.

Dani also gets de-aged during that time and Danny decides to take care of her (partly for healing purposes and partly cause he wants to). His friends help forge documentation for her and he fights with Vlad over custody but ultimately wins and makes him pay child support. He’s saved up enough money and with a little help from Sam and Vlad gets an apartment in Gotham. He got a scholarship and is doing mostly online classes at Gotham University. He’s currently working part-time (I have not decided as what but I’m leaning toward mechanic). Vlad paid to have him enroll Ellie in Gotham Academy so she wouldn’t have to go to public school and Danny allowed it since it’d get her a better education. Ellie is going to start first grade in about 3 months since they moved to Gotham in June. (Just for reference, Damian is currently 12 and in seventh grade since I've decided not to move him up.)

Everyone in Amity knows about the discord between the Fenton's before Danny leaves. They don't necessarily know about Phantom though. Everyone kind of assumes Danny came out, fought with his parents then left. When some of them find out about Ellie another rumor circulates she was the topic of the fight. Regardless, the Fenton drama is kinda an open secret and most people sympathize with Danny. Whenever he comes back to town to visit a lot of people are really nice to him and Ellie, which he thought was weird until he learned what people thought was going on. Now he just takes advantage of their misunderstandings.

What's up with the GIW?

The GIW manages to get a hold of Ellie after Danny leaves Amity. When Vlad and Danny +Team Phantom find out they team up to rescue her. Danny also recruits people that he's met during his time away. For this mission, he recruits Constantine and Captain Marvel/Shazam. When the Fentons find out they want in too, almost as an apology gesture. They no longer want to try and "fix" Danny and are okay with Ellie's existence. They view her like family and want to help out. A lot of their views are still prejudiced but they're getting better, however, that's not the only thing straining their relationship. This is a step in the right direction though.

So they go in and infiltrate first in order to get Ellie out. Then they destroy the facilities behind them as they leave. Constantine and Captain Marvel then go back to the JL to work on getting to Anti-Ecto Acts repealed, something that is still in progress during the beginning of this fic. That's why they are gonna lay low while they’re in Gotham. The GIW attempted to experiment on Ellie while they had her but the containment unit they used destabilized her ectoplasm. She retains all her memory but is mentally and physically de-aged. Frostbite assesses her and says she needs to get extra ecto and to be near another halfa aura to help develop and stabilize her own systems. That leads to Vlad and Danny fighting over custody before Danny inevitably beats Vlad into the ground and walks away with custody and child support.

I think a full reveal about identities will happen after Danny gets confirmation that his existence is no longer illegal. It'll probably be after Jason asks him out but before he accepts because he wants Jason to know what he's getting into. Jason will probably be shocked but accept it relatively quickly. I haven't decided yet if I want him to live a mortal life with them and then die (either to move on or become a full ghost) or if I want him to be basically immortal like them and give him a position in the court.

~~~~ Find chapter one here

Chapter 2 now here

[camillescreations]

Why are people being so nasty to the ofmd fandom over our renewal efforts? I just blocked a guy who reblogged a post about the Times Square billboard who said that he hopes every single member of the fandom gets SHOT??? Who the actual fuck says that? And he's supposed to be advocating AGAINST genocide?? You know telling thousands of innocent people just trying to keep something they love that they deserve to be murdered isn't really against the whole genocide idea... right?

I've seen tons of posts similar to this, too, especially regarding the billboard. And, look, I get it, there is a genocide going on right now. No one in this fandom is denying or downplaying that. The fandom itself has raised money for Palestine, and the leftover money from the Hoist the Ads campaign is going to various charities. I didn't personally donate any money to the billboard, but I'm not going to bash the people who did. We are allowed to care about multiple things at once. And we are allowed to be excited about trying to get a show renewed that brings us immense joy without being told we're idiots or we should die. People are allowed to put money into things that they think are "fun." I really hope no one writing any of these posts has bought anything other than necessities since the attacks started, because that would be pretty hypocritical. And all these posts about how the fandom sucks aren't really productive? They just make people block you. And, frankly, they make people sadder in an already sad time. How is that doing anyone any good, guys?

I know what my morals are. And I don't need a bunch of trolls making me feel like garbage for liking something. I wish people would take the time they put into writing nasty posts that target people who are just minding their business and put it into other things. We would all be better for it, I think.

[docholligay]

Unrelated, but regarding the charities you're trying to raise money for - you said that the Northern Plains Resource Council was the one you'd probably have to talk people into the most, but that's actually the one I'm most interested in, ha. (2/3 I lied)

I'm really interested in the American Prairie Reserve project, which is trying to rewild 3.2 million acres in Montana, and I think it's unfortunate that it seems to be so controversial among farmers and ranchers. (I volunteer to help with prairie reconstruction in my own area, and I am extremely jealous of your unplowed prairie land, ugh.) If that's a controversy you're familiar with and have opinions on, I'd be interested to hear about it! (3/3)

Amazing! I am very much sure that NPRC is the hard sell, so I'm delighted to see that someone else is super interested in saving the high prairie! I LOVE the prairie. I am a PRAIRIE BITCH FOR LIFE. And it gets so much shit, and whenever people visit they want to see mountains, American Alps whatever whatever, but the fucking grass sea stretching out forever under a wide sky is actually, I mean I am sitting here with tears in my eyes right now, THAT is my home.

Anyway to the actual content of your question:

I know a TON about the APR. My wife and I actually volunteer with it! She does calf/cow counting and I do fence pull!

APR is founded by a guy from Montana and he is real normal about stuff, but the APR in Montana has two big problems:

They are relatively new. NPRC is a little more than 50 years old so most people in Eastern Montana grew up with it. There is a Montanan thing about newness and outsiders that affects APR that does not affect NPRC. The fucking carpetbaggers from out of state have sought to leverage this. This is not APr's fault.

This one is APR's fault: They do not make a distinct effort to hire or seek volunteers for local messaging. They bring in people from big cities and the fucking coasts who have no idea how to talk to a guy who is delivering calves in -20F. NPRC does now and always has made an effort to include and bring forward rural Eastern Montanans in local discussions and in talks with farmers and ranchers. I DID THAT for many years. When you can talk to a rancher while tacking up a horse, you are proving something about the similarities you have., and it opens doors.

APR talking about shit like, resilient biodiversity and threatened biomes, who gives a shit? I agree with you and I find you annoying! It's hilarious because this was all started because a Montanan was like, "fuck the feds, I'll just buy the whole goddamn prairie' but everything sounds like it was written by someone who graduated from Smith or some shit.

And I know we're all supposed to pretend messaging doesn't matter, but it does. Trust. Rhetoric is my thing. It's like when coastals come here and try to talk about trans issues, and they're all "The fundamental personhood and community contribution of the souls of trans people" shut the fuck up. You know how the last anti-trans bill got shot down? A combination of "Why the fuck are we talking about this when property taxes are this high? (my rep, bless)" and, as I put it to a guy at the Y, and MADE HIM THINK ABOUT IT DIFFERENTLY, "Oh, I just don't think it should be illegal to be annoying." And I know you're all gasping and clutching your chests, but how people CONCEIVE of shit matters.

APR would play so much better here if it was just, "Oh, I don't ever trust the government to do the right thing, so, we're just gonna buy it and do it our own damn selves" but that's not cute for the city people they want to come visit, so here we are, you can't be a servant of two masters. And because everyone is so chronically online, you can't locally be like, "We're gonna get a bunch of fucking city people to stare at the prairie and pay for the privilege. This area desperately needs it. Circle could be Gardiner." because then you got* those people not wanting us to, you know 'get one over on them' especially since city people by and large think they are better and smarter than us.

ANYWAY, I am madder than I thought about this! But I do love APR, I just get frustrated with them. Obviously! I have been out pulling fence for them all goddamn day, I CARE.

*I am all of a sudden realizing that what Jetty says is true and sometimes when I'm talking about something 'country' my accent pulls EXTREMELY in my grandfather's direction, even in writing. Hm.

[olderthannetfic]

When people genuinely believe that something they do is good or helpful or uplifting or part of a solution to one of society's ills, they are very very resistant to anyone telling them that it's actually useless or even harmful to the very people they think it helps.

This is important to keep in mind when you're dealing with any morality driven behaviour -- fandom antis, think-of-the-children right wingers, and people who who've fallen for TERF or Autism Speaks talking points.

If you are doing something because it helps people, and someone pops up like "dude, that hurts me", you're probably not going to believe them, and if you do you're probably going to find a way to explain them away as an exception.

It breaks people's brains to be told that their genuine efforts to make things better are actually the problem, not the solution (no matter how obviously unhelpful their efforts are to an outside observer).

And we're seeing a microcosm of that with some of the petty arguments around here. People use tone indicators because they want to help autistic people understand their text, so when an autistic person says that tone indicators make them feel excluded or make sentences more confusing, people don't go "oh wow, I didn't know I was making things worse, I'll rethink this" they call the autistic person ableist, or say they're lying or being selfish, or tell them their needs are irrelevant compared to those of a larger hypothetical group.

The "uwu hydration check" conversation is showing this, too. People do that because they want to help; no wonder they aren't taking it well when a bunch of ND people show up in the notes all "infantilizing disabled people is bad actually".

The takeaway here is to actually listen to the people you want to to help, and not dismiss them as outliars, and to not expect that a simple pile of facts will convince someone to stop doing something harmful out of a misguided sense of charity.

--

[rentalboos]

Watcher has lost almost 100 thousand subscribers

Hi babygirl, thank you for your 6 new messages, I love that you think my opinion is this important, though I genuinely don't quite get it. I'm not even a Watcher fanaccount, like, I have maybe two followers who even know the channel. What beef do you have with me lmao Since you're so interested in it though, I'm going to give it to you! FOR FREE! Since that's so important to you!

Here's the tldr: You're on anon sending hate, so you already know you're in the wrong and everyone else knows it too!

Great. Now that that's covered, here we GO! My precious opinion that you value so much! For free:

I'm sorry it offends you that I have the 5,99 to pay them and am doing it, but like. Do you do this with everyone? Do you go into people's DMs (no of course not, you only hate anonymously, wonder why that is!) to yell at them about subscribing to Twitch streams? Spotify? Youtube membership? Patreons?

What about this offends you so? That a bunch of youtubers had to make a tough choice between "we have to stop creating the art we want" and "we could try and keep creating the art we want, but we'll need to get paid for it" and chose to try and get paid for it? Is the offense, to you personally, that other people will still get to enjoy the content they like, opposed to absolutely no one getting to? It certainly can't be that you, personally, can't access their content anymore, because, quite frankly, I doubt you actually like it very much.

As for your five billion questions for why this makes you racist: You singling out Steven makes you racist. They founded this company together and they doubtlessly made this decision together and the narrative that is currently spun of "Shane (the white dude) would never, his evil non-white co-workers are forcing him to!" is .... extremely parasocial, and wildly random and coming out of nowhere.

Except for all the parts it's not, because of COURSE. Of course the evil guy and the guy who creates content "no one wants to fund" and who now everyone calls "boring" and who now has viral hate tweets saying he's "dragged Ryan and Shane down", is the asian guy who's pushed for diversity on the channel from the very start.

Like, he's well aware that his shows are the least popular. There's a reason for that, sweetie, and I promise you, it has to do with the fact that they've focused on diversity and quality rather than shittalking in front of a camera. And I'm not even a Steven girlie, I'm a Ghost Files ride or die, baby!

But this narrative that he's "homophobic and racist" because he said in a podcast once that he chooses to stay friends with people who sometimes sprout ignorant views, that's like- Get a fucking grip. I know y'all haven't reached adult life yet, it is painfully apparent, but there comes a time in life where you'll have to realize that sometimes the people around you aren't as socially aware or educated as you, but in their nature good eggs, and you can, of course, choose to drop their asses, if you don't happen to be otherwise connected to them in an adult environment, where jobs and friend groups often overlap or they're part of your family or family's circle, but the far, far better choice is to be their friend and educate them. Because that's the best way the ignorant views become less ignorant. That's literally what he's been saying in that podcast ep, by the way. I don't need to "google" that and I don't need your twitter links, I was there when that episode dropped. I listened to it as I did the dishes. I was applauding Steven for putting in the time and effort and energy to DO that with people, because I oftentimes find myself too scared to have the conversations he is having.

Watcher has donated to queer charities. They sell queer merch. They have queer employees. Their fanbase is mainly queer. He's not homophobic, y'all are insane. If any of that would go against his values, he'd a) not be in a company with Ryan and Shane, because they wouldn't be having it and b) wouldn't stand up for, employ and cater to queer people. He'd be out with the homophobes, telling us how Jesus died for our sins or whatever.

He's also not racist which- duh. Before I even knew Steven Lim, I already knew this is something he is incredibly(!) sensitive about, he literally hates racism (And I don't know if you noticed. But he's very often the target of it, you absolute bufoon) and specifically went into Watcher to be able to help marginalized voices have a platform. That was his goal for Watcher that he couldn't properly fulfil in Buzzfeed. I know that. Because I was there from the start and actually listened to them talk. And it was stated and proven many, many times.

Y'all so eager to jump on a hate train and take shit out of context, it's pathetic. And "homophobic" good God, he had a book on his bookshelf. Wow. I have Harry Potter in three different editions on my bookshelf, I've learned reading with them. They have tear stains on the pages where Dumbledore died. You're gonna say I'm a transphobe if you see them in a photo? Gonna go ahead and call me, a trans guy, a transphobe now? Knock yourself out. Because I'll care about that about as much as I care about how many angry little kids are unsubscribing from Watcher rn: Not even a little bit.

You're whining like little bitches in random fan's inboxes, are throwing insults, false accusations and racism around to stirr the pot, you're coming for Steven as if Ryan and Shane aren't literally HORRIFIED by y'all doing this in their name to someone who's their close friend. As if Watcher would even exist without him, when he saved it from going bankrupt in their first year, when Ryan and Shane couldn't be arsed to step up and figure out how to run a company.

You weren't paying them anyway. I'm subscribed to their Patreon at the highest tier, because I know good art doesn't come free and I knew they were gonna struggle on Youtube views alone and I enjoy their content and want to help them keep making it. I don't expect anyone to be able to do that - And they don't either. They also don't expect everyone to pay or be able to pay for their streaming services. They're currently working on responding to the feedback and make things more accessible. They certainly didn't handle this perfectly and they certainly didn't want to make this choice if they had another one. Neither of the three.

You won't pay for it. That's fine. That's literally all there is to it. There's no need to sling this shit around, but you're doing it anyway. Not because you care, but because you're having fun with it. Well, go ahead. The more hate you send, the more I know I'm standing up for the right people.

[msfbgraves]

I think that if we're all forced to sell our lives away to please corporate, governmental or dictatorial overlords;

If they've made it impossible to not participate in the system;

If opting out on a small scale exactly does nothing to hurt any of the evil;

If you sometimes even actively can't do much, because they've worked you till you're old or you're disabled in some way

It comes back to what all the religions preach anyway:

What you can always do is give to others. Even if it is a day pass to feckin Disney World to buy their crap and make them richer, it will boost happiness and lower stress. Misery and want is what the whole system feeds off. If you lower that in any way, it is fewer drugs sold, fewer people harmed, maybe slightly less time stuck in some kind of traffic, maybe somebody has the energy to fix something in the house, work on their health, play with their dog.

The system works on manufactured misery. And yes, it will be fed even by a lot of the efforts to lessen misery. But they will earn a whole lot less, and it will lessen their ability to create more, the more we do for each other. Even in whatever system traps you.

That is not easy at all but it is simple.

And I'm not that much for interacting with a bunch of people all the time. There are people that annoy me and I don't want to interact with. There are people so spoilt they could do with a little adversity to deflate their egos. I don't even particularly trust many charities. But any misery you can lessen, any joy you can buy, even, sticks it to the destructive forces in this world.

Remember - they live off agony and coercion. That's where all of it builds on. People are not half as bad as everybody always paints them. Use discernment, of course - don't get exploited. But every bit of true, actual happiness or relief you can create or buy helps. Even if you're trapped, and exploited, and powerless, feelings they want you to numb, or even situations they hope will kill you to scare others into submission - even then, anything you can or even buy for another will fight it. For a close one. Not for the state, the nation, corporate, vague charity. Sometimes not even for you, because what power you have is too little to solve your problem. But giving it to another - as directly as possible - always helps.

It's truly the best way to fight the power, that's why they always create disconnection. Worship either the grand, unknowable state or the individual. No, anything you can do for another person, just some other rando, will always fight the loneliness, fear and misery that drives profit. That's why they disincentivise it everywhere, and if not they try to sell it.

Don't bother. Go hang out with someone. Go do something to ease the daily stress if it is ordering someone a Starbucks Gift Card.

[tyrranux64]

00 - THE FOOL Sora is the most foolish of innocents, especially when he leaves his fate to the machinations of others. And when he does have his own agency he tends to be too reckless and headstrong. Of course his inherit knuckleheaded nature can be his best quality, pulling out an unexpected surprise that not even the most carefully calculating villain can possibly account for. And since the beginning of his quest, he's never really needed the conventional outdated wisdom of so called "Masters", he has always forged his own path.

01 - THE MAGICIAN It is no secret that Tony Stark is a creative genius. After all he was able to develop a revolutionary perpetual energy reactor the size of a human hand in a cave with but a bunch of scraps. Is it any surprise he was even able to casually discover time travel whilst in his pajamas? And don't even get me started on all the razzle dazzle he tends to put on his wonderful toys. Guess the line between science and magic truly is a razor thin one....

02 - THE HIGH PRIESTESS The knowledge of what the future holds is something reserved for God, but alas such knowledge has been dropped right onto Tsukino Usagi’s lap. Her marriage to Mamoru, the existence of her future daughter Chibiusa, the fated ascension to Neo Queen Serenity and the rise of Silver Millennium. All just dumped before a high school student who is already having trouble just trying to graduate. It is a lot to unpack and Usagi must now prepare herself to take on the inevitable burdens before her. To trust her instincts and learn from her past mistakes. She has a lot to learn ahead of her and not as much time as she thinks she has to do it…. 

03 - THE EMPRESS For what else is the Princess of Friendship but a surrogate mother? What else are the people of her kingdom but her adopted children? They are not subjects to be ruled, they are her family. This is why Twilight Sparkle ascended to the heights of an alicorn, to uphold the responsibility of being a parent.

04 - THE EMPEROR There is no question his allies and friends look to him as a "leader", though that is more because of him being the biggest fish among them and their resulting dependance on his power. And as a father figure? Well, it is quite telling that his most defining act as a father to his son Gohan is a last ditch effort to fix the mess he created himself. But hey, better to be the father that sacrifices himself to save their child than the one that leaves them to die in the lion's den....

05 - THE HIEROPHANT As Bruce Wayne, his political influence upon the world is limited to the amount of charity money he can dish out, still having to abide by the system that puts him in the one percent. People just don't take him seriously enough to listen. But as the Batman, he can move droves of people with action. His battle against crime garnering the respect of even the police, those that faced his judgement have no choice but to heed his words. The cape and cowl is unbound by the petty status quo of society, he has no strings to hold him back. Everyone listens to the bat.

06 - THE LOVERS The Freedom Fighters don't just have one heart, they have two. Sally Acorn, the one to think up the plan of action. Sonic the Hedgehog, the one to take action. Two halves of the same singular ray of hope to guide the rag tag group of resistance to victory. Though they do not think alike (and can sometimes get on each other's nerves) they are still harmonized, able to work together at the most dire of straights. With only one of them, the Freedom Fighters are compromised, without both they are lost....

07 - THE CHARIOT The four Ninja Turtles were taught ninjitsu purely to survive in a world that would not accept them, told to stay in the shadows where it is safe. But perhaps because of their excess of superhero comic books or just their mutant ability to feel empathy, they cannot help but jump into action when someone is in trouble. They are always tapping into that most primordial of heroic traits, the will to act.

08 - STRENGTH It takes more than just "strength" alone to tame an eldritch horror like the Bird of Hermes. Whatever the bird sees in this one Integra Hellsing it has formed a bond that cannot be truly explained.....perhaps it is not as simple as a monster recognizing her as a strong human being? Perhaps....he sees her as a similar breed of monster?

09 - THE HERMIT There are those that work alone and then there's the self proclaimed "Terror that Flaps in the Night". So intent on doing things his way, so hellbent on getting all the glory, so desperate to prove himself to the world that the very idea of getting help from others ruffles his feathers. Of course he is not above having a sidekick but that is more someone doing things his way and not stealing his spotlight...

10 - THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE Many are at the mercy of fate, but none are quite as vulnerable to it as Matoi Ryuko. Her luck flip flops between good and bad so often that it's hard to tell if fate favors her or is out to get her. Sometimes it feels like she loses more than she wins. Not helping matters is how she is at the forefront of destiny, one of the few among the many that are the most important players for what destiny has in store. Lucky her.... 

11 - JUSTICE Diana of Themyscira doesn't just embody truth, she is the Spirit of Truth. Thus is her mission, to bring truth to the world of man, to be a guiding light towards peace and prosperity......a task that becomes increasingly difficult and nigh impossible with each passing year. Luckily, no task is too daunting for an Amazon, and no matter how long it takes she will bring man to a better place than it is right now... 

12 - THE HANGED MAN Kurosaki Ichigo is not the hero he should be, no, he is more of a plot device. A pawn used by both ally and enemy, not allowed to have any real agency of his own. A slave of fate caught in the same loop of trying to be a hero, fail miserably, go through "training" to receive new strength, fail again, deus ex machina just giving him the win. It's like whatever god is willing the stars of his universe is an incompetent who has no real concept of how the hero's journey is suppose to go. And what other choice does he have but to surrender to the cycle? His constant self sacrificing is what keeps the world spinning. And of nothing else at least he gets to keep becoming a better Ichigo than he was before right? Right?  

13 - DEATH Optimus Prime is well acquainted with the concept of change, is it after all hard wired into his very race's biology. But more than that, his years in perpetual war have shown him plenty endings and new beginnings, perhaps more of the former than the latter. And so long as he lives he will always be in the very company of death itself, looming over him, his allies and his enemies. Such is the nature of war.

14 - TEMPERANCE How long has Kiryuin Satsuki waited until she could finally be free of her vile mother? How much longer would she have waited to finally avenge her father? She waited years of her life for one moment to finally drive her blade through that vile woman, she didn't care if she succeeded or failed she has waiting for that moment long enough. And it seems that though her attempt did fail, that evil woman met her just deserts regardless, in the end fate still saw fit to reward Satsuki's patience.

15 - THE DEVIL Thanos is a very sick man. He is driven by his obsessions and desires, trying to hand wave it as "inevitability" or "higher purpose" when really it is but his own selfishness running rampant. And in his delusion he insists that the greater universe abides by his desire, worse even share in it. No matter how much he tries to change or has seemingly learned his lesson, he'll relapse in no time at all, going right back to his genocidal addiction. He truly is a lost cause....

16 - THE TOWER Uchiha Sasuke acts like he's the only one suffering, that his pain is more important than everyone else's. As such he pays no heed to that which he ruins or those that he hurts. Everything he touches, he destroys. Enemies, allies, friends, it matters not so long as he can get what he wants....which is constantly switching out. One minute he wants to get revenge on his brother, the next he wants to avenge him, and then he wants to be the one Hokage to "break the cycle of war". Whatever, he's always spin doctoring the horrible things he does to have some "deeper meaning" like he were a far right politician rewriting the bible. One has to wonder if he truly wants to use the darkness to bring about "positive change", if you ask me, he merely loves causing misery.

17 - THE STAR Sometimes it's easy to lose hope, just ask Peter Parker. Too many times it feels like no matter how hard he tries, even with spider powers his best is just not good enough. Most seem to believe so, most see him more as a menace doing more harm than good, especially Jameson. It's easy to forget what one is fighting for.....but then in his most dire moments, he can hear Uncle Ben's voice in his head telling him to not give up. Telling him about the few that do look upon the friendly neighborhood Spider Man as a symbol of hope, a star to look towards even when all other lights dim. And like that his strength returns to him, like that he gets back up and keeps fighting.

18 - THE MOON Ryoko Hakubi is both beauty and beast in one being. Not only does her power inspire fear, so too does her temperament whenever her pin is pulled. And even aside from that, she is one mystery after another, never will you truly understand how her mind or heart works. And not helping matters is her fluctuating moral compass that is comparable to mood swings. You'd have better luck figuring out women that you'd have trying to figure her out.

19 - THE SUN It's hard not to see that giant burning ball of gas as but a blight, a bleak reminder of the inevitable. But for the Last Son of Krypton, it is the source of his power. His true power, the power known as the best in humanity. That big Red S that shines like that very star inspires all to be the best they can be, igniting hearts with the strength to stand tall and proud even if they are not the strongest. Even if not everyone can be like Superman, anyone can be that which lights the darkness, anyone can be a hero.

20 - JUDGEMENT To become a Power Ranger is to be reborn into something beyond a mere human. To be infused with power for the sole purpose of answering the call to arms. Only a select few ever get to wear this mantle, and those that do must take up the fight against pure evil to their dying breath if necessary. As such the quality to become a Ranger is the resolve to always stand, to always get back up and never stop fighting. To be a Ranger is to be the one that has the resolve to fight the most important battle.

21 - THE WORLD So few can truly say they beat the Devil and got their soul back, but Albert Simmons is one such person. Perhaps it did not bring him the closure he was hoping for but it did bring him closure none the less. When he remembered the truth of his relationship with Wanda, remembered why exactly he was never allowed to have her back, he was finally able to let go and move on...