#itav

[drauthor]

New Fic Alert:

So, just to make this very clear, we're blaming @shootingstarpilot for the absolute monster this story has turned into.

Please enjoy the first chapter of It Takes a Village, a story of found family, court drama, and a few guys being both really bad and really good at romance:

If you had asked any one of the Fett brothers if they expected to find themselves embroiled in a fierce court battle involving child abuse and murder because Helix Fett was soft under all the grump and snarling, they would have laughed in your face.

Except Cody. He wouldn't have said he saw it coming per se, but he's not surprised. After all, Stitch was Needle's best friend and he needed help. He knows his brother; they were involved as soon as Helix laid eyes on the kid.

--

They say it takes a village to raise a child; Cody can only begin to imagine what it takes to put a child's abusive parents in jail and then adopt said child.

Due to a series of quite fortunate meetings, the combined power (and villages) of Cody Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Mace Windu are aiming right for the Su-Burtonis--and their mysterious benefactor--and they have no idea what's coming for them.

[furashuban]

Coast

Somfthearted 'father figure getting along with his sort-of-daughter' story for the soul <3

Words: 1.6k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60730333

Summary: During a warm, sunny day out in the coast, Frankie goes fishing with Zachariah by her side.

The coast was one of Frances Schwinn’s favorite places to be in. It did not matter if you were on that side of the county or the other side—you were still at the same coast for as long as there was water and a shore to relax on. It was quiet, with only the rustling of tall trees and shrubs to break the silence; such a sound made her feel free, like running around and twirling in the air so much that her hair became frizzy, which she certainly did with a smile on her face the moment she arrived at the coast. The sun was bright and warm with little clouds in the way of it, and the water was bluer than any other blue the girl had ever seen. Even the shore was perfect; not made of pebbles or sand like most other shores in the county, but it was grassy and fenced by habitual patches of Purple needlegrass further inland.

She did not come to the coast alone, for it was Zachariah’s idea to spend the day out. He did not have to work at his step-father Jeb’s ranch on Saturdays nor did any kids have to go to school. His partner, Svetlana, and her two sons had plans beforehand to see relatives from abroad who were visiting a few counties away from theirs. That left the former cavalryman to have a go at looking after his…daughter-but-not-really? Practically everyone in the whole county including himself took turns taking care of her, however long they could until the next person offered, and Zachariah did not always know how to perceive her as or who she saw him as. He just knew the girl did not have a father to call her own, and he promised Carole Paxson that he would do everything to make her feel comfortable enough to see him as one.

“Frankie?! Where ya at, kiddo?!” Zachariah called aloud, having lost sight of her moments ago.

“I’m right here!” the little girl answered immediately. Zachariah followed her voice towards the shore, trekking through the needlegrass grazing his boots and denim jacket. He found Frankie sitting by the sea wearing a straw sunhat and sitting with her legs crossed as she held a branch over the water.

“Wat’cha doin’ there now?” Zachariah asked, taking a seat beside her. He noticed that Frankie had taken off the laces from her shoes, having tied them to the end of the branch she was holding and dangled it into the water.

“Fishing,” Frankie told sprightly, tugging on her makeshift rod and causing the water to ripple. “I haven’t caught anything yet though.”

“Well, you can’t catch nothin’ without any bait tied to your rod,” Zachariah explained.

“Oh,” Frankie pulled the fishing rod string back to her hand, showing that she indeed never tied any bait at the end of it.

“Tell ya what, we gotta go find you some.” Zachariah proposed, “I can dig up some dirt and pick a fistful of worms for you to use.”

“Eww, no thanks!” Frankie squirmed and recoiled, she and Zachariah sharing a quick laugh. “I wanna use not-alive bait, I know those are a thing.” She looked around to see if there was anything she could forage to make good fish bait out of. “Hmmm…Oh yeah!” the 10-year-old shoved her hands inside the pockets of her jeans before pulling out a pinecone. “I picked it up a while ago, this is perfect bait,” she remarked as she began tying it to her string. Then, she heaved her rod back and flung her arms forward, the pinecone causing a splash on the water.

“There ya go,” Zachariah applauded, “now you’ll have fish in no time,” he glanced to see the girl beaming enthusiastically.

“Where’s Maddie and aunt Sophie by the way?” Frankie asked, “I don’t want them to miss when I catch my fish.” Zachariah knew just how close she was to the Hewitt family, who took her in more than any other family in the county with the exception of Carole, and because Sophie and Zachariah himself go way back and that the latter was Maddie’s godfather, it only seemed fair that they too would be invited to spend a day at the coast with Frankie.

“Oh yeah, Sopes gave me a call before ya ran off,” Zachariah said, “they’re just buying some snacks but they’ll be here pretty soon,” the bearded man looked around for a spare branch, which to his luck had found one lying at the edge of the water and caught it before it could be swept away by the little waves. “In the meantime,” he freed the laces of his boots to tie around the tip of his newfound branch. “I’ll fish with ya, kiddo.”

Soon, Frankie let out a little gasp, as if an imaginary lightbulb suddenly flicked on above her head. “Let’s have a fish-off,” she smirked at the bearded man.

“Hm?”

“I mean, whoever catches a fish first wins, and whoever loses needs to do a cannonball from up that tree,” she pointed towards a tall oak nearby, overlooking the sea.

Zachariah chuckled, “Alright, it’s on, Frances Schwinn,” he accepted the challenge—he knew neither one would catch fish with the kinds of rods they had anyway. To see the girl happy and indulging in play, however, gave the cheeriest feeling in his heart that he could never find the strength to express openly other than through his grin.

“Wait—” Frankie raised her hand up, “you don’t have any bait yet,” she reached for her pocket and pulled out yet another pinecone. “Here you go,” she extended it to the bearded man, who along with his enduring grin was looking at her curiously.

“Just how many pinecones are ya keeping in those pockets, kiddo?” Zachariah asked.

“Only those two,” Frankie shrugged. “I really like collecting pinecones when I’m out. I don’t know what they’re for exactly, but they look really pretty, and I have a collection in every house I live in. The one I have in Carole’s house is the biggest one I have.”

And so, the bearded man and the little girl sat side-by-side in mutual calmness as they let the wind be their only sound. When it seemed like they were waiting too long for a fish to catch their bait, Frankie started humming the tune of a random Fats Waller song to liven the mood.

“You know, this is the kind of thing I’ve seen dads do with their kids, I think.” Frankie expressed out of nowhere. She then turned to Zachariah, who looked subtly taken aback though Frankie did not seem to notice, choosing to carry on with what else was on her mind. “Zachariah, I kind of wanna start calling you ‘paps’ from now on,”

“Paps…?”

“Yeah, you know, like what you call Jeb,” Frankie continued, “I don’t think I will call you paps all the time though, maybe not yet. Just when I’m doing dad-stuff with you, because it feels right to call you my paps sometimes.” She lowered her rod, suddenly and slowly feeling awkward. “You’d be okay with that, right, Zachariah?”

There was a soft sting in the former cavalryman’s heart. For a moment, he turned ahead to face the water, not wanting to let a little girl see a grown man cry if he ever failed to hold a single tear back. She could not have known how Zachariah would take being called anything close to the word “father”, to be acknowledged as one. It had been so long; she could not have known that either. That warm and sunny day at the coast had now felt like the warmest, sunniest day in the history of planet Earth for Zachariah. Frankie was a whole village’s girl, that was how he usually saw things, but she was his girl, too.

“That’s quite alright, kiddo,” Zachariah nodded, letting himself sniffle before bringing back the wide grin under his beard. “In fact, you’re very lucky, ‘cause you have the best paps this county’s ever seen,” he tussled Frankie’s sunhat which frizzled her hair within, and the 10-year-old could not help but affectionately burst in laughter.

Before long, another child’s voice was heard shouting in the distance. “Yoo-hoo! Frankie!? Zachariah!?” Frankie recognized that voice from anywhere, and as she and Zachariah stood up to answer the call over the yonder, they saw a girl Frankie’s age with long blonde hair carrying a box of donuts while a woman in a sundress, also blonde with shorter and wavier hair, trekked behind her as she carried a woven picnic basket on one hand and tried to pull a cooler with the other.

“I see them, Maddie, over there!” the woman told aloud.

The Hewitts had finally arrived, and Frankie waved her hands in the air as she walked towards her best friend and gave her an embrace around her shoulders. She told Maddie about the fish-off she was having with Zachariah, and the blonde became so enthralled at the idea that Zachariah happily gave up his rod to his goddaughter so both girls could fish together this time. The bearded man helped Sophie set up a picnic at the fishing spot by the coast, and from there, Frankie was enjoying the day more than she already had, with Maddie by her side equally anticipating a fish to catch and Sophie helping brush and braid her frizzled hair, and then there was her paps, making her a sandwich with the food the Hewitts had brought.

“Heya Frankie,” he raised up a sandwich he put together, “I think this would make better bait, don’t you think, kiddo?”

[babyjakes]

Hi Eun! May I ask what happened to that Andy series you had- I think it involved Jacob as a little boy and a friend he made that was a little girl?

hey yes, it takes a village (the name of that series) is on hold for now 🫶 just had too many projects going at once, and i wasn’t super pleased with the first part. definitely thinking of revisiting safe!dad!andy in some capacity tho!!

[artistmarchalius]

Howdy: I’m tellin’ ya, Barn, he went straight for my legs!

Barnaby: Haha! Yeah, he’s a funny lil’ fella!

[magicandlight]

Snippet #1

It starts with Chuuya, as most things in Dazai’s life do.

They're waiting for the extraction team to come get them, sitting in a terrible safehouse and trying not to aggravate their wounds too much.

Chuuya's pretty much bulletproof when Tainted is activated, but someone had still gotten close enough when it wasn't activated to cut a gash in his side, and Dazai had a bullet in his calf that Chuuya had to dig out with the one pair of tweezers they'd found.

Dazai’s sprawled over the frameless mattress, eyes closed, which is why he doesn't take notice of Chuuya shifting until his head is on his chest.

Dazai’s eyes snap open as he tenses for a second before deliberately forcing his muscles to relax.

It's not the first time Chuuya has done something like this, but it's the first time it can't be passed off as laziness or an accident.

He'd moved to lay on Dazai. His head is resting on the bottom edge of the binder, rather than on his actual chest. That’s not an accident. That’s not collapsing on the couch and not moving his legs when they end up in Dazai’s lap because he ‘doesn’t feel like it.’

“Should take it off,” Chuuya tells him after a minute, but doesn't move because he knows Dazai won't.

It takes a moment for Dazai to return to breathing, Chuuya’s shoulders losing their tension as he inhales and exhales.

He runs his fingers through Chuuya’s hair. He keeps doing it despite the blood and sweat clinging to it, because Chuuya hums and melts, his weight settling on top of Dazai more comfortably.

It’s gotten longer since they met, almost reaching his shoulders now. It’s nice, even if Dazai won’t ever admit it.

On a whim, he separates it out into three sections and begins braiding. It's messy, with the shorter pieces of Chuuya’s hair falling out of it. Chuuya sits up a little when it’s done, reaching up to feel it with one hand.

“How does it look?” He asks jokingly, with a lopsided smile. So painfully, attractively boyish.

Dazai can't take his eyes off him. “...it looks fine,” he says weakly, after a moment, unable to say a single negative thing right now.

Chuuya’s smile grows. His eyes flicker down to Dazai’s mouth.

Dazai's certain he's going to kiss him.

And he would let him.

Someone knocks on the door to the safehouse and they both jerk up, Dazai’s hands falling away from Chuuya and Tainted flaring to life in their place.

“Boys?” Hirotsu calls, and the moment vanishes.

[mcschnuggles]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Limone | Meyer/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore Characters: Limone | Meyer, Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore Additional Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging, CGRE - Caregiver/Age Regressor, Regressing!Sycamore, Caregiver!Meyer, Past Relationship(s), Moving On, Developing Relationship, Regressuary Series: Part 2 of It Takes a Village Summary:

Moving on isn't easy. Trusting someone new with the most vulnerable parts of you isn't easy, especially when you've been burned before. But for Meyer, Sycamore's willing to try.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

It Takes A Village

Fandom: YJ98, Flashfam, DC Comics

Summary: After witnessing Bart murder someone, his friends scramble to cover Bart's tracks and stumble upon an international scandal as a result.

(Minor background: Bart took a gap year, and Conner did two years of community college. This starts shortly after Bart's 19th birthday. So, Conner and Jenni are 20, Bart and Cissie are 19, Tim and Cassie are 18, I made Greta 17 for the sake of the fic, and Judy is 15. I decided to make Owen 22 and Thad 16 for plot reasons. Clark and Conner are brothers in this fic, and Clark is 12 years older for the sake of this fic, so he's 32.)

Chapters: 11/?

Characters: Bart Allen, Conner Kent, Judy Garrick, Jay Garrick, Joan Garrick, Cissie King-Jones, Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake, Greta Hayes, Jenni Ognats, Thad Thawne, Owen Mercer, Meloni Thawne, Clark Kent, Wally West, Linda Park, Courtney Whitmore, President Thawne

Relationship(s): KonBart, CissieCassie, WallyLinda

Additional Tags: Serial Killer AU, No Powers AU, Angst, Dark Comedy, Bart Allen Kills in This Fic, Minor Thad Thawne, Separated in Childhood, Some Smut in This

Chapter Eleven: The Road to Hell

Bart lay motionless for nearly an hour, staring upward with laser focus. His mind played over everything he’d planned, and he kept his breathing even and slow. The door opened, and he heard a weak cough, Bart waited for the car to go dark as he raised up. His arms rested on his chest as he used his stomach to raise up, gently and quietly to keep from shaking the car. By the time the man noticed him, it was too late. Bart pulled the cord tight around the man’s neck, He leaned back, bearing down as he tightened his gloved grip on Dr. Donnovan’s neck. The man struggled for air and a grip on the cord, fighting for nearly two minutes before he lost consciousness. Bart held on for several minutes before he finally let go. The man was dead. Undeniably dead. Bart got out and opened the front door. Bart took a melon baller and scooped the man’s injured eye out. He set it on the dashboard, a tongue in his back teeth as he focused on the act. He shut the door with his hip and quickly shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked out the opposite end of the alley before placing his soiled gloves in a plastic zip-sealed bag. He walked to his grandfather’s office and washed the coveralls and gloves in the washing machine twice while he showered. 

The ice-cold water kept him calm while his adrenaline pumped. He slowly turned the water up as he deep cleaned. Despite wearing gloves, Bart still insisted on scrubbing his hands. He conditioned his hair, trying to calm himself down, but he was giddy and warm inside. The warm water didn’t help, so he turned the water down again, rinsing and scrubbing his body under ice water until he started shaking violently. Bart moisturized his skin, putting powder on, and lightly spritzing himself with cologne.

He stashed a few pairs of underwear in the locker and dressed in another one of Barry’s sweatsuits. He put the coveralls in the dryer. His sweatpants fit baggy and the sweatshirt swallowed him, but he left in them as soon as his coveralls were dry and put away. Bart’s car was parked out front with his travel bag in the car, so he drove straight from there to Conner’s. 

He was a day early, so Conner didn’t expect him. His hands shook and his heart pumped as he approached Conner’s dorm apartment. He called Conner, so he wouldn’t wake Cassie and Greta. And Conner crept to the door, half-asleep and smiling. “You said you’d be here tomorrow mor—.” 

Bart kissed Conner’s neck as he reached underneath his shirt. “Take your clothes off,” Bart whispered as he kissed Conner's neck, up his jawline to his lips. He rubbed the front of Conner’s shorts as he begged. “Please…” Conner pulled away. 

“Not here… You’re gonna wake the girls up,” Conner whispered. Bart let his teeth graze Conner’s neck as he breathed on him. “Let me show you my room.” 

Bart followed Conner to the bedroom where he dropped his bag and stripped down to nothing, and he lifted Conner’s shirt, kneeling on his uninjured knee as he kissed Conner’s stomach, his lips dragging against Conner’s belly button down to his waistband. Teeth caught Conner’s waistband, and Bart pulled his basketball shorts off with his mouth, his chin grazing Conner’s bulge on the way down. Conner stopped him. “What are you doing here?” Conner chuckled. 

Bart looked up, blinking hard as Conner pulled him to his feet. “I couldn’t sleep… I got so hard on the drive here just thinking about you—.” Bart stopped mid-sentence to pull Conner’s shirt off. “Why do you still have your clothes on?” 

Bart lifted him up before falling onto the bed. Bart kissed Conner all over, his mouth open and hungry, tongue tasting skin, teeth gently biting tender flesh. “Don’t stop,” Conner whispered. 

Bart nodded, spreading Conner’s legs to kiss his inner thighs. He lay on his stomach while he did it, grinding against Conner’s sheets as he came up for air. Conner reached into a tin lunchbox and gave Bart a condom. Bart was impatient, returning to Conner’s inner thighs. He sucked and kissed them, and Conner spread out on the bed, reaching out to clutch the sheets. Conner accidentally grabbed the remote, turning on the TV, and it drowned out his moans. “I missed you too… but if you don’t slow down—.” Bart pressed a knuckle to Conner’s taint as he took Conner into his mouth. Conner’s toes curled, and he arched into Bart’s mouth. Bart bobbed a few times before rising up for air. 

“You can cum. It’s okay… Whenever you want…. Wherever you want,” Bart whispered, almost begging. 

“I—.” Conner patted the bed, searching for the condom he dropped, and he touched Bart’s chest with it. Bart gripped his thighs, pulling him close as he thrust inside him. “Bart—. Fuck.” 

Bart pulled out, unsatisfied with their position, and he flipped Conner onto his stomach. Before Conner could catch his breath, Bart grabbed his hair, pulling him up by wrapping his arm around Conner’s chest, and driving into Conner by rolling his hips and stomach. Conner gasped, surprised at how fast and rough Bart moved. Bart wrapped a hand around Conner’s dick, licking Conner’s neck as he pumped into him. Bart grunted. “Cumming,” Bart groaned. Conner fell onto his palms, and Bart stroked Conner faster before stopping to spit into his hand. Conner reached for a towel with just seconds to spare before he collapsed into the pillows. 

Several minutes passed in silence. Conner lay on his stomach, his eyes drooping, and his body warm. Bart caught his breath, but he couldn’t turn off his mind. As soon as Conner started to nod off, he felt Bart grinding against him. “Bart?” Conner chuckled. 

“Please… More,” Bart mumbled as he kissed Conner’s shoulder. Conner lay on his back, gently stroking as he looked at Bart. “Can you—?”

“I can…”

**

Conner trembled as Bart kissed his neck and shoulders. “Okay,” Conner sternly whispered. 

“Okay?” Bart asked.

“I’m exhausted,” Conner answered. Bart lay on his side, pushing Conner’s bangs out of his face. 

His eyes softened as he looked Conner over. “Did I hurt you somewhere?” Bart asked. He could make out a few bruises on Conner’s thighs, and he frowned at Conner’s ruddy and sweaty appearance. 

“No. No, you didn’t hurt me… I just didn’t expect—. It was crazy,” Conner laughed as tears streamed down his cheeks. Conner couldn’t catch his breath, his body and mind were completely overstimulated by their exchange. Bart sat up. “Oh no, I’m not… I just need to cool down. You didn’t hurt me. No… I’m just a little overwhelmed. Let me catch my breath for a minute.”

Bart grabbed his sweatshirt off of Conner’s desk and offered it to Conner to keep him warm. “I’m sorry. Maybe I could get you—. I won’t do this—.” 

Conner pulled Bart into his arms, and he kissed Bart’s cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. I promise. You didn’t do anything that I didn’t like. I promise… How are you feeling? Do you feel better?” Conner questioned as he wiped the sweat from Bart’s brow. 

“I feel better… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Bart replied. “You’re so soft.” 

“That’s because I’m sleepy,” Conner whispered. 

“Okay… Goodnight,” Bart whispered. Bart got up, searching his bag for a sleeping pill, and he took one with water. Conner was fast asleep before Bart returned to the bed, and he climbed in, closing his eyes as he allowed sleep to flood in. 

**

Bart woke up before dawn, stretching out and glancing down at Conner who hadn’t moved an inch since they fell asleep. He pulled the blankets over Conner’s shoulders before going to shower and brush his teeth. 

After he got dressed, he joined Conner, sitting beside him. Conner smiled, still half-asleep as he reached for Bart. “You smell so good,” Conner mumbled. 

“Thanks,” Bart whispered. He traced the line of Conner’s jaw. “Gorgeous… Good morning.” 

“It’s morning?” Conner questioned. 

Bart chuckled, reaching under the covers to rub Conner’s back. “Do you want breakfast in bed?” Bart offered. Conner opened one eye. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Conner grinned. Bart scrunched down beside him, looking him in the eyes as he moved close enough to almost kiss him. Close enough for Conner to lose his breath. 

“I just want you to know how important you are to me… And I want bacon,” Bart replied. Conner laughed. 

“Eggs and pancakes too?” Conner asked. Bart smiled, his lips brushing against Conner’s. 

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll never leave,” Bart teased. “Go shower. I’ll start breakfast.” 

**

Greta yawned as she left her room, smelling the bacon, and she shuffled toward Bart with her eyes shut. Greta’s head drooped forward drowsily against Bart’s back. “Good morning,” Greta mumbled. 

“Are you hungry?” Bart asked. Greta opened her eyes and squealed as she embraced him. Bart chuckled. “I missed you too.”

Bart turned toward her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “When did you get here?” Greta asked. 

“Two-ish. How’s school?” Bart asked. 

Greta stood on her tiptoes, looking at the bacon sizzling in the skillet. “School’s fine. I’m taking a film class. I think you’d enjoy it. We’re in this unit called Elements of Genre. It’s a two-term class. At the end of this unit, we have to write a paper on our favorite genre and pick a few key elements from a movie of our choice. Conner said you were a good writer, so I was wondering if you’d proofread it for me when I’m done,” Greta requested. Bart turned the fire off and turned his attention to the eggs. 

Bart grinned at her. “I’ll do you one better... When you pick a movie, I’ll watch it with you. How about it?” Bart offered. Greta nodded excitedly before she noticed something… And she always noticed something. Even if she didn’t say anything. She cocked her head, letting her pursed lips tilt to the side. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re different… Why are you different?” Greta asked. 

“I was sick last week… But I’m better now,” Bart answered. 

She shook her head. The distinct glimmer in her downturned eyes told Bart everything he needed to know. Greta saw the shift in his behavior, but she couldn’t attribute it to anything he’d seen or done. He pinched her cheek and turned away from her, trying to keep her from digging further. “You’re happier today. A lot happier,” Greta whispered. Bart pinched her cheek between his pointer finger and middle finger knuckles. 

“Does it scare you?” Bart asked as he leaned forward. Greta shook her head. 

“You don’t scare me,” Greta grinned. It set Bart’s heart at ease. “Cassie’s still sleeping, but I can wake her up.” 

Bart turned the fire low, and he shook his head. “Do you think she’ll mind if I go in there to talk?” Bart asked. Greta shook her head. “Can you do me a favor and watch the eggs? I’ll come back.” Greta took the spatula from him, and he left the kitchen. 

He entered Cassie’s room and nudged her. She opened her eyes and jumped. “Bart, oh my—. When did you get here?” Cassie asked. 

Bart scrunched his nose up as he grinned. “Two. I didn’t wanna wake you guys up, so I texted Conner. I couldn’t sleep, so I got on the road... If you don’t want me here, ” Bart teased, “Sorry, Cissie couldn’t come. She had a game.” Cassie hugged him. 

“That’s alright. How are you? You were sick,” Cassie replied. 

Bart softened. “I’m good. It was an overexertion thing,” Bart replied. Cassie frowned and nodded. “If I rest any more, you’ll have to put me in a coffin. I’ll bring you guys breakfast in a minute.” 

**

Bart typed his paper for class while Conner did chin-ups in the doorway. The news played in the background, and Conner watched quietly. Bart’s phone rang, and he answered. “Hi, Thad,” Bart greeted him warmly. 

“My doctor is dead… Dr. Donnovan was—.” 

“Which one is that?” Bart interrupted. He hated lying to Thad, but he refused to pull him into a mess. 

“I want to talk to you. I have to tell you I’m scared,” Thad cried. 

Bart sat up straight. “Don’t be upset. I’ll get you a ticket here if you need me. I’m not home until Monday, but you can come here then. Will you be okay until then?” Bart questioned. Thad sobbed and gasped. “Thaddeus, breathe. I promise you can come with me as soon as I get home.” Conner dropped down from the chin-up bar, and he cocked his head. 

“I can wait,” Thad cried. 

“Good… Now, give the phone to Helen or Max. I gotta explain this to them,” Bart gently commanded. It hurt his heart, and he had to step up and do something to make it better. 

He listened as Thad gave his phone to someone, and he could hear Helen’s boyfriend in the background. “Bart, what’s going on? Thad won’t explain anything to me, but he’s been hysterical since he woke up this morning,” Max asked. 

“He wants to stay with me for a little while, but he’s afraid you’ll say no. I told him I’d fly him out on Monday if it’s alright with you. I’ll take him to class with me,” Bart offered. 

“What’s going on?” Max questioned. 

Bart sighed. “I’m not sure… He sounds like he’s freaking out, though. I don’t want him worrying himself sick. Let me fly him out on Monday, Max,” Bart pleaded. 

“Okay… How long do you plan on keeping him?” Max asked. 

Conner wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt before kissing Bart’s temple. “Um… I don’t know. Maybe a week. I’ll call you beforehand if something changes,” Bart answered. Max hummed.

“You know what, Bart? I’m proud of you. I’m glad you’re offering to look after your brother,” Max whispered. 

Bart lay back on the floor. “It’s good… Let me give him the good news,” Bart replied. His stomach was in knots as he listened to the exchange. 

“Max said it’s okay… I’ll pick you up from the airport Monday afternoon. I’ll send your ticket tonight. Don’t talk to Mom about the doctor who died. Why’s that got you in knots anyway? Stupid sprokking doctors were evil. I hope they all—.” 

“Bart, don’t… Grandpa might—. I think Grandpa’s going to send people to look into it. Retrieval people,” Thad whispered. He seemed much calmer, but Bart could hear the fear in Thad’s voice. 

“What the hell do you mean? What do you mean retrieval people?” Bart asked. 

Thad didn’t say anything for a long time. “The people that killed our father and aunt… And people from the observatory. Lawyers and doctors. Scientists. I think it’s an observatory kid. It has to be. What if they—?”

“No one will ever hurt you again. Do you hear me?” Bart asked. “I will never let anyone do anything bad to you ever again. I love you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. Go pack. I’ll call you again before bed.”

“Okay,” Thad replied, “Bye.”

“Bye,” Bart whispered before hanging up. He groaned and pressed his palms to his eyelids. 

Conner leaned over him. “What’s the matter, hon?” Conner asked. 

Hon. That was cute. Bart smiled, but it didn’t take away the anxiety of Thad’s situation. “My brother’s freaking out. He wants to stay with me for a little bit. I said yeah,” Bart mumbled. 

“Do you regret it?” Conner asked. 

“Nuh uh… He’s my baby brother. I knew he’d end up staying with me once I moved out this way… He’s just a kid. I just—. I didn’t realize how much I cared. I just offered to fly him out. I don’t know why I did that,” Bart mumbled. 

Conner pulled Bart up into his arms. “I love you. I sometimes forget how big your heart is. I need you to know that,” Conner whispered, “You’re gonna be fine.” 

Bart didn’t say anything as he let his weight drop into Conner’s arms. Conner kissed Bart’s cheek, pressing his nose to the side of Bart’s face. “Can you tell me again?” Bart asked. Conner smiled. 

“You’ll be fine… And Thad will be, too. You know, this makes me think about Clark and the little bit of time that I stayed with him. Bart, take it from me. Sometimes younger brothers just want to know they mean something to you,” Conner whispered, “I try to pretend I don’t care, but I look at Clark like he’s perfect. I try to look for the flaws sometimes, but I know it’ll just—. Sorry. It’s not—.”

“No. Don’t apologize. I want to hear it,” Bart whispered. Conner smiled against Bart’s cheek. 

“I’ve been through so many phases because of Clark. At first, I wanted nothing to do with him. I was hit with so many comparisons that I was convinced I had to be his polar opposite to be seen as my own person… And then some... stuff happened that made me want to—. I didn’t want to be me, but he figured it out pretty fast. I think it made us close. We both had stuff going on at the time, and Clark was really understanding when I finally told him everything I’d been going through,” Conner explained. Bart didn’t press for Conner to elaborate. He worried that it would only open up old wounds. Without words or any idea of an appropriate response, he took Conner’s palm and kissed it. 

“I—. I feel weird like I’m keeping a secret from you… But, I—. I don’t know how to talk about what happened without feeling like—.”

“Is it something I have to know?” Bart asked. Conner looked down, pondering over Bart’s question. 

“No,” Conner answered. 

“Would it help me treat you better?” Bart questioned. Conner shook his head, timidly pressing his forehead into Bart’s shoulder. “Then, it’s none of my business… And until you feel comfortable, I’m okay with that. You’ve never forced me to talk about anything I didn’t want to.” And he meant it. It was an accidentally transactional agreement. A perfectly expressed and partially selfish loophole, but he thought his heart was in the right place.

[jawbonemotif]

while drawing this i was temporarily overcome by the cringe. and i fought through it.

[baronetcoins]

69 babeyfor the spotify ficlets!!

[send me a number 1-100 and i will try to write a short drabble based off whatever song that corresponds to in my spotify wrapped]

3 A.M. by Jesse & Joy with Gente de Zona

Son las tres de la mañana Y no has llegado Sé que estás con alguien Y lo estás negando

When Shin entered the apartment to see Occam and Drifter staring back at him from the couch, he took a moment to think rather articulately, well, shit. His black eye was starting to really throb, and all he wanted was to lie down and put a bag of frozen peas on it. Instead, his partners were looking angry.

He shuffled past the small living room and into the kitchen, trying to figure out if his hand was sprained or just bruised. He could feel both sets of eyes across his back the whole time.

"You were out late." Drifter finally observed, breaking the silence. He grunted in response. Maybe he'd be lucky, and they'd both go to bed and let him nurse his wounds in peace.

"Very late." Occam added, voice deadly calm.

"I was..." Shin trailed off uncomfortably. "Busy?"

"Very busy, apparently. Since you forgot all about our plans." Drifter raised an eyebrow. Shin frantically riffled through his mental calendar. Plans?

Occam, sensing weakness, took the final shot. "Anniversary plans."

[toonbly]

the funniest thing about "it takes a village" is ill probably have to find a different place to record the final few episodes because i dont think "angrily screaming and pounding on the door" is something my landlord would be happy with. the second funniest thing is that i have an excuse to talk w/ my natural accent

[drauthor]

not two of my favorite fandoms in one really AMAZING piece of art holy *f u c k*, op this is gorgeous

oh dear, I've been influenced

rambling, unedited AU scene under the cut:

This is how it starts.  

***  

Cody has heard of the Grey Wardens. His childhood had been dreams of sweeping battles and heart wrenching sacrifice narrated in his father's soothing rumble, and he hadn't forgotten the stories trickling back from Thedas of the Warden who had saved the South. She was said to be the epitome of the Wardens - gleaming armor blurring into a smear of gray and white and blue, cutting through swathes of darkspawn like a hot knife in butter.  

But—stories tend to take on a life of their own.  

He knows this.  

And yet— 

Well.  

The man doesn’t even seem aware of Cody standing a few scant yards away, let alone like he could be able to sense dark spawn. He clings to his horse’s reins, face horribly ashen. The Warden griffon is proudly emblazoned on his chest plate, scored through with gouges obvious even from a distance.  

The man just doesn't—look like a Grey Warden. 

He looks half dead.  

And that makes no sense in the sleepy town Cody’s raised his brothers in. None of whom happen to be at home, and Cody can only be relieved.  

The horse continues to approach, with or without the man’s input on the matter, and Cody resigns himself to meeting them halfway.  

He doesn’t need any more odd stains on the furniture, so better to make sure the man is alive (if he’s alive, a small voice whispers in his head) and send both horse and rider on their way. His chest tightens at the thought—the plan—but he ignores it, carefully weaving around the garden and stray toys on his way to the road. 

The closer he gets, the worse off the man looks. It’s the kind of worse Helix claims drives him to drinking so his blood pressure doesn’t set a record high. It’s the kind of worse that already has Cody rethinking the plan to firmly, but not unkindly, send them on their way to as far away from him and his brothers as humanly possible. It adds a burst of speed to Cody’s step, but he doesn’t start running until the man slips, tilts forward, and— 

shit—! 

The man is heavier than Cody expected when he pitches into Cody’s chest, all dead weight and bulky armor and the suspicious smell of copper and rot that sticks to the back of Cody’s throat and almost—almost—makes him gag. He grits his teeth through the worst of it and holds on to the man until his knuckles ache. The weight forces him to a knee, but it’s nothing Cody hasn’t handled before.  

It’s the work of a moment to use his knee as a brace, to adjust his grip on the man and unceremoniously haul him over Cody’s shoulder, one arm wrapped tightly around the man’s thighs and the other gripping at the man’s back, pinning him in place as securely as possible.  

He breathes through the adrenaline and the sharp bark of pain in his bad shoulder, carefully pushing off his knee until he’s standing upright, a strange man—a strange Grey Warden?—tossed over his shoulder and a horse doing its best to make eye contact.  

“You couldn’t have picked any other house to drop your human at, could you?” 

The horse just stares.  

Cody swears he’s being mocked.  

“I’m not even a physician. You picked the worst person for the job.” 

The horse snorts in his face.  

Cody glares. “If you eat the garden, Helix will turn you into fertilizer. You’ve been warned.”  

He turns away before the horse can respond—Fox is right, he is going crazy—and dodges the toys and the garden, again, and shoulders the door open, biting back any noises that threaten to slip out when he manages to jostle his bad shoulder twice. He thanks whatever deity might be listening that Helix’s work room is only a few steps away from the front door, and he drops the stranger on the nearest exam bed, grimacing at the burn in his lungs.  

He takes a moment just to look, curious despite himself.  

The stranger’s hair is matted with filth, ash and dirt and—yes, blood. It might be a nice shade of burnished copper, or it could be the blood. There are no obvious wounds on his face, but the skin beneath his eyes is bruised and purpling and sunken, and his lips and face are devoid of any color. He looks disturbingly sickly.  

Cody eyes the armor. It could be hiding any number of injuries, and Helix gets grumpy when the basics aren’t taken care of. Cody very carefully does not sigh before he sets in on the armor, murmuring a quiet apology to armor and stranger, both. Grey Warden or not, the armor is well used and well-loved in a way that Cody recognizes, that keeps his touch gentle even as he fights with buckles and latches caked with dirt and other unholy substances Cody absolutely refuses to look too closely at.  

(He makes sure to stack the armor right, after he scrubs it clean and runs a polishing cloth over the worn metal.) 

***  

Grey Warden Obi-Wan 🗡🛡

[drauthor]

Stitch’s no good, very bad day at the hospital.

***

“Did Needle ever tell you about the time he and Rex tried to build a treehouse without telling anyone?”

Stitch shakes his head, and Helix can’t help but grin as he moves to Stitch’s elbow, even as he notes the discoloration that seems to decorate the entirety of the young boy’s limb. It’s hard to keep the expression in place when his eyes flick to Stitch’s wrist, though. The bruises look like hand prints.

//\\

It’s a couple days later than I had wanted to post (fucking editing) but chapter two is officially posted.

Thank you to everyone who’s already interacted with the work, I appreciate you all so much and hope you enjoy the second installment of It Takes a Village.

[furashuban]

Nocturnal

Something a little different this time :>

Words: 2.3k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53384422/chapters/135113332

Summary: In the middle of the night, a little girl runs up to an old woman wide awake in her bedroom to tell her why she can't go to school.

Carole would always find herself awake in the dead of night whilst everyone else throughout the county had fallen fast asleep. She had no purpose being up so late; she would do nothing but lay upright in bed reading a storybook she had checked out from the Reading Center she managed before clocking out. Sometimes she would change her routine slightly, choosing to be in the living room instead and pace around on the carpet with said book in her hands. If Ryanne were here, she would deplore Carole for not only developing such an unhealthy routine for a woman her age, but failing to desire a solution to fix it while she still could.

The door to her room was wide open; all the lights in the hallway were still turned on and gave a white-range hue to the bedroom. Carole could sense a shadow, and she looked up to see a little girl in baby blue pajamas inching towards her doorway; her long and wavy brown hair in disarray and her head hung slightly low as she stared back at the woman in bed.

“Frankie,” she called the girl’s name gently and soft with affection. “Can’t sleep?”

The 10-year-old nodded shyly, to which Carole then put aside her book and opened her arms to show her she was invited in. Frankie rushed to climb in bed and quickly cozied up beside the woman before being wrapped around her arm. “What time is it now, Carole?”

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Carole consoled, combing her fingers through the young girl’s unkempt hair, “you’ll still have plenty of time to catch some rest before school tomorrow.”

Hearing the words school and tomorrow next to each other gave Frankie a sinking feeling in her chest. “Carole…?” she raised her head up, her tone solemn.

“Yes?”

The girl took a second before saying anything, hesitant about what words to use and if it was either a good time to say them or even a good idea at all. But Carole had always taught her to be unafraid of pouring her heart out to her, or to anyone for that matter, even if they were strange for others to hear—she had a right to be heard anyway, to figure everything out with the help of others in the county along the way with gentleness and understanding.

“I can’t go to school tomorrow,” confessed Frankie, “I don’t feel very good, so I don’t think I can go to any of my classes because of it.”

Carole placed her palm on Frankie’s forehead, then on the side of her neck. “Hm, but you seem to be pretty healthy,” she gave the girl a curious look.

“It’s not that,” Frankie sighed. “There’s a quiz tomorrow that I’m not ready for, then a project that I’m having trouble finishing but it’s due the day AFTER the quiz, then another quiz after that, and I keep reading books I don’t actually want to read and I just don’t want to be in school at all ‘cause I get so jumpy the longer I stay there! I’m trying really hard, I really am, Carole, but…but…”

When Frankie struggled to say another word, remembering all the other arduous schoolwork in store for her this week, Carole leaned a little closer to tuck a section of her hair behind her ear so that her face was a little less cloaked. “It’s just unfair how they’re giving too many things without time to rest, isn’t it.”

“Yeah…” all the weight in Frankie’s heart seemed to have left in an instant, to have someone older than her understand her so well that they could put her difficult feelings into proper words meant the whole world to her.

“Poor ol’ Frances Schwinn,” Carole said sweetly. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to skip one day of school if you really can’t go.”

“You really mean it?” and for the first time tonight, if not in a long time, Frankie’s eyes lit up with hope, though an air of cautiousness lingered in the back of her mind. There was no way Carole could reasonably allow her to skip classes when she had so much to do.

“Don’t worry, the people that run the school and I know each other, I can convince them to let you find other days to do your schoolwork…Well, more like I can get Ryanne to do it with me first,” Carole snickered; Ryanne had the upper hand when it came to being confrontational, given her position as a council member, and never once did this enigmatic woman say no to doing a favor for Carole, much to her reluctance until she knew it was for Frankie’s sake. “But I promise, sunbeam, nothing more needs to be said. Girls like you need some time to let loose, especially when you’ve been giving it your best for who knows how long. The only thing missing, of course, is someone who recognizes that.”

Frankie threw her arms around Carole immediately. “Thanks so much, Carole,” she rejoiced, trying not to sound too exultant against her ear, but Carole could tell she was the happiest girl in the world because Frankie’s joy was her joy, too, and she wrapped her arms back around the girl.

“It’s no trouble, dearie.”

As soon as the Frankie withdrew from her embrace, she could have sworn the air around the room was suddenly frostier than before, like she was atop Mount Everest—not that she had ever been before. “Your room is really cold,” Frankie quivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“That’s because my house is right by the sea,” Carole also couldn’t help but pull the blanket closer, “I could go for a cup of cocoa in times like this.”

At that, Carole could feel an imaginary lightbulb spark atop her head. “Hm, what do you say to that? I can whip us both a cup or two in the kitchen really quick.” Frankie pursed her lips before simply nodding in agreement. “That’s the spirit.”

Before long, the gray-haired woman and the little girl practically leapt out of bed and ambled onto the small hallway yonder. “Can I turn on your record player while you’re making the cocoa?” Frankie requested, knowing the two of them were going to be up a lot longer than she had expected.

The record player in the living room was Frankie’s favorite thing in Carole’s house. It was fairly modern than most other phonographs, simply a wooden box resting atop a pedestal as tall as the girl herself, but thankfully it was close enough to the sofa where she could mount herself by the armrest and gently place a down record without any trouble nor help from Carole. Frankie liked being able to switch it on herself once the older woman had taught her how to use it. But first, she browsed through the crammed shelves that took up a whole corner of Carole’s living room, which were towering so close to the ceiling that Frankie needed a stool to stand on as she flipped through the dedicated cubicle for vinyl covers which was still so high above.

In the kitchen, Carole had her and Frankie’s mugs settled on the countertop right after she stopped the kettle on the stovetop from shrieking and puffing. She could hear Frankie humming a tune around the corner; a tune, the older woman recognized, as being from the record the little girl had picked out and was setting atop the record player. With the flick of switch and the touch of a needle on a rotating record (in that order), the house became filled with the fuzzy, homely melody of a piano and a man’s high-note singing that mimicked the tune Frankie was humming.

“If I knew that someone cared for me, I'd let the world go by.”

“Someone who was truer as true could be, I’d never want to sigh.”

The cocoa mix and hot milk were stirred well in each mug, and Carole carried them over to the living room where she found Frankie cuddled up on the sofa with a Raggedy Ann doll she had left there this morning—which she named “Rosie”. The 10-year-old awaited her hot cocoa whilst trying not to look too eager as she was being offered her mug, appearing stiff in the way she sat up and especially in her expression, which made Carole giggle.

“Thanks for this, Carole,” the girl then took a slight sip of cocoa, still too steamy and scorching for her to handle.

The gray-haired woman took a seat on her rocking chair across the room. “It’s hasn’t been an hour, but I hope you’re feeling a little better now than before, sunbeam.”

Frankie took a moment to concentrate on the gentle music in the room, the velvety taste of her cocoa along with its heat to bear the cold sea-air breaching into the house, Rosie limp on her lap and all the quaint decorations she could eye on around the house such as a mandolin hung on one wall and pots of ivy hung on another—and lastly, Carole Paxson giving her undivided attention to her long unheeded well-being. Nothing here could remotely remind her of quizzes and projects. She grinned softly, let out a small breath, and murmured to Carole, “Yeah, so much better.”

There was a large chest in the center of the living room which was used as the coffee table, draped with a dark red cloth and ornamented with a completed jigsaw puzzle of a Monet painting, a trio of candle stands and a little Bonsai tree on top of it. Carole squinted as she noticed among the decorations a lone book with a sky-blue cover; a copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.

“I don’t remember leaving this here.” Carole remarked as she reached for the book.

“That’s mine,” Frankie pointed out. “Well, it’s Maddie’s, but she said I could borrow it. I haven’t been able to continue reading because of school, though.”

Carole opened the book to its first page. Sure enough, on the upper right of the foreword read “MJH’s book” written tinnily in pencil along with a neatly drawn star next to it. Maddeline Jean Hewitt, Carole instantly recognized what the initials stood for, sparking a new how-to-make-Frankie-feel-better plan upon seeing.

“You know, you can spend the rest of the day tomorrow at the Hewitts’ if you’d like that, sunbeam,” the older woman spoke in an uplifting tone. “I’m sure Maddie would be just as happy knowing you now have time to play together.” Maddie was a homeschooled girl, and coming to see her meant Frankie did not have to feel alone and awkward about not being in school while every other child was.

“Is…that a good idea?” Frankie asked. “It kind of feels wrong to skip school just so I could play with my friend.”

“Sure, it’s fine,” Carole insisted. “It’s like I said, you deserve to let loose, dearie, and that means making the most out of time you didn’t have before, not just having plain ol’ rest. Plus, time at the Hewitts sounds much comfier than time at school if you ask me.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess maybe I will see Maddie tomorrow,” Frankie shrugged tautly; even when she wasn’t sure about going, she knew seeing Maddie at her family’s big brick house at Sandalwood always lit her up, and it had been so long since both girls saw each other.

When Frankie took another sip of cocoa, she drew her attention to the wall clock just above Carole’s chair, and the young girl gawked in disbelief seeing that the hour hand was at 2. Being up so late, while thrilling, was just unheard of, if not strictly forbidden for children like her. And though Frankie was only partly sleepy in this hour, she realized how Carole never seemed to look tired at all since they first saw each other in the bedroom.

“Carole? What time do you sleep?”

“Hmm…Three …Maybe four o’clock-ish?”

“But why though?”

The old woman also sipped on her cocoa before speaking; the steam fogging up her thin-rimmed glasses. Truthfully, she was not a hundred-percent sure how to answer the curious child across her, only thinking about her usual routine to remotely give any good reason for staying up so late. “If I’m gonna be honest, Frankie,” she smacked her lips, “I think it’s ‘cause I just really like reading books,” and the two girls snickered, it was hard to argue knowing how long a good book can really take to finish.

“In fact, now that you don’t have your quizzes to worry about anymore,” Carole held up the copy of the Narnia book, “how’s about you finally get around to continuing this one, together with me?”

“Hmm…okay!” Frankie’s heart soared; a book she wanted to read at long last. She reached for the record player to lower the volume a tad, that way she could hear the older woman read whilst the music she loved carried on at the same time.

The moment Carole flipped through the page the bookmark reserved, the man’s voice from the record player, while much fainter now, was already singing the final chorus of the song.

“Let the great big world keep turning, never mind if I’ve got you”

“For I only know that I want you so, and there’s no one else will do.”

“You have simply set me yearning, and forever I’ll be true.”

Frankie took a break from drinking her cocoa when she realized it was still too hot, setting it aside on the coffee-table-chest. She hugged onto Rosie and laid herself down comfortably on her side, and she listened to Carole recite the passages of her book with great sincerity and fervor as though she had really gone to Narnia, and the 4 siblings of the book were really in the room.

“Let the great big world keep on turning ‘round, now I’ve found someone like you.”

[babyjakes]

safe!dad!andy… YES PLEASE 🙏🏻

it’s been a long time coming 🥺🩵🫶☁️

[babyjakes]

me wif da safe!dad stories… 🌝

"But you already wrote that trope."

[magicandlight]

Snippet 4

Higuchi joins the mafia when she’s fifteen for a lack of other options. Kuniko, her sister, is too young to work. Her mother is too ill. Her brother is dead. Her father is dead, having ruined them with bad investments before funeral arrangements emptied their accounts. It’s all down to Higuchi. 

There aren’t many places that will hire a fifteen-year-old and provide enough money for a three-person household, so she has few choices. 

Somehow, of those choices, the mafia is the best option. 

~

When she was a little girl, before everything in her life went wrong, she’d thought she’d be a nurse one day. 

She thought she'd be healing, not dealing out more hurt. 

But the thing is that this doesn't feel wrong.

The weight of a gun in her hands is comfortable and feels easier to carry than the expectations heaped on her. 

No one here looks at her and thinks about her many failures as a daughter, sister, and woman. No one here expects her to save them, to fix every hurt they have. 

Higuchi has always been the healer, the nurturer, but maybe she doesn't have to be.��

She keeps her ability to her chest. She doesn’t need it. She’s a good shot and a good driver, and she slowly works her way up based on her own skills alone. She won’t be confined to the infirmary, relegated to bandages and stitches for the rest of her life.