#it runs in his father’s line fyi

[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

[sundrop-writes]

would you be willing to do a follow up to the teen wolf pregnancy hcs? something with the characters interacting with their kid - can be as a baby or older - just them being parents and adjusting to being young parents.

i love your writing 💗💗💗

Fyi, I was not even planning on working on requests tonight, but this caught my attention so much and gave me such a good idea that I had to do it. I decided to do it with the same characters from the first part, but if you want to see this prompt with other characters, then I would do the 'how they react to finding out that you're pregnant' part first with different characters

My requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN, but please read my Rules before sending in a request.

Part One - How would they react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

How would the pack act as parents?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: fem reader - uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is the one who gave birth to the baby, as in the previous part); Stiles's part is extremely self indulgent and something I have been thinking about since I wrote the last part so bear with me; mentions of breastfeeding, giving birth, teething, and other parenting/baby topics; the baby is a different age and has a different name in each section just for funsies; mention of Lydia and reader's baby having red hair - but I did this to drive home the baby's genetic relation to Lydia and I don't think it has to specify the reader's race (someone with darker skin can still have naturally red hair); Lydia calls the reader 'Mama'; mention of the reader being a werewolf in Derek's part because there is a weird continuity in these reactions (and I should write a full fic about Derek and this reader character cause I am slowly becoming addicted to their story, ngl); I believe that's finally it.

Stiles was panicking. He was officially the worst parent ever - everything his dad said was right. He wasn't ready for this, nobody should be a teen parent, he was a failure. God, his whole life was crumbling around him...

You were out of town because your sister was getting married. You had been incredibly hesitant to leave the baby - sweet, adorable, nine-month-old Lila Stilinski - but Stiles had insisted that you go on a weekend getaway to your sister's bachelorette party. You deserved it. You had spent nine whole months growing his baby and then you had given birth to her (a bloody, messy affair that made him faint - to nobody's surprise), and you had spent the last nine months nursing her and getting your degree from home after you had fought through your pregnancy taking double courses to graduate high school early. You were a gem, a beautiful, shining gem of a woman and a mother, and somehow - while you were off getting your much needed rest and having fun - Stiles had lost your baby.

His baby - his baby that he loved very, very much.

He had woken up that morning, late, having forgotten to set the alarm, and rushed around the apartment like a chicken with his head cut off rushing to get Lila ready for day care and himself ready for school, and he dropped her off as usual, with a smile and kiss on her big beautiful forehead. And when he went to pick her up that afternoon - she was gone. The day care worker couldn't give him any other news than the fact that she had been 'signed out already', and it left Stiles panicking, thinking about that cult that sacrifices babies every single day.

In his rush that morning, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so he couldn't get his dad on the line - and he was currently running at top, lung-crushing speed toward the police station, running past the deputy on duty at the front desk, who simply shrugged and buzzed him in when she saw his bright red face and his clear desperation.

"Dad, D-dad, you have to-!" He was going to ask his father to put out an amber alert, to call every single one of his deputies back to get them looking, but when his father turned around - that sweet girl with the bright purple bow in her hair was in his arms.

Then, Stiles shifted on a dime from panic to anger.

"Dad, what the hell?" He barked out, struggling to sound as pissed off as he was while still trying to catch his breath.

"What?" The Sheriff shrugged, kissing his granddaughter on the forehead before cooing brightly at her, smiling at her with all the brightness in the world, paying Stiles absolutely no mind.

"You took her out of day care without telling me first?" Stiles gaped, absolutely angered that his father had let him believe for even a moment that his girl was missing.

He knew it was a cruel irony - a blunt kind of karma. All the times he had come home late, all the nights he had snuck out believing that his dad was simply being too hard on him for giving him such an early curfew. Now, in a single crashing moment, he instantly understood why his father had worried so much - why he was so angry every single time Stiles was out of his sight, especially when there was danger around.

"Your phone was off." Noah shrugged, rocking Lila back and forth in his arms, giving her another kiss on the forehead as he began to hum the tune of a lullaby under his breath. "I got bored on my lunch break, and I wanted to see my baby, so what?"

It was the usual for him - any time he was within ten feet of her, she didn't have a moment in your arms or Stiles's. On the day she had been born, he had brought a giant gift basket to the hospital, grumbling under his breath about how he still thought it was 'irresponsible' of Stiles, but demanding to see 'his baby'.

He had burst into tears upon seeing Lila for the first time, and was deeply aggressive about who was allowed to visit and for how long. When she came home, he stood watch over her crib with his gun in hand for multiple days before he finally gave up and went to sleep (and according to you, he admitted quietly that he had done the same thing for Stiles when he first came home from the hospital).

"My phone died." Stiles stressed. "You could have left a note for me at the school or something. You gave me a freakin' heart attack."

"Be more responsible and charge it next time." The Sheriff grinned at him.

"Just - don't kidnap my daughter again!" Stiles snapped. "She is my daughter-" He argued, taking a possessive, protective stance.

"Yeah, well I made you, so I have certain rights when it comes to this little sweet girl." His father said, trailing off into a cooing baby voice as he began fawning over Lila once again. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Besides, ever since the three of you moved out, I hardly get to see my babygirl anymore."

Stiles felt a twinge of guilt at this, but wanted to argue. The three of you needed your own space, and you had moved into an apartment that was less than twenty minutes away from his father's house. He still saw Lila at least once every single day of the week, unless he was busy working.

"Dad-"

"Besides, it's not kidnapping if I'm the Sheriff."

"It is so kidnapping! It's kidnapping if I report you."

"Is it still considered an abortion if I terminate you now?" His father glared at him.

Stiles let out a huff.

Isaac was tired. He knew that being a parent was going to be tiring, but in the six months since baby Leon had been born, this was his first full night alone with his son. His son who was teething, crying incredibly loudly, and in pain because of his little teeth coming in. He wasn't nearly as upset about the fact that he hadn't slept as he was about the fact that his son was in pain and he could do little about it.

He had considered calling you a few times throughout the night when Leon was letting out particularly harrowing cries and Isaac was on the verge of tears himself (especially considering with his heightened werewolf senses, the pain of those cries seemed to pierce through him even more) - but he had agreed to take care of Leon by himself to get him out of the house that you and your mother shared because you had been studying for the SATs and you needed sleep the night before your big exam. So as much as it pained him, he endured alone and ended up crying with his son while he sucked on a frozen teething toy with tears still running down his chubby cheeks.

The sun had come up a while ago and Leon had just fallen asleep, his portable crib set up in the middle of the loft so that Isaac could watch over him - his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot red as he stood at the counter, chugging down a cup of black coffee, trying his hardest to stay away until after your exam was over so that you could take Leon and he could have a nap.

He was not at all pleased when the door creaked open, seeming like the loudest thing ever - alerting him to the presence of Boyd entering the apartment.

"Hey, man-" Boyd greeted him in a usual bright tone, and Isaac cut him off with an abrupt hush. He put a finger to his lips and then motioned to the crib, and Boyd peeked over, nodding once he saw the baby. "You're on Daddy duty again?"

"It's not like it's a hobby or something," Isaac told him tiredly in a hushed tone. "I am a father now." Even with the tense whispering and the tired droop of his shoulders, there was a certain sense of pride in the way he said this.

"Well you-"

Isaac shushed him again, as Boyd speaking in his usual tone was far too loud for Isaac's liking.

"You know, he's gonna have to get adjusted to noise sooner or later." Derek piped up from his place on the couch, where Isaac had convinced him to sit and read a book until Leon had settled to sleep.

"Shh!" Isaac tried to hush Derek into silence, but he glared at Isaac and kept talking at his usual volume.

"Babies born into pack families are brought up co-sleeping, so they sleep through the noise of a dozen family members-"

Isaac crossed the room and put a hand against Derek's mouth, forcing him quiet this time.

"I don't care." Isaac insisted. "Nobody is going to wake up my son now that he is asleep."

"Stop touching me." Derek said, muffled against Isaac's hand.

Isaac backed off, and before Derek could speak up again, Leon woke with a high pitched wail.

"You guys have fun with that." Boyd said, taking this as his queue to leave.

Lydia was overjoyed. Telling her parents about everything had been nothing short of a confusing nightmare, and after a lot of convincing from Melissa and Noah and a lot of questions without a lot of answers, they had both still been sceptical right up until you had given birth.

The moment they had laid eyes on a sweet newborn baby girl with bright red hair - they were convinced that against all odds, you and Lydia had made a baby together.

That was an entire year ago - and now, Lydia was having the utter pleasure of planning her beautiful Luna Harmony Martin's first birthday party. She was so perfectly in her element - picking out decorations, designing an utterly epic and fabulous birthday cake (including a separate, smaller smash cake that only her daughter would get to touch, because it was only the best for Luna), planning entertainment - a professional princess performer and some magicians (no clowns - Luna didn't need those kind of memories implanted in her psyche this early on), and the best part: picking out cute little dresses for the birthday girl to wear.

Much like her mother, she was a fashion icon, and she would likely need multiple outfit changes for her party - not just with the fact that she would get covered in cake or her own spit-up, but because a proper birthday girl should always be photographed in more than one ensemble.

You weren't surprised when Lydia came home with two large armfuls of shopping bags. You wanted to protest, to tell her that a one-year-old didn't need that many clothes that she wasn't even going to wear, but you knew that Lydia's parents weren't going to take away her credit card anytime soon (and when it came to spoiling the baby, they were even worse) and you also knew that this was one of her ways of showing your daughter love.

So when she came to sit on the cushy foam playmat with you and Luna, dropping the many shopping bags on the cough behind the two of you, you simply let it happen.

"Hello my sweet girl," Lydia said, greeting your daughter in a sweet voice as she kissed her chubby cheeks and pulled her into her lap. "And hello to you, Mama."

Mama. The nickname still made your stomach churn with heat - something that Lydia had gotten into calling you more lately after some rant about how Luna's 'speech centre' was 'rapidly developing' and she wanted to influence what the baby would call you.

You couldn't help but to grin as you kissed her too.

"I see you've been shopping." You said, motioning toward the bags.

"A bit." Lydia shrugged. "After I booked the carousel-"

"A carousel?" You questioned. "Lydia, she's a year old. She can't even ride carnival rides - she's not even going to remember any of this."

"It's for the photos. Obviously." Lydia sighed in return, rolling her eyes at you. "The theme of the party is Cotton Candy Princess, what kind of idiot would I be if I didn't include at least one classic carnival ride in my photos?"

"At this rate, she's gonna want a golden pony by the time she's five."

"Then she'll get one." Lydia cooed at Luna, kissing her cheeks again, smearing pink lipstick on her.

You couldn't help but to smile - you knew that this was Lydia's way of showing your daughter that to her, she was the most important little girl in the world.

Derek was annoyed - not with his son, with you.

Since the moment he had found out that you were pregnant, Derek loved his son more than anything in the world. He loved you just as much, he had right from the moment he had slashed Peter's throat and then turned you where you were dying, bleeding out, and used his newfound Alpha powers to turn you in order to save your life. Because that was the moment he knew he would risk anything and everything in order to keep you alive.

He loved you very much, but he was still annoyed with you.

You were determined not to let Derek sleep with his son - a tradition as old as pack life itself, now being marred by you shoving articles in Derek's face about how co-sleeping was 'dangerous' and how the baby should have his own crib. A baby of only three months old should not be damned to isolation. It made Derek's heart ache just thinking about it. He was used to the comfort of your body - he was used to the sync of your heartbeat, the sound of his voice and Derek's constantly nearby. He shouldn't be off in the corner by himself. You had made Derek feel like some criminal, sneaking out of bed at one in the morning to pluck his son out of that damned crib in order to spend some time with him.

And now, Alexander was sleeping peacefully on his bare chest, skin to skin as nature intended, feeling the peace of his father's heartbeat as Derek dozed into a gentle sleep himself on the sofa himself. He was - until he heard the distinct squeak of the bed springs on your side, a distinct huff from you as you got out of bed.

"Derek," You sighed when you saw what he had done, crossing your arms over your chest - it was an entirely appealing sight; the incredibly small baby perched in the middle of his bare chest, so tiny against Derek's large, muscled frame. But it did make you worry - Alexander wasn't secured in any way - he could fall, he could roll off. Even though Derek was an incredibly capable, loving parent, even in the haze of sleep, he could roll over and crush the baby.

It scared you.

"What - are you gonna take him from me?" He glared at you, deep betrayal in his voice. It was clear that the only thing keeping him from raising his voice further was the restraint not to yell so close to the baby's ear. "Do you honestly think that I would hurt my son?"

You held back tears, hating how much the insinuation clearly pained Derek.

"Never." You told him, your own tears choking your throat. "Derek, I know that you would never hurt him intentionally. But-"

"Exactly." He replied, cutting you off. "And there is nothing that will harm him. I am not going to let it happen."

You sighed, putting a hand to your forehead in frustration.

Derek shook his head, sitting up, putting a hand against Alexander's diapered bum to support him - able to hold nearly the entirety of his tiny body with one hand.

"Didn't you notice that all of those articles you read are written by humans?" He pointed out. "This is something that my family has done for generations. Our senses are honed for stuff like this. The moment that a baby is born, we sleep differently. Haven't you noticed?"

You had noticed - you felt like you had been sleeping with only half your brain, like a shark. You thought it was something your mother had warned you about, how you would never get a full night's rest again after having a baby. But it felt different. You did wake up rested, but you didn't dream anymore. You felt conscious nearly the entire time you were asleep - hyper aware of everything, your body responsive to every single coo, every little noise the baby made. You became hyper aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat while you slept, often using it as a white noise machine while you laid there.

"Yeah." You admitted - Derek gave you a subtle smug grin, and nodded.

"I'm not going to hurt him, not even by accident - because I can't." Derek told you firmly. "I will wake up the minute he cries, and I won't shift in my sleep. And this is healthy for us. Our heartbeats will sync up and this will help him sleep better. Please, just trust me on this."

Derek rarely pleaded with you about things, rather than outright telling you - so you knew that this mattered to him greatly.

"Yes. I trust you." You told him. "Come back to bed?" You posed. "All of us in the same bed."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss you before he got up off the couch, bringing your son with him.

(When you woke up the next morning, the crib was smashed to pieces, and Derek - who was in the kitchen making breakfast with Alexander still pressed to one shoulder - claimed that he had no idea how it happened.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[urm0o0m]

"Forgive Me Father"

[AN: no gif because none of them match the story... fyi, I'm not catholic so if something isn't correct about some parts, please let me know!]

[No cw. Read at your own risk because this took me a year to write...]

You groan as you have begun to feel uncomfortable in the suit that your mother has picked out for you for Sunday mass. “Hush now” Your mother says as you both enter the church, dipping your right hand in water and doing the cross sign before taking a bow at the altar and walking to your seats. The priest greets everyone at service and you greet him back. You lock eyes as he says his name. “My name is Father Miguel. I see we have some new faces here. Now let us welcome the choir” Everyone rises but you stay seated and your mother shoots you a look and you stand. Once the choir is finished singing everyone sits back down. 

Father Miguel does the cross symbol and everyone reciprocates it before opening prayers begin. You find your eyes lingering on Father for too long and when he catches your eye your face grows hot and you look away quickly. Father Miguel greets the congregation again saying  “The Lord be with you.” He then introduces the Gospel reading while marking a small cross on his forehead, lips and heart with his thumb while praying silently that God cleans his mind and his heart so that his lips may worthily proclaim the Gospel. The congregation performs this ritual action along with the priest. 

Father Miguel begins preaching and you find yourself intensively listening. Not to obtain the word but because you find his voice soothing (and dare you say attractive). They collect offerings and call everyone up for communion. Father prays over the bread and wine before everyone lines up and kneels before him one at a time. It’s your turn and you kneel before him. “The body of Christ” Father Miguel says, placing the cracker between your lips, thumb brushing against your bottom lip before handing you a cup of wine. “The blood of Christ” You swallow the wine and he intensively watches as your Adam's apple bobs up and down as you swallow. 

Over the next 4 weeks you began to come to Sunday mass more often and your Mother was confused but never objected. One day after mass your mother invites a couple people back to the house for dinner and Father Miguel agrees to come over. You smile when you hear this and you rush home to shower and help your mother cook. Out of nowhere in the shower you thought about the first encounter with Father Miguel. You find yourself becoming aroused at the thought of his touch lingering on your chest. Then moving down to your abdomen. Then your hips. Lastly, moving painstakingly slow to your crotch area. 

Your hand wraps around your cock, imagining it was his hand. You tease yourself, lightly brushing your thumb against the tip of your erection. You let out a shaky breath, imagining him behind you, whispering filthy things in your ear as he strokes you. As you begin to get impatient you begin stroking yourself, increasingly going faster, mind running wild with different scenarios. All including Father Miguel. As your orgasm approaches you find yourself breathing heavily, leaning against the wall for support as your orgasm begins washing over you. You have to bite your lip to stay as quiet as possible. You let out a soft shaky moan as you cum, shooting your seed onto the wall.

As you calm down from your high, your legs begin to shake. You slump down onto the bathroom floor, the water trickling down your body and the wall, washing away the mess on both the wall and you. You begin cursing yourself for thinking about such ungodly things being done onto you by a holy man.“y/n?! Hurry up, I need you to vacuum!” Your mother yells at you from the kitchen downstairs. You quickly wash up, scrubbing yourself clean of my impurities along with the mess you made on the wall. You get dressed, pulling on some gray sweatpants and a fitted wife beater to show off your body while not acting like a total slut. You put your socks on before walking downstairs to help your mother prepare for the guests. 

You put your headphones on as you clean, listening to the song “Ick” when your part comes on you sing it when you look up to see Father Miguel standing here, face flushed. Your face grows hot when you realize he heard you singing the song. “I-I’m so sorry Father” You stammer out and he chuckles. “Please. Call me Miguel” You look down and he places his pointer finger under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. His words shot a chill down your spine, his voice sounded different. ”Ahh, but wouldn’t that be wrong…of me?” You ask nervously, almost melting at a simple touch of his finger.

“I don’t mind,” He says, voice sounding way different than it normally does during Sunday mass. “y/n?! Have you finished vacuuming?” Your mother asks. You swallow. “Y-yes Ma’am!”  “Come make Father a plate of food!” You remove your headphones, putting them away before leading Father Miguel to the kitchen. You ask him if he’s hungry and he shakes his head. “Maybe a little later” You nod, putting the plate away and telling your mother that you're going out for a drive. She nods, shooing you away as she talks to one of her friends from the church. You put your shoes on before Miguel stops you. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Your face grows hot and you shrug.”Great” He says, slipping his shoes back on, following you. You get into the driver's side of the car, waiting for Miguel to get in and he does. The two of you drive around and you find yourself stealing glances at the priest. Your mind then wanders to earlier that evening in the shower and you blush before pulling over. “Father? I have a confession to make” Miguel looks at you surprised. “You do realize that-” You cut him off. “Please. Just…” Miguel quiets down and you take that as an opportunity to speak, looking straight ahead and you do the same. “I’ve… I’ve been having lustful thoughts…About someone of the same sex. And the thoughts are recurring. What do I do to make them stop?”

“Come see me tomorrow at the church and we can go from there. Alright?” You nod and your phone rings, you answer and your mother tells you to return so you can eat and you quickly turn around, driving back home. 

The next day you find yourself walking into the church where Miguel is seemingly waiting for you. “Come with me to my office so we can further discuss how to help” You trail behind him, heart pounding in your chest. He opens the door, stepping into the side to allow you to enter. He quickly follows behind you before saying “Now who exactly are these thoughts about?” Your face grows hot and you look down at your hands, fidgeting. Migeul notices and places his hand on your chin, pulling your head up. “Don’t be shy. You can tell me” You let out a shaky breath. “Y-you” Miguel tilted his head to the side. 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you” Your face grows hotter than before “Y-you!” Miguel clears his throat, hand dropping to his side. “W-what exactly have you been thinking about?” Your head drops low again and he snaps, bringing your head back up. “U-um. You pleasing me and vice versa” “Sit on the desk” You obediently sit on the desk and he sits next to you. “How do you want to go about this?” You swallow. “I want nothing more than to fulfill this fantasy but-” “Then come on” You furrow your eyebrows together. “W-what are you-” “Come on. Undress” You swallow. “B-but-” Miguel removes his Roman collar.

“Hurry” He does a little prayer “Forgive me Father” He says as he does the holy trinity. He opens his eyes and he sees you are fully dressed. “Do you not want to fulfill these fantasies of yours?” You stay quiet and he swallows. “If you do not want to, I will not force you to. But it is wrong of me to admit that I’ve been having the same thoughts about you” Your eyes grow wide. “But what will the church think about-” Miguel pulls you in for a kiss and he says “I’m not worried about the church right now. If you really don’t want to, I won’t make you. I want to make that clear right now” Your head drops low. “I want to feel your lips around my-” “I can’t do that with your pants still on. And it’s clear your cock wants to be pleased so hurry”

You quickly discard your pants along with your boxers, revealing your erection. “So you really do want this to happen?” You nod and he sits you back on the desk, spreading your legs and getting on his knees. Miguel lets his hand wrap around your cock, squeezing the base lightly. This causes a slight moan to slip from your lips. He smiles before sticking out his tongue, dragging his tongue from the top of his hand, all the way up your shaft and taking the head into his mouth. He tastes your pre-cum which causes a small groan from him. “Fuck you taste so good. I almost forgot what this tastes like” Your hips buck up and he smiles.

“So eager to be pleased” Miguel then completely takes you into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. You straighten your posture, sucking in a deep breath before a shaky exhale. “F-fuck thank you Father” Miguel smiles before saying “You’re welcome my child” His head continues bobbing up and down, lustful nosies bouncing off the supposed holy walls of room, spit slipping from Father’s mouth as he picks up his pace, watching your face contort in pleasure. Your hand makes its way to Miguel’s head, pulling his brown and gray streaks of hair, helping him please you. You’ve never felt this good before.

You’ve masturbated in the past but this was nothing compared to that. You groan softly, head falling back as your legs shake. “F-father!~ I’m gonna c-cum” This makes Miguel quicken his pace, looking up at you. You buck your hips up, holding his head as close to your crotch as possible, making him gag. You have to bite your bottom lip in order to keep quiet as you shoot your load down his throat. You whimper softly as you ride your orgasm out. Father Miguel pulls himself off of your cock, immediately pulling you into a kiss. “God you taste so good” With heavy breath you say “F-father I want you to fuck me” 

He swallows before saying “Are you sure? W-we don’t have to just me doing-” You pull him in for a second kiss before saying “I want you to fuck me. Please Father?” Miguel begins undoing his pants when you stop him, doing it for him which makes him even more turned on.  “Over the desk. Now” You scramble up, bending yourself over his desk, slightly wiggling your ass. Father raises his hand, a harsh smack to your ass causing your back to arch. “You should be ashamed. Having such sinful thoughts about a disciple of Christ” He says, another smack to your bottom. You groan as the pain makes your cock twitch.

Miguel notices this and chuckles before pulling your head up and spitting in your mouth, watching some of the spit miss your mouth and roll down your cheek and neck. “Fuck y/n” Miguel says, his tip poking at your ass. He spits in his hands, stroking himself before deciding that ultimately that wasn’t enough lube. He grabs some ‘holy oil’ from his drawer and pours some on your hole before adding some to his hand and stroking himself again. “May God have mercy on you” “F-father I have another confession” Miguel pauses. “Yes, my child?” You swallow. “I-I’m a virgin” He tilts his head to the side.

This causes him to break character. “Y-you want me to be your first?” You nod and he blushes before saying “I’ll start off gentle. No promises it’ll stay that way but if it becomes too much please promise me that you’ll tell me” You smile. “I promise” He smiles. “Okay” He slowly slips the first half of his cock inside of you and you whimper. “I know, baby. Just a little more and I’ll be finished with entering you” Tears slip from your eyes. This man, stretching your tight virgin hole and he’s not even full inside of you. He decided to just fully bottom out inside of you and you yell out, causing him to cover your mouth as the church’s weekly prayer session has begun and people are praying.

Your tears soak his hand and this worries him. “Do you want me to stop?” You shake your head before taking two of his fingers in your mouth. He smirks as he softly begins snapping his hips back and forth trying to be gentle with you but you push back against him. “Fuck your so tight Mi amor” Miguel growls, the spanish nickname running shivers dow your spine. Miguel pauses, before pulling out of you. You whine before saying “Father?” Miguel picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist. He presses your back against the shared wall of his office and the pulpit where some of the church community are, praying while their priest fucks another member into the wall.

Miguel slowly slides himself into you, watching your eyes widen. You open your mouth to let out a moan and he pulls you in for a kiss, to silence your sounds. Miguel breaks the kiss momentarily before saying “You have to stay quiet right now. I love your sinful sounds so much but you need to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” You nod and say “Y-yeah. I can do that for you Father” Miguel smirks before fully pushing himself inside of you. “Good boy” His hot breath against your neck sends a shiver down your spine while his cock sends a wave of pleasure through your body. Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to keep yourself from making too much noise as he fucks into you. 

Miguel groans against your neck as he feels you tightening around him. “You keep clenching around me like that and I’ll cum” “I want it inside. I want you to cum inside of me” You say, breathless as yuo feel another orgasm building up. But it feels different than any orgasm. Miguel groans,picking up his pace, fucking into you so relentlessly that the decently sized cross that hung on the wall began knocking against the wall. Your eyes water and you whisper “F-father ‘m gonna cum again” You say, as the tip of his cock began hitting your sweet spot and making you see stars. “I’m not gonna fill you up unitl you cum for me again. Do you understand?”

You nod your head, not being able to form a comprehensible sentence but wanting to cum again. You whimper, rocking your hips and trying to get Miguel to move faster. “Cum for me y/n” Miguel says and the coil in your stomacth began to loosen, Migel pulls you in for a kiss and you oudly moan into the kiss, hoping the walls were thick enough as to muffle the moans a bit more than Miguel’s lips had. Miguel groans, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills your hole to the brim with his cum. The two of you lean against the wall, Breathing hard and fast. Miguel begins to pull out of you, carefully as to keep the mess to a minimum.

“Here. Get dressed and I’ll bring you my house to rest as soon as the prayer session is over.” You nod, pulling your clothes back on and Father Miguel sits you in his chair, pulling his sweater the hung on  coat rack over you. “Get some rest my Dear” He says and that was the last thing you heard as you drifted off to sleep”

Word count: 2,715

Start date: September 19, 2023 10:45 AM

End date: July 9, 2024 8:44 AM

[madrone33]

Right so... been going crazy trying to catch up on the explosion of stuff peeps have been doing since the EPIC: The Musical Ocean Saga release, but. Got some downtime now, and I just wanted to post my reaction to listening to the songs, 'cause it was wild bro.

Fyi, this is all taking place at around 11:30 pm 24th Dec for me, as I'm an australian, so that would make it... uh, 8:30 am 24th Dec for americans I think? Idk, timezones are weird bro. Basically, I listened to the songs and then wrote down my immediate reactions at like 1 am lol.

*ahem*

OK HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK. OK OK. They came out for australians. They CAME OUT FOR AUSTRALIA!!!!

I was on dicord, right? And then another australian says they're out, and i'm like wait what but there's still like 16 hours till midnight in est, but i look up 'luck runs out jorgre rivera-herrans' on yt (cause it's a unique name) and scroll down and FUCK IT'S THERE!! THE STANDARD AUTO TOPIC VERSION!! IT'S NOT EVEN MIDNIGHT HERE YET?? (23:24 at the time of discovery. The vid says it was uploaded 3 hrs ago already)

The piano. I heard the first notes of piano and ohhhhh shiiiit it's actually happening!!!

i opened the door and called out to mum 'cause i was still in disbelief and she was still awake and i was like "mum... i think it's out" or SOMETHIG LIKE THAT IDK THE EXACT WORDS. She said jokingly she'd thought i had an existential crisis and GIRL IT KINDA FELT LIKE IT?? I WAS NOT PREPARED! I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE ANOTHER 16 HOURS!

I tapped on the link thingy to the album in the description and then i had the album RIGHT THERE HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS. IT'S STORM. IN THE FLESH. THERE'S A FUCKING TRUMPET-

I did my civic duty and informed (read: screamed in all caps) to everyone in the discord while mum listened to the first song 'cause she said she was interested and asked and i was so excited and gave her my headphones to listen to storm and then I took em back once I was done and now it's time to go dark. I said goodnight to mum and... pressed play.

Here's the highlights:

Storm: mixing is on another level bro. The vocals, the harmonies, the chorus, and hearing all those snippets without breaks in between, actually flowing and making sense and that ending beat is AHHH-

It went so fast. It's three min long how did it go by so fast what-

Luck Runs Out: the piano is godly. They actually changed the melody of the 'you could be caught off guard' part. My first thought after ooo? Was 'damn it no longer sounds like shut up and dance w/ me' lol.

I think this one changed the most from the snippets. Jsut the way they say lines, and stray words. I love it. The harmonies-

KYFC: the intro is that one atmospheric snippet he did with the flutes!! Aeolus sounds so sassy compared to the old snippets oof hell yes! There's a small instrumental interlude between the first chorus and the crew asking about the bag which is new.

THE PENELOPE PART. OH. MY. GOD. I LEGIT TEARED UP, I WAS CRYING, I'M CRYING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT AND TYPING THIS OUT IT WAS SO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING.

Trying to hold them in his arms? Time to be that father he always wanted to be?? His eyes and heart and soul is heavy??? I'm FUCKING CRYING-

Also wow he really just stayed up for 9 days huh? Respect. Also, fuck those crewmates man. Bet they felt real stupid when it got them killed. Oh, wait, fuck it didn't Poseidon killed everyone but them oh hell nah- And Odysseus still goes to save them from Circe?? Bro. BRO. Just let them die. It ain't worth it.

And that's how Jorge introduces the land of the giants? Cool! I was wondering about that.

Poesiedon pull up! (Is it bad that i thought he sounded like ares in the pj musical there lmao-)

RUTHLESSNESS: it's here. Oh my lord it's here. Everyone stay calm. Fuck it IT'S FUCKING HERE!!

The chanting, Ody's terrified 'Poseidon...', the electric guitar on Poseidon's verse, the fucking growl in his voice is amazing, the 'Die.' is as;ihfd HELL FUCKING YES!!

I love that the 'Captain-!'s of the drowning men is more apparent here, and the silence afterwards... ooof you can hear Ody's horrified stuttered breaths and the way the lyric's changed to '43 left under your command' is soooo fucking good.

And then Ody's sudden defiance and the fucking burning in his eyes as he defies a god and escapes death- Yes. YES! It's so good-

... No wait it's over?? That's it??? WHYYYYY-

(Side note - the fact that there weren't any ads between vids is incredible and I thank the gods for this blessing.)

Ok, but all seriousness, that was incredible. I- I couldn't stop smiling. My face actually started hurting I was smiling so much. I was shaking the whole time, and I had to keep reminding myself to breathe, and- It was amazing. This was an amazing experience, and I'm so glad I could freak out to mum, and she was excited with me, and it was such a good surprise, like an actual chrismas gift from Jorge or some shit. I love it. I love this. Genuinely. It's an amazing thing he's given us and I thank him, sincerely. Thank you, Jorge, and everyone involved in creating this for people to enjoy and love. You should all be proud.

Thanks for reading me freak out, whoever made it to the end lmao. Tagging @dootznbootz because their rambles gave me the confidence to throw my own into the void. Thx :D

[internetmisfitsworld]

I know Call of Duty Mobile comics are not canon (at least to my knowledge), but it's nice to see some crumbs of Makarov contents. Most importantly, there's a hint of "Makarov being a girl dad" moments in the comic that had me screaming.

We get to see more of his personality, though some of it were a bit OOC to me. But most of the time, they got him right. More russian quips and all, something we don't see much back in MW2 and MW3.

His sassy bitchy side. We got glimpse of that back in MW2 and MW3 but in the comics? Deadass he's such a sassy little shit, that at some point I couldn't even be mad at him 😂 .

We also get to see him sort of, kind of, but not really, have this odd sometimes wholesome, mostly questionable, father-daughter vibe with Sophia Couteau. This bit was probably that caught me off guard the most, mostly because we know him as this cold heartless bastard that he is. It was mentioned that he took her in as his protege after her father died. She became part of his crew along with another character Wraith. Funny enough, Sophia even slightly defend Makarov against Dame (her mother) here.

"I know how much you long for big strong parental figure to make things right for you"

"Big Daddy Vladimir" (The way I cackled when I read this line agagahhaha we get it Dame ✋️✋️✋️Makarov is big and strong lmaooo she so real for that)

"As much my mother as Makarov is" (Confirmed. Makarov is mother 💅🏻)

Anyway, back on the topic.

Interestingly, Sophia's father, Edouard "Templar", once tried to kill Makarov. Sooo, you can see why I label Sophia and Makarov father daughter vibe as "questionable", since well... it's Makarov we're talking here. Trusting Makarov is a deathwish.

So, what was Makarov's intention of taking Sophia, whose father tried to kill him, under his care?

Personally, I believe there's a thin line between genuine care and using her for his own cause. I do believe he initially took her in to use her for his personal agenda. But overtime, he grew to care for her a little bit. Maybe he sees himself in her, reminding him back in his days when Zakhaev took him in (different circumstances but still there's similarities). But of course, I don't believe his growing care for her diminished any thought of using her as a pawn for him to use. But damn it he did had me thinking that he genuinely, truly cared for her.

Another thought I had is that, he might took her in because he sees it as some kind of twisted way to get back at Edouard? Maybe he thought; "You tried to kill me? Imma steal yo kid and be a better dad than you then lmfaoo *runs away with adoption paper in his hand*"

But not really though. Considering at the time, Edouard was considered dead (turns out to be alive sometimes later though agaaag this comic really kills me because anyone can never be truly dead). So, him doing this in the name of "getting revenge" on Edouard, is pointless. Unless of course, he's always known Edouard is alive the whole time.

Yeah all in all, it was really a treat to see Makarov being nice and affectionate with someone. A treat and kinda astounding sight too. Especially since we know what he's like in the game agagaa. Like yeah we know who he is and what he is, we know if push comes to shove, he will probably betray Sophia in a heartbeat. But still, it's heartwarming to see their interaction.

Makarov Parenting 101: Gives manipulation tactics advice

Makarov Parenting 101: Be the first to cover your kid's back. Also, keep your kid's close.

Makarov Parenting 101: Teach your kid your language

(FYI Sophia is French. And yeah I know that it doesn't really mean anything considering that a) it's a pretty simple and common phrase so maybe she doesn't really know russian and only knows a couple of phrase or b) maybe she learned the language herself. But still, it's fun to consider that maybe she pick it up from Makarov. Bet she learned a few curse words as well 🤣 Mak disapproves at first but overtime he finds it amusing and snickers whenever she said it)

Makarov Parenting 101: Gives reassurance to your kid (even if you have to lie)

Yeah I'm on the fence on this one, because as much as I want to believe it, part of me have a feeling that he had that family killed. Also,

"I'm not a monster" The audacity of his ass to say this line lol 💀

Bonus:

It's a funny sight to see him helping someone up. Because we know what happened the last time he did that (rip allen you should've never take that hand). Also, he didn't have to help her up. She's more than capable to do that. Not just Wraith but Sophia too. But here he is giving his hand to them. Notice that Sophia was ahead of them, so I'm gonna assume Mak went up first then wait out to help Sophia up the roof then help Wraith. "He really said "I might be a mass murdering psychopathic terrorist but at least I'm a gentleman 👍"

Also another Makarov Parenting 101: Always help your kid up first in high altitude situation.

So yeah. In the comic, they seem to tone him down a little. Shows his light and sometimes dark, humorous side (a nice change though I'm not complaining). A little flirty too ("never darling" "Freya my dear").

"Never, darling" (SWOON GAGAHAHAGA)

[lunarsun12]

Youngest Card

Masterlist

Chan has his day off, he was in cafe with Shownu. To catch up with him, as chan was worried about Shownu situation with his kids, as one of them is still missing. Those two were enjoying some time together, until Chan phone buzzed and saw an email saying his 9yr old to pick up his coupon.

Chan has to keep it cool, in front of Shownu. As he is freaking out, as Lee Know adopted another child without his permission. Chan has to come up with an excuse, to leave the cafe. To deal with the problem

However karma has got to Chan, leaving him being very embarrassed…

Back At Stray Kids Chat

Today 14:00

Bangchan🐺: LEE KNOW! DID YOU ADOPT ANOTHER CHILD!? Please say no

Lee Know🐱: No I didn’t! It was not me who wanted children in the first place. You have a higher chance!

Bangchan🐺: I said four is enough…then you suddenly bought two kids without my permission! It got to be you

Lee Know🐱: Look! If you in my shoes you will adopt Lix and Innie! Don’t act like Lix is not your favourite

Bangchan🐺: Not again…we moved on from the favourite thing

Bangchan🐺: G E T RID OF THE KID! Before I burn your cats cat tower for real this time

Lee Know🐱: HOW DARE YOU! I said I am innocent! How many times do I need to get it through your thick skull!!

Seungmin🐶: Or due to poor eyesight as he is old 😂

Changbin🙄: What got Appa mad this time? He really needs to chill…

I.N🦊: I wonder who broke Appa…

Han🐿️: HEY! It was not my fault! I was running away from the butt slapper! My butt got v i o l a t e d

Han🐿️: Lix that wasn’t cool, when you left me to fend for myself!!

Felix☀️: You left me with Binnie and his friend….you know the one who is now my Appa! This is payback

Changbin🙄: You and the butt slapper are besties now! Lix did you a favour

Seungmin🐶: Not for Appa…he broke down after Han made a huge scene. Completely embarrassing him!

Seungmin🐶: FYI, Han was slapping people butts around. As he forgot what the person who slapped him looks like

Hyunjin🕺: IS EOMMA AND APPA DIVORCING! OMG CONGRATS!!

Lee Know🐱: Trust me hyunjin…if I could divorce you Appa I could…

Bangchan🐺: STOP CHANGING TOPIC!! Your Eomma decided to adopt a 9 year old kid he/she IDK! THIS IS STRESSFUL

Bangchan🐺: I got an email saying, I need claim a free snack coupon for my 9year old!!

Bangchan🐺: Last time I checked! I have no 9yr old!

Seungmin🐶: Oh that’s for me! Appa could you claim it for me!

Bangchan🐺: What!? Seungmin you are definitely not 9yr old!! Why did you lie!

Seungmin🐶: Someone was being stingy with the money, when me and Han went to the movie. I saw under 12 got in for free…so I said I am 9 and they believed me

Bangchan🐺: I gave you two the movie money…seungmin what did you do with your money

Seungmin🐶: I’m saving my money for college. As I am the only person who will ever get in

Bangchan🐺: Seungmin! You not supposed to lie! What have I taught you!

Seungmin🐶: You taught me that, when you lied you were five…to sneak in line for the Big bang concert

Bangchan🐺: I did no such thing!

Hyunjin🕺: So seungmin is 9? I did not know that! He is tall for his age!

I.N🦊: Are you dumb!? Seungmin of course is not 9!! He is using Appa trick apparently…

Hyunjin🕺: Oh y’all making fuss because…Appa always uses he is five card to get in line to any concerts! I had to pretend to be his parent!

Lee Know🐱: This is hilarious! Finally chan does something wrong! I gotta screen shoot all of it for memories!

Bangchan🐺: Why you kids have good memories now!? And suddenly have bad memories when I asked who broke my lightstick!

Felix☀️: That not the worst part…he used me-

Bangchan🐺: That enough Felix! I can’t let them know I made Felix to pretend to be a baby…to get a father discount

Lee know🐱: Chan you supposed to sorry when you done something bad. Just so no kid to pick your bad habits…

Bangchan🐺: Don’t do a me card! I’m the one who makes people apologised not the other way round!

Bangchan🐺: I’m sorry for accusing you of adopting another kid…happy!?

Lee Know🐱: I will be happy…if you let me buy that litter box :))

[therese-lokidottir]

Reaction to Watching The Incredible Hulk Returns

Just FYI the the Hulk 70s series changed Bruce's name is "David Banner" for reason so I will be referring to the character as such

Bill Bixby is crazy likable as Banner.

David Banner is really bad at aliases in this Movie. He uses the last name "Bannion" and doesn't even bother coming up with a fake first name. He's been on the run and everyone thinks he's dead. He's been doing this for ten years and apparently just forget how to go under cover.

What is up with this science research facility, that David Banner has been working for. Apparently they have done no background checks.

Donald Blake is in this movie and while I will say I think it is kind of an interesting idea to have him be a former student of I don't understand the thought process behind completely changing the premise of him transforming into Thor to him summoning.

Donald Blake somehow tracked down Banner, a man presumed dead for like a decade now because he wanted to ask Banner for help because he can summon a Norse God. David is an M.D. Ph.D I don't know how Donald thought Banner was going to help him with this.

The moment Thor is summoned he immediately starts breaking things, I guess because he thinks they are drinks inside of them. Its weird.

Ten seconds after being around Thor Banner becomes the Hulk. Apparently he managed to keep control for Two years until Thor started smashing up the research lap Banner was in maker Donald Blake responsible for everything that goes wrong in this movie and leading Banner to have to destroy all his work he was using to help find a permit cure for himself.

Donald blames himself for what happened. Banner also blames him to Donald's shock.

Bill Bixby is incredibly likable as David Banner

Donald Blake just comes in to help clean up the mess and apparently scientific lap does not do background checks because even though it was earlier he hasn't been practicing medicine Donald is allowed to just walk around freely even if no one knows who he is.

Thor when not summoned apparently is in a dark limbo void dimension where he is aware but can't do anything except wait to be summoned. Odin banished Thor there because he was arrogant. Proving once again no matter what the version Odin is the worst father

There's no reason Thor can't always be on earth which unintentional makes Donald kind of the worst.

You know what this is a likable enough Thor. He's an idiot but he's still better than post-Ragnarok Thor.

There a montage at a bar that goes on to long.

This line...?

On second thought maybe there is a good reason not to have Thor out all the time

Every single fight is in slow motion and it's hilarious

During the climax Donald almost doesn't want to bring Thor out because he afraid of the damage he might do and then it's Donald who ends up just shooting someone

I understand why David Banner feels he has to leave again, but really there's no reason not to give a proper good bye to his live in girlfriend. You don't always have to be so dramatic, David!

That Lonely man piano theme is honestly amazing.

It's really corny and dumb, but if I'm being honest I really recommend it. Especially if you want to engage in something Marvel but are sick of the MCU's nonsense. It's fun bad bad instead of aggravating bad.

[iwantjobs]

5/30/2024: If Trump chooses Nikki Haley as the running mate, I am not going to vote for Trump. I will not vote for anyone in 2024 because no American politicians, especially a female with children, should draw art saying "America loves Israel" and "Get them" on bombs which are used to kill Gazan children as 30% of the population while trying to kill off Hamas terrorists in land Jesus was born. I don't think Jesus would approve. Have a bit of modesty in war if you praise yourselves higher than terrorists--if you don't then your mentality is the same as terrorists making you as democracy terrorists while using Jesus' name when Jesus already suffered so much being nailed naked. That is a true moderate thinking. Trang at 50.16 years old. Some commentator on the Internet said it's art that Nikki Haley scribbled those words on American bombs finances by my hard-earned less violent and even non-violent money. My answer is, *Indeed it was art. Nikki Haley drew Satan's art on American bombs by writing words of "America loves Israel and "Get them" which will be used to bomb Gazan babies. Not on my American money.". Trang's thinking at 50.16 years old. In fact, if Trump gets too loud about sending bombs to Israel like Mike Johnson and his people, I won't vote for Trump either. I won't vote in 2024 because don't want to have a genocide as part of my bad karma. OK I made my decision. I am so mad at the Godly people of this country for bombing babies in Gaza while they're trying to to save babies in the women's wombs, I am not voting for anyone in 2024. Done. Many thanks to today's homemade physical therapy of neck stretching which reduced my neck and head pain to come to this no vote for anyone who support bombing Gazan babies in this 2024 Presidential election. I am not going to side with Santa and bomb babies to kill off Hamas terrorists in land where Jesus was born especially if the land belongs to dark skinned people like the Hamas terrorists and the Palestinians because Gaza is right next to the mouth of black Africa; and especially the Hamas terrorists are no America 's direct enemies for they are Israeli 's direct enemies because Israel stole their land in which their ancestors and them have been living and building for the last 400 years which is similarly to the same amount of time the ancestors of the Americans came to America. Be careful Americans, karma will whip your ass by sending bombs to Israel in the future after we die to have a force higher than you and take back the land that you and your white ancestors have been occupying and stole from the native Americans for your time line in America is the same time line as the Palestinians living in that region. OK I am out of here to work on relinquishing my genocide, gay, and Spanish as 2nd language American eternally and go back where I belong if it's not too gay, Vietnam, or else Cambodia or Laos; and if Asia is too gay for its getting gayish in China too, I'll put black bed sheet over me and go to Iran. Take care folks, and remember stealing and violence are only bandage solutions if you truly believe in God (Jesus' father) for God is supposed to be love and peace. On the other hand, Satan loves stealing and violence.

fYI Godly American suckers, it will be my old Trump's compensation lawsuit which I lost in the U.S. Supreme Court that will get Trump's fat ass out of prison or perhaps pay his fat ass handsomely once his general attorney uses my lawsuit as reference to sue the people who launched the new vote by mail system for product defect for that voting system allowed 3 votes for some lucky people and votes for dead people and violated the Constitution where it says only one vote per person in a democracy.

[a-star-aquarium]

The Apolloverse

Welcome to my blog! Here you'll find all my OCs for fandom and not fandom-related content. To start out, I'm going to a couple things clear about myself:

Currently this is the only blog I am using---While you may see my original account that has now been based around Last Legacy, and another side account I have, I am only cohesively using this one.

You can refer to me as Apollo (though this name is just a place holder for this account because I am no longer comfortable with being called Ayla) and I use they/them. Also I know when I first starting posting my account was called "themajorarcanalesbian" but I would no longer refer to myself as a lesbian, just queer for now.

While there may be some mature content on this blog, it won't be a lot because I feel my writing and drawing skills cannot adequately portray that sort of stuff without sounding, well, cringe. That being said, be aware that I will likely reblog mature content from my mutuals as they freely post that content, and I will always want to share it.

Last but not least, the only character I have that is associated with The Arcana universe is Astarium, who only remains in that fandom because the storyline set up for the game adds to their character in a way I feel I might not be able to at the moment (cough cough, writers block) The rest of my characters remain in what you will see tagged as #theapolloverse as their universe doesn't have a set name!

And now, to get to my many characters (fyi, I will edit this post when I do, but some of their intro posts are outdated and need refreshing!)

Also, every character will also be filed under #Apolloverse

Astarium The Magician | They/Them - Queer | Asta, remaining in the arcana verse, takes the storyline of the apprentice, only a few things differentiating. They grow up in Prakra and run away after their father passes because they fear their mother will abandon them. At first, they are put on stage to be ogled at, from age 12 to 15, before they eventually make their way to Vesuvia. They meet Asra, stay with him for a long while, and when the plague hits, they fear death when it becomes clear that their healing magic, just like with their father, cannot heal the people of Vesuvia. Asra assumes their dead for many months, but Asta only dies the day before Asra revives them, so they remain with their memories of the plague, and seeing Asra with Julian. This is important because it has an effect on each storyline no matter what love interest you choose, because Astarium never actually wanted to be brought back to life! Asta's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #astariumthemagician or #astathemagician

Their bio: Astarium The Magician

Juno, The Mad King | He/Him - Bisexual | Juno Ara Malik, a bastard child who, yes, is his father's son, but his mother was not of royal decent. Juno's father is not completely to blame for this, as his wife, The Queen, passed away of an illness, and he had to resort to sleeping with a servant to produce an heir, otherwise his line would've been endangered. Juno will not take after his father though, his cousin Amaria will; ergo why Juno's father had him take over a small Provence at the age of 14. He felt bad that his son would not be able to take after his footsteps. Juno was raised by his teachers, servants, and guards when he was sailed across the sea to Roya. His grandmother took no interest in him besides hating him, she would regular burn his hands and back, and he remains to have a scar on his face from her dagger. In fact, her treatment only resulted in Juno growing to be spiteful and cruel in some ways, and at the age of 17, he decapitated her in a purple blaze. Her very own sword being used to do the beheading. Juno's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Juno Ara Malik

His bio: Juno Ara Malik

Jayda, The Golden Handed Servant | He/Him - Omnisexual | Jayda grew up similarly to Asra in a way, living off the streets with nobody to raise him, only learning from the books he stole and the lessons he was taught by strangers. Sure, the people of his city got to know him, and he even got many of them to give him free stuff, but nobody offered him a home. He remained on the streets until the age of 16, when he met Zahra, who had ran away from a forced marriage. At the age of 30, Jayda seeks out the Magician (not specifically the one in the Arcana) , who offers him one wish. Jayda wishes to be more virtuous, to be a man of the people, and the magician grants him that. Of course, working with a major arcana can have its drawbacks, so Jayda is changed into an almost completely different man. The once confident man had gained the gift of awareness, which has made him hypersensitive to every single thing he does, including his actions and physical state. The gift also helps him be more on top of his work at the palace, so it's not the worst. His third eye is for sight, to be seeing clearly and all knowing, so that he can help those around him. And his 6 limbs, which are for strength, with so many arms, surely he could help out all of Roya at once? {he can but it's utterly exhausting}. His hair turning from the beautiful chestnut to the interesting orange was a reminder from the magician to Jayda, a piece of him, so that he will never forget the gifts he was given. Not that Jayda ever could, as he's lived this way for the past 12 years. Jayda's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Jayda Ronan Chidal and #Jayda The Golden Handed Servant

His Bio: Jayda Ronan Chidal

Zahra | She/Her - Lesbian | Zahra, originally coming from a rich background, was arranged to marry at the age of 15 by her mother. Her mother had sold her into a marriage with a much older man after learning Zahra was a trans woman, and she told her if she wanted to be one, that she could face the same struggles a woman would. After about a year of this, she runs away and meets Jayda. It's important to note that Zahra wasn't as open with Jayda as she is now, but her mother had attempted to force her to de-transition, when she could not make her, she was sold off like cattle, and when the man no longer wanted her, her cold dead stare every night haunting him, her mother DID force her to de-transition, and they gaslit her back into the closet, so ergo why she left, and why Jayda met her pre-transition. Now she rules as Juno's head advisor with his council and remains by Jayda's side. Currently, most of the info, including Zahra's intro post, is incorrect, so I will not link it. But her tag remains to be #Zahra Masarn Ártar

Atlas | Any/All Pronouns - Pansexual | A young mercenary working under Ruthie Sloane (oh I promise, we'll get to her) Atlas, the nephew/niece of Zahra, grew up with their mother in a small village. His father had banned any sort of magic when Atlas was young, causing quite the struggle when her mother had to use it to heal Atlas from a cold that had almost killed them. The people of the town decided to hunt her down, and unlike his mother, Atlas had lifted herself up into the air with their own magic when jumping from a cliff. That day, the day he lost his mother to the rocks below that cliff, was his birthday. Atlas ended up running to falling less of a feet into the ocean, trying to find her mother in the depths of the ocean, eventually washing back up onto the beach where they were found by Ruth. Now, they remain her side no matter what. Same as with Zahra, Atlas' intro post and most of the posts ive made surrounding them is not correct, so I will not be linking it here. Though if you'd like to look for it, her tag is #Atlas Bentlee Àrtar

Ruthie, The Midnight Mercenary | She/Her - Pansexual | Born Oxana Valentina Sloane, Ruth took the name of one of her oldest friends when they were slaughtered by the man she once used to work for. While not much is known about her, she is known for being one of the biggest threats to most pirates, and with Atlas along with her, she appears a lot more scary than she actually is. Despite being 6'4 mercenary, Ruth is actually quite kind, she's taken quite a few people in over the years, and she's never one to hesitate when it comes to feeding, or housing those in need. She is the eldest of the Sloane Siblings, and she actually left her family at quite a young age. Now, she just rides around with Atlas, always cleaning up their dirty work. She also needs an updated bio, but the rest of her info remains under the tags #Ruthie Sloane, #Oxana Valentina Sloane, and #The Sloane Siblings

Pier | He/Him - Omnisexual | The younger brother of Oxana, who was abandoned by her from a young age---right when he was learning his abilities--- resulting in him losing control and running away when he was 10. For the most part, he can't see, or, well, its not that he can’t see, he refuses to open his eyes, because when he does, he can't see people, he just sees their aura, and their thoughts, and its like a surround sound to his head. This developed at the age of 9 and he runs away at 10 to get away from his mothers, not to scare them, but because he was afraid of hurting them by letting them know what he was going through. Where he’s constantly on the move, one of his favorite friends is Asta, they met on a pirate ship back in Prakra and they're very nice to one another. On the note of Pirates, he does get kidnapped by a certain crew due to his relation to rue. But that I'll leave off there. Pier's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Pier Sloane and #The Sloane Siblings

Mathéo | He/They - Bisexual | As the youngest of the Sloane siblings, not much is known about Mathéo. While he remains to live with his mothers, he still lives a rather independent life. They take charge in doing all the task their siblings left behind, and they try to make life happier for their mothers. But, he longs so be selfish, and adventurous, and he feels lonely without his siblings, creating an odd family dynamic when he meets up with them in the future. Mathéo's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Mathéo Sloane and #The Sloane Siblings

And always, a reminder that you can always ask about my ocs (or inquire about shipping) in my inbox, and anon will always stay on!

Now make yourself cozy, and feel free to look at the rest of my blog <3

[onedivinemisfit]

AnS Witcher!AU - the main trio (yes it took a while ahaha, the sketches were so randomly decided)

Shirayuki - young bruxa, technically clan Gharasham but coven-less, pretends to be a human herbalist, v sus of humans

Obi Forenzo - Witcher of the School of the Cat (back alley mutations notwithstanding) the ‘management’ to Shirayuki’s ‘anger’

Ryuu - hereditary werewolf child, adopted by Shirayuki after his leshen guardian died, consider him semi-civilized

AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata

Art: Me

[lmtyl]

some thoughts on Venom: Let There Be Carnage

Eddie Brock is not a good person. He wants to be!

But he's not.

Advisory for spoilers and heavy topics under the cut!

(and some Troubled Birds illustrations to break up the wall 'o' text)

Eddie's backstory, as mentioned by Kasady, is more in line with comics!Eddie than the first movie would lead us to think. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father blamed him and abused him. Eddie's need for praise and proving his worth is the motivation behind his social justice work as seen in the montage from The Brock Report. He needs to be seen as a good person, to justify his existence.

When he first sees Anne with Dan, and gets told off? Eddie goes to the Golden Gate Bridge, one of the most popular suicide spots in the world, and stares at the returned engagement ring. Then he decides to break into the Life Foundation, because what does he have to lose?

And when Eddie finds out Anne and Dan got engaged, after months of Anne not returning his phone calls, he tells her that he still loves her and gets another "you had your chance and fucked it up" talk. Eddie drives off on his shiny red crotch rocket motorcycle and plays chicken with oncoming cars until Venom takes over and talks him down.

(After Anne divorced him in the comics, Eddie goes to a church to pray for a reason not to kill himself, which is where he meets his symbiote. Venom stopping the man's suicidal tendencies is a multiversal constant it seems.)

The conflict between Eddie and Venom in LTBC is based on both of them feeling unappreciated, and both of them being selfish. Could tack on a whole 'nother essay on trauma bonding.

During one interview with Kasady, Venom stops them to look at the drawings on the walls of Kasady's cell. Venom is able to draw out exactly what they saw, getting increasingly frustrated that Eddie doesn't see the potential for clues. Venom then identifies the beach where Kasady had buried several victims, a huge break in the case.

And Eddie gets all the credit for it! Eddie's career is finally back on track after being un-blacklisted at the end of the first movie.

Meanwhile, it's a bit subtle but Eddie implies the police are getting rather concerned with the number of headless corpses showing up in San Fran, worried that he and his alien will get carted off to Area 51 if they get found out. (FYI: Area 51 is a US military site where aliens and spacecraft have allegedly been held and studied.)

Venom is trying to meet their nutritional needs with live chickens and copious amounts of chocolate, per Eddie's instructions. And listens to Eddie's demands to not eat that mugger. But Venom is hungry, and tired of pretending not to exist.

Eddie feels like Venom is constantly demanding violence, taking over his apartment, talking all the time and making it hard for Eddie to interact with other humans without seeming schizophrenic.

Venom feels like Eddie is using them. Venom wants to be good too, probably picked up a lot of Eddie's need to justify his existence, but it's in Venom's nature to be curious and bossy and hungry.

After they split, at first both are enjoying their freedom. Eddie cleans his apartment and gets a new TV and his head is quiet. Venom finds a rave and a group of people who accept their rather monstrous appearance (though the party-goers think it's a costume).

But they quickly realize how vulnerable they are. Eddie gets brought to the police office for questioning, where Detective Mulligan grills him about the bodies and explosion from the first movie. Venom can't keep an unwilling host alive for very long. And they both find out that Kasady has escaped from prison and appears to have a symbiote of his own.

Anne helps get the two back together since both of her idiots want to rush off to fight Carnage.

After the fight, they know the police (and worse) will be hunting for Venom and probably Eddie. Eddie, being a fundamentally irresponsible person, decides to go on the run with Venom. Venom tries very hard to not be surprised and emotional about it.

Eddie and Venom are both disasters, and while I really enjoyed the movie I do have a few things about their relationship dynamic I'd do differently.

[newmoonjuno]

Heads Up, Seven Up / Last Lines

So - been a long while since I tackled a lot of the tags that I've been tagged in. So to @lockejhaven, @space-cadead, @marigoldispeculiar, @writingpotato07 - uhh you guys are awesome, thanks for thinking to include me and I'm sorry it has taken me so long.

As far tagging goes, this is going to be a free for all. Because how much I am putting in here.

Heads Up Seven - last seven lines! Only I feel like this won't be but I am working on NaNoWriMo soooo this may not have seven.

--

“There’s something you need to know, dearest Salima.” Janvier’s smile became a little too wide for Sellie’s liking, her hand gripping just a little too tight to her cheek. Her nails dug into the surface of her skin. All of her hair, flowing and crimson nearly draped over Sellie as if ready to drown her.

Not like Sellie could run. She wanted to.

She didn’t have to say a word - Janvier already knew. 

“The eyes and ears can be fooled, but the spirit never lies.”

She released Sellie from that crimson, never releasing her gaze until she turned on her heel.

It took several hours to feel like she could properly breathe again.

--

And some last lines: there will be few here. I will put a read more here. These aren't one after the other as far being in a paragraph.

They are are not all connected, fyi.

Last Line #1:

Was this all legacy? All legacy ever was or would be?

Last Line #2

From his skin to his bones, it was like something had burst open.

Last Line #3

Another thing unspoken: without Ana, there was something her father lacked to make up for for her presence.

[downstarr]

The Accidental Seduction of Edward Teach by Stede Bonnet, Gentleman Pirate - Chapter 2

Ed wakes up, still a bit drunk from a night of revelry, and heads out for a piss. He runs into Lucius on the deck. Relationship advice ensues.

Chapter 2 - The Doctor is in

Ed drifted off to sleep for a few hours, but then his bladder woke him. Still drunk and a bit worked up, he flopped like a fish out of bed. He looked back to see if he disturbed his bedmate, but Stede was still fast asleep and snoring softly with surprisingly melodius and very nasal little honk-shuus.

He made his way out of the cabin and onto the deck. There was the slightest hint of cold air on the breeze, and the water was glassy still. The fingers of dawn reached across the ocean, hinting of sunrise that wasn’t far off.

Ed could see the shapes of the crewmembers asleep on the deck, but it seemed the party had well and truly ended some time ago. As the ship rocked gently, empty rum bottles chimed together.

Ed moved to a spot away from the sleeping crew, lined himself up along the railing and unzipped his pants to piss overboard.

“I wouldn’t touch that railing if I were you,” came a voice from the shadows.

Ed startled so badly that he nearly whipped his open pants around and peed all over the deck.

Lucius came into view. He looked sleepy but also drunk.  He bit his lip as he caught a glimpse of Ed's open pants, but didn't comment. “Roach missed peeing overboard right there earlier and made a little yellow stream all about the deck and on the railing. Almost like you just did, though I suppose you can’t make it any worse.” He giggled a little, then touched the very railing he told Ed not to. “Oh, god. Ew.” The edge of the sail got a wipe.

Ed shifted so his back was a bit to Lucius then continued the business of emptying what used to be rum into the ocean. “What are you still doing up? S’not like this is the only spot to piss overboard.”

“Oh, I can’t sleep while drunk. Gives me nightmares. So I have to stay up till it runs through my system.” Lucius hefted a water skin. “Pissed three times already. One more should do it. FYI, going to be useless tomorrow,” he flopped his wrist. “So mind yourself when you’re moving about in the morning, mmmkay?”

“Sure,” grunted Ed. The interaction with Stede had put him in a bad mood, and it was late enough that he could feel the fingers of a hangover starting to creep into his brain.

Lucius sighed heavily, then leaned against a mast. “All right. What is it? I’m just drunk enough to still play ship’s counselor.”

Ed didn’t say anything, just broodily looked out across the water. He felt a nudge at his arm. When he turned, Lucius was passing over the water skin.

“Come on, then. Let me guess. Our dear co-captain being a bit of a dick tease?” Lucius was pretty blunt, but he was usually not that blunt. He really was still a bit drunk.

“I don’t get it,” mumbled Ed after a swig from the water. “Not used to this. Usually if you fancy someone, you just…fucking…” he made a vague sweeping gesture. “And if he’s not into it, fine. On with your lives. But…”

“But with Stede, you can’t just roll up and go hey, I like you, fancy doing some butt stuff?”

“Exactly,” Ed snap pointed.

“Mhmm, yeah, you’d run the risk of him running all the way back home. I see the problem. Fancy lads are a whole other kettle of fish, aren’t they?” Lucius snatched the skin back.

“You know about fancy lads?”

Lucius rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Un…fortunately. I had this job in a shop when I was younger, handling the ledger and all. This son of a local nobleman kept coming round when he definitely didn’t need any flour or sugar, if you know what I mean. He was cute and we messed around a little, but when I tried to take it further, he fu-reeeaked out. Told his father I seduced him. I had to skip town because he and a posse threatened to cut my balls off.”

“Oi,” said Ed, his gaze darkening. He pointed at Lucius, “Tell me his name and one day we’ll go fuck him up.”

“Aww,” Lucius touched Ed’s arm. “Aren’t you sweet. I’d like that.”

“I don’t want Stede to threaten to cut my balls off,” said Ed, a bit wide-eyed at the thought. He reflexively protected said balls with his hand.

“Oh, don’t worry. That’s not the real danger here. But you have to remember, he’s not like us. He came out here, because he is…like us,” Lucius moved his hand to motion to both of them. “But he didn’t grow up with the same...acceptance. He doesn’t know how it works. But I think he is courting you. In his own way.”

“He’s…what?”

“Well, in his fancy lad world, you do all sorts of extremely boring, extremely chaste stuff before you even get close to the fucking bit. Like…he escorted you to a ball.”

Ed looked perplexed as he tried to pull incidents together, but he listened intently to Lucius’ words.

“He took you on a picnic. He showed interest in the things you like. He definitely got jealous of your ex. Has he given you presents?”

“Presents? Not..no, not really.” “Okay, so not everything. But you see what I’m getting at.”

Ed nodded, face pinching as he tried to recall it all. “It’s ridiculous. Complicated.”

“Oh hell yes. But it’s what he knows. I think you and your dick will just have to be patient.” Lucius inhaled. “Speaking of. I think I’m ready for that one last piss. Good night, or morning. I’ll send you a bill for my services.”

—

Ed stayed on deck until the sun started to truly rise. Then he quietly returned to the cabin.

Out of habit, Stede had rolled back to his customary position on the outside of the bed. He was still snoring gently.

Ed watched him for a moment, then moved across the room and very carefully climbed over top of Stede to get to his spot. He sunk down against the comfortable mattress and stared at the ceiling, one arm over his head. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Stede for the longest time. Then, slowly he turned his head to see that the first of the morning’s light had illuminated his bedmate.

Sunlight glinted off a little trail of drool in the corner of his mouth. Stede had put his nightgown on backwards, which meant there was a deep V in the front, revealing his chest with its little tufts of flaxen chest hair. A curl of hair was in his eye and his eye twitched every few seconds.

Ed slowly reached over and pushed the curl out of his face and behind his ear. He examined the lines of the other man’s face and imagined what he might have looked like when he was younger. For a moment, he wished they had met when they both had more life still to live. But some part of him was aware that they needed to meet at this time in their lives to truly connect. Ed was still very angry when he was younger, still mired in a deep pit of darkness. There wouldn’t have been any cracks that Stede’s light could have penetrated.

Eventually, Ed drifted off to sleep, only to be woken up a few moments later by the shift of the body beside him.

Stede had rolled over and somehow found his head on Ed’s chest, nestled into the spot left from his arm tucked above his head. He mumbled something in his sleep and for a moment, Ed thought he heard his name.

Stede shifted again and an arm found its way over his torso, bare palm resting against the skin of Ed’s side where his shirt had lifted. His hand flexed, gripping the tiniest bit of chub along the side of Ed’s stomach. His body had been rock hard in its day, but as he aged, there were parts that were softening in a way that he hated until that exact moment.

And then, with the early morning breeze drifting through a crack in the window, both men drifted properly off to sleep. Keep reading on Wattpad Keep reading on AO3

[goji-pilled]

Okay @princekirijo you want an essay? Well here it is now, or as I like to call it Felix's "Asumari is great and this fandom has no fucking taste" rambling and infodump. Congrats fellas, thanks to Prince you ALL get an asumari essay. But before that I'll try to give you a rundown of Mari and Asuka. 

(I'm also so sorry for putting this long ass post on everyone's dashboard)

(Spoiler warning for Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time!!)

Alright on one hand we have Mari Illustrious Makinami. Her whole deal? She's a walking ray of sunshine, literally lol. Unlike any other character in the Evangelion franchise she doesn't suffer from her trauma, she's quite literally the only healthy and functioning human being, she's just slightly leaning towards "batshit crazy" with the stunts she pulls 🤷‍♂️. Other than that she just loves living, she loves being with people, she keeps moving forward, stays positive and decides to live life to it's fullest even after she experiences loss and multiple apocalyptic events (Second Impact, Third Impact, etc.) and she really just embodies the joy of living. That's all there is to her, or at least all we know.

On the other hand, we have Asuka Langley Shikinami who is... well it's hard to explain what she is to be honest. She's part-German and part-Japanese and part of a line of clones specifically made with the purpose to pilot an Evangelion and later on be used as a sacrifice to trigger another Impact (ITS COMPLICATED I KNOW-) Asuka is, unlike Mari, very much suffering from her trauma. She doesn't have her parents and has a very deep seated belief that she's completely alone, which she says doesn't matter as long as she can pilot the Eva. She also very much wants to fight and kill angels all by herself, and it's seriously messing with her when she can't achieve that.

Now we get to the more interesting parts (hopefully this so far wasn't too confusing, then again it's Eva and even I can't fully wrap my head around it all LMAO)

In the second Rebuild movie (Evangelion 2.0 You can (not) advance) we get introduced to both of them, Mari's introduction scene (in the original English dub) has her pilot an Eva and singing about how she'll take the world on by herself, while in the third movie's (Evangelion 3.0 You can (not) redo) opening scene she's piloting the Eva again but this time it's together with Asuka (in her own Unit 02 though) and during that Mari sings about how wonderful it is not to be alone. It's nothing big yet, but it's a really cute detail me thinks,,, you know what else I love about them? They bicker and they banter and it's genuinely so fun to listen to shskdhsuwj

(For a quick catch up: During the end of 2.0 Shinji (the protagonist) triggers another apocalyptic event, the Near Third Impact, and was only stopped due to Kaworu (the guy in my pfp) stepping in. Also between 1.0/2.0 and 3.0/3.0+1.0 are about 14 years (without Shinji bc he's like comatose) where A LOT happens AND we learn in 3.0 that Eva pilots don't age physically bc of "The curse of the Eva"... honestly Eva is wild lmao)

Okay okay I'll get back to it!

So one thing that happens is that Asuka during 2.0 develops a crush on Shinji (girl why-), unfortunately things take a turn for the worse. Asuka had volunteered to be the testpilot for a new Eva (Unit 03), she seemed happy at the time and it was a really sweet build up with the "I can smile, I didn't know I could still do that."-line. And then? Then it turns out the Ninth Angel had infected Unit 03 (Angels are basically the Kaijus they fight using Evas btw). The thing goes on a loose and Shinji is forced to fight it (With Asuka inside mind you), he refuses and his father uses an autopilot to destroy Unit 03. And boy did it destroy the angel, well it and it crushed Asuka between its jaws (you can actually hear her scream btw haha pain :)).

Asuka survived though, but the whole incident cost her her humanity and she ended up becoming an angel herself/she took the place of the Ninth. But despite that, there's one person who keeps believing in Asuka's humanity, who fiercely believes Asuka is still a human and tells her as much.

Yep, that one person is Mari and she keeps holding onto that belief until the very end when Asuka uses her last resort, which is using the power of an angel (Doing so was a guaranteed death sentence btw). Mari's own words (in the German dub) were, "Princess, you're giving up being human…" AND IT MAKES ME SO EMO GOD FUCK

While I'm at it, Mari and Asuka are a fucking killer combo as a team. They rely on each other for support in combat, listen to the other's orders and advice. Especially in Asuka's case it's kind of a big deal that she so openly relies and counts on Mari's support. Like these two trust each other with their damn lifes!!! Holy shit!!

Guess what though, they also have nicknames for eachother. Mari always calls Asuka "Princess" or "(Your) Highness" while Asuka calles Mari "Four-eyes" / "Four-eyed chrony (idk how you spell that tbh RIP" Even better though, in the German dub Asuka calls Mari "Brillerella" as in a combination of "Brille" (German for glasses) and "Cinderella",,,,Cinderella and her Prince,,,Brillerella and her Princess,,, man, that was a gay fucking move of the translation team. Spoiler: I owe them my life.

Funfact: There's exactly two times throughout the Rebuild movies where Mari uses Asuka's actual name. These two times being when she watches Asuka "die" and be used as a sacrifice for Gendo's selfish plan and when later on she begs Shinji, "So please the Princess… Asuka needs your help!" And the best part? That wasn't even the first time she did that. The mentioned line came from 3.0+1.0, but she did that too in 3.0 with the, "At least save the Princess!" line (although her tone was much more...pissed, like she was really angry lol)

Remember the crush Asuka had on Shinji? Well due to the Unit 03 incident a whole lot of other shit got mixed into that and her feelings for him in general became really bitter (understandably so). Now Mari being who she is sometimes teases Asuka about said old crush but she really does want Asuka to get closure and sort that mess out. 

As an example for the teasing, in 3.0 there's a scene that goes like this (please imagine Mari with a literal :3 face while saying that):

"Unit! Are you back in the game?"

"I'm on it, your Highness. But first things first, how was our little puppy (Shinji)? Did he sit like a good little boy?"

"He's exactly the same! Same stupid face talking mayhem!"

"That goofy face of his, that's what you wanted to see? Riiiiight?"

"Shut up! I went there to bat him one!... And I feel better!"

There's also a very short bonus manga that was released in Japan for Thrice Upon a Time's release that has Mari trying to convince Asuka to come with her on the mission to get Shinji, given everything that follows, it's just another thing to prove my point. And the final bit relating to that is this:

"Feeling better now?"

"Yeah, I do feel better."

That's the exchange Asuka and Mari have after they talked to Shinji, it's nothing special but I think it's really sweet and this time Asuka actually sounded like she was feeling better instead of when she was screaming after she nearly broke pretty thick glass with her fist (If she had hit someone with that much force she definitely would've broken something omggg #violentimpulsesgang)

To get back on track though: I already mentioned it but during the second half of 3.0+1.0 Asuka "dies" (and honestly that entire scene is worth its own in-depth post because its just one huge parallel to The End of Evangelion), the point is: You can tell that the loss of Asuka honestly hits Mari hard. Not only because of how Mari screams Asuka's name but also because of her expressions. They're pained, like really fucking pained and Mari even apologizes to her that she has to fall back due to the fact that she's injured AND because eveything is going wrong.

After the events of Evangelion 3.0 these two got seperated from eachother, Mari was with WILLE (the organization both of them are with) and on board of Wunder (the ship WILLE basically operates from) while Asuka was in a Village full of (Near) Third Impact Survivors. When they do meet again it went like this:

Asuka, barely back, comes to the door and calls, "I'm back." And within seconds of Asuka stepping into their room after the door opens Mari already runs towards her, arms wide open and she says, "Welcome back, your Highness! Good job. I missed you so much!" And she says that while she literally nuzzles into Asuka,,,like,,,what the fuck gay people real!!! 

Best part? Asuka clearly has enough strength to push Mari completely away if she were uncomfortable, but she doesn't. Asuka merely wanted enough space to look at the room (because Mari managed to horde even more books lol) and play her game. During their entire renunion Mari keeps hugging her, and part of me thinks that perhaps deep down Asuka actually enjoys the feeling of physical affection.

Before we get to the last point though, let me say that Asuka and Mari have scenes in 3.0+1.0 that parallel Shinji and Kaworu's from 3.0. (Fyi Kaworu loves Shinji (yeah, like that, and 3.0 was basically them being gay as fuck for an hour) so like...do I even need to explain? 

And then of course there's also this, the "Take care of yourself, Princess…" line. That is the last time Mari talks to Asuka and as much as that line alone already is so much, it's Mari's expression in particular that kills me. Because this? This soft, almost bittersweet expression she has, as she basically says goodbye? Because she knows Asuka will finally be happy and safe? It just makes me feel so much actually. Man.

In the end it's a fact that Mari loved Asuka, wether that is interpreted as platonic or romantic by someone is up to them. But it is a fact that Asuka was loved enough that someone wanted to hug her, was happy to see her, to praise her, was hurt by her loss, wanted her to be safe, that someone told her "Take care of yourself…" Asuka was really and honestly so loved that someone would tell her, "I missed you."

But Asuka? Asuka was too hurt, too wrapped up in her own head to actually see how loved she was by Mari (and other people) that she genuinely believed she's completely alone and always will be alone.

It makes the "Take care of yourself" line hit even harder to me, because it's not only Mari's goodbye, but it's a goodbye during the one time Asuka allowed herself to be vulnerable and admit what she really wanted.

And honestly? All of this? Its makes me feel so many things and I just love them  so much man.

[iphoenixrising]

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler. 

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read. 

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go. 

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat. 

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did. 

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.” 

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach. 

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses. 

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder. 

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand. 

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side. 

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice. 

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor. 

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out. 

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something. 

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding. 

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath. 

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night. 

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.” 

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this. 

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy. 

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something. 

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him. 

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan. 

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates. 

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly. 

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force. 

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways. 

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…” 

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. 

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change.  He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years. 

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind. 

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy. 

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while. 

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question. 

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own.  I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore. 

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.  

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s  experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months. 

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible. 

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth. 

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.” 

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit. 

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan. 

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years. 

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his. 

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

[ais-n]

How would have cedrick responded to learning about what vivienne had done to boyd by putting him up for the position at the agency, giving him a promotion, and selling him to cyclone? Would he have been angry, or thought that she was trying to protect him in her own way? How would he have reacted to seeing Boyd after the Aleixo mission, or at the end of fade after his eye was removed, at times where it was really obvious the affect physically and mentally that the lifetsyle had on boyd? Would he chose a side in the Beaulieu's feuds, or would he play both sides to try to make both of his loved ones happy? How would Boyd feel about his reaction? Would Boyd want Cedrick to be mad at Vivienne? What would Boyd want from his father if he came back to life in fade, what kind of relationship would he want?

**ICOS SPOILERS - JUST FYI :)**

I'm putting the whole reply behind a cut because I ended up rambling a bit - also I have a (shittily written and very short) excerpt from Julian Files that feels kind of relevant to this line of questioning, so that's easier to throw behind a cut too.

I'm pretty sure Ced would've been pissed at her for the Cyclone stuff. He would understand her reasons for it, and would know that in her own fucked up way she was kind of trying to help - but he also would have been pissed at her for how much Boyd was hurt in the process. He was very loving/protective of Boyd, and also pretty optimistic/hopeful in general, so he would've thought there surely could have been a safer and less traumatic way to help Boyd in the short run without fucking him up further in the long run.

(As for the rest of the things you mentioned of joining the Agency and the promotion, I don't know for sure but I think he might have understood that stuff more - because there's enough of Viv in Boyd for him to get that sometimes when they shut down emotionally, certain life changes or certain shifts in perspective help them find a reason to open up again, albeit slowly. And even if he wouldn't have wanted Boyd to be in a dangerous situation, he would have wanted Boyd to be as prepared IN that dangerous situation as possible, so at least with a promotion he learned more skills to protect himself and others. Also, Ced wanted to help others, so he would understand at least that part of the job is trying to help in some form, even though it's far from a perfect way of doing so.)

There's actually part of a scene I wrote in Julian Files that I never finished because I don't love how the preceding scenes go, and the scene in question is a direct result of them. But in the general part of that plot, Cedrick was out of town for work and Viv was supposed to be watching Boyd who was like 6 or something at the time. But Viv, being Viv, was being neglectful of him and Ced didn't know. He knew that Viv wasn't the most caring of mothers but they'd had conversations about how to make sure Boyd was safe when Ced wasn't around.

In this particular case, some shit happens with a person who kind of stalked Boyd showing up at the home when Boyd's alone, he and a buddy break in to steal shit, Boyd gets hurt in the process, Viv gets home after the fact, Boyd accidentally breaks pretty much the one thing Viv had from her parents (a horse figurine thing), and she gets pissed and yells at Boyd that she would have preferred to have lost him than to lose this thing. So Boyd runs off to Lou's and stays with him for a bit. At some point days later, Ced is finally able to get home - he tried to come home right away when he learned what happened, but he wasn't able to, so he was freaking out the entire time just beside himself worried about Boyd. He had some basic info and knew Boyd was alive and seemingly okay but was still terrified.

I kind of hate the way this is written, as well as the chapters that precede this, but this might be the only scene I can remember writing so far where it got to explore Cedrick freaking the fuck out worried about Boyd and being upset with Vivienne not protecting him. There were some previous scenes written ages ago but this is the most recent one, and probably would be closest in context to the context you're asking about.

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

UNEDITED SHITTY SCENE EXCERPT:

The door slammed open, making Boyd jump and his heart race. He’d barely turned around when heavy footsteps came at him. His father nearly bowled him over, grabbing him in a tight embrace with shaking hands holding the back of his head and crossing over his shoulders.

“Boyd, Boyd, I heard—They said—Are you okay?”

Boyd could hear and feel his father’s heartbeat crashing around in his chest. He felt instantly safer with the warm and strong hands holding him tightly and, strangely, his father’s rushed and panicked words, barely gaining breath between them.

Heavy kisses rained down all over Boyd’s hair on the top of his head, and his father’s uneven breath gusted out near his temple.

“I couldn’t get back any sooner—I tried, dear God I tried because fuck I was so scared and—shit, no, don’t say those words, they’re bad words, Daddy’s just really worried and—and, Boyd, are you okay? Are you okay? You didn’t tell me yet if you’re—”

Cedrick pushed Boyd out by the shoulders, his eyes intensely focused and scouring every inch he could see of his son. He ran his hands all over Boyd, and when Boyd accidentally winced and shied away from the pain, Cedrick instantly pulled up Boyd’s shirt.

He froze at the sight of the dark bruises and cut on Boyd’s pale skin.

“Viv—Viv—Vivienne!” Cedrick shouted, panicked.

Boyd’s mother came and stood behind his father, her face expressionless and posture straight. But Boyd saw the coldness in her eyes, and tried to pull away from his dad. He couldn’t, though; his dad gripped him carefully but firmly with one hand, the other beginning to shake with the shirt in his hold.

Cedrick twisted around to face Vivienne, his voice rising louder.

“Where the hell were you? You told me you’d be home with him! You told me—”

Vivienne’s stare only became more remote. Cedrick’s hand tightened so hard on Boyd it almost hurt. He let Boyd’s shirt fall back down.

“Don’t even fucking try that look on me. You know I can read you like a fucking book. You promised me, Vivienne, and you… He could have been killed, he could have—What would we have done? What would—what would I have done?”

Vivienne didn’t answer.

“Vivienne! You need to goddamn answer me! Where were you? Why don’t you ever care—”

“She helped!”

Boyd’s outburst made Cedrick snap his attention back to his son. Boyd trembled in his father’s hold, terrified because his parents rarely argued like this and it was his fault, he knew it was his fault because he let them know about Troy. He never should have told anyone. He never should have hurt that horse and he never should have told the police the truth.

It was just like Mr. Cole said. Everything was coming true.

“What?” Boyd’s father sounded a lot less scary when he addressed Boyd. Now he was tense but gentle, just like his hand running along Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, it’s okay—”

“She was here,” Boyd insisted. It was a lie but he didn’t care, he made it as convincing as he’d ever done in his life. “She was here but then she had to go get something, and Troy must have been watching and then he came in when she was gone but then she came back and the police got him so it’s okay now. You don’t have to yell. You don’t have to be mad.”

He tried to ignore the way his eyes grew wet with tears, and twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands.

--------

I never finished the scene so that's all I have.

Without writing the actual scenes out you're talking about, I don't know for sure - it always seems like I think characters will do one thing and then they do another unexpectedly. But I'd generally guess it would be something along the above vibe, maybe? Except with Boyd being less timid.

Ced sort of would have been in the middle but he also wouldn't excuse certain things. He would have understood that Viv does some shit because she's fucked up, and he loves her so he understands that her choices are sometimes fucked, but that also doesn't mean he'll excuse it and tell Boyd he has no reason to be upset about things he has every right to be upset about. He probably would have ended up being a little bit of a mediator, but less so in the way of trying to smooth things over and making everyone happy, and probably more so in the way of trying to make sure every side felt heard, but more importantly that they understood if they did shitty actions that they were shitty (in this case, that would be directed toward Vivienne), and that they figure out a way for these things not to happen again, while being realistic about knowing how everyone is.

As for what Boyd would have wanted, he probably wouldn't have wanted Ced to hate Viv - he would have just wanted everything to be figured out in a way where no one had to be hurt, and they could just get along, and he would feel valued. He would have loved to just have any sort of relationship with his dad, but Ced being Ced, the relationship would have been a largely happy/supportive one, with Ced being a doofy loving dad - but also someone who will always stand firm if he thinks Boyd, Vivienne, he himself, anyone, is doing something wrong or etc and needs to be called out on it.

If Ced were there in Fade, I think more than anything, Boyd would have just wanted to be able to go up to him, hug him, and be able to cry in his arms, and feel like it was okay and he wasn't being weak for wanting to break down. He would have just wanted to hear his dad say that Boyd was doing ok, that he was trying hard and that was important, and that he had value as a person and that Ced didn't judge him or hate him or wasn't disappointed in him because of anything Boyd had said or done or etc in his life since Ced left. All of which is what Ced would have wanted to do/say too. Well, and then Ced would have for sure wanted to say how proud he was of Boyd, which I don't know if Boyd would have thought to hope to hear in Fade but idk, maybe he would have hoped for that too.

They probably would've just had fun hanging around at times doing whatever. I could see the two having fun digging into different topics or theories or mysteries or whatnot to figure them out.

Also, Ced would have liked Hsin, and would have accepted him as a son in law, just FYI. He already met Hsin when Hsin was like 14 and tried to help him then, so if it later turned out those two got together, he would've understood. Honestly, Boyd/Hsin have a lot of Ced/Viv vibes in some ways, and Ced would've been able to see that, so he would totally get why Boyd and Hsin love each other so much. Except Boyd/Hsin were more volatile because they eventually actually talked their shit out more than Ced/Viv properly did, or really honestly got a chance to do - so in many ways, Boyd/Hsin's volatility was in part because they were ultimately able to be more brutally honest with themselves and each other.

Hopefully that all makes sense.