#milk street vegetables

[fromthestacks]

Milk Street Vegetables by Christopher Kimball

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in and adjusting in the community, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the very first time and strange new feelings instantly take root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AGE GAP (no specific age is mentioned, but reader’s in her late 20s/early 30s and Joel is 56). reader is basically an OFC but story is written in reader format and her physical descriptions are kept as vague as possible. i have my own face claim for her, but i will only ever share it under cuts and with disclaimers. reader is married, Ellie plays a very important role in the series, hints at her strained relationship with Joel but this will indeed be a fix it fic because he deserves it, okay?

word count: 8.1k

Jackson, Wyoming | June, 2024

Joel’s deep, dark brown eyes linger on you from across the town mess hall with sheer, almost unabashed curiosity. Then again, he doesn’t even realize that he’s staring.

It’s about half past twelve, the designated lunch break hour in Jackson, and the larger scale eatery, which for the last couple of years has been run by an older man named Seth and his two surviving adult sons, is alive and well, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter.

The hall is almost over maximum capacity, packed to the brim with several members of the steadily growing community who had stopped in for a quick bite to eat before having to resume their daily work duties around the settlement. Or at least, a majority of them had, anyway. Others shamelessly try to milk their lunch hour for all that it’s worth and more, dragging it out and extending their allotted free time for as long as they possibly can before having to return to their scheduled tasks around the commune. They float about the place, socializing as if the mess hall had suddenly turned into The Tipsy Bison, the bar right across the road that’s also owned by Seth.

Somehow, by a stroke of sheer good luck, you’d managed to find yourself a smaller, unoccupied table nestled against the wall, away from all the hustle and bustle. It’s tucked away over in the furthest corner of Jackson’s busy and bustling makeshift canteen, near where the aluminum double doors that lead back to the kitchens are propped wide open for the mess hall staff who were coming in and out to replenish the dishes at the buffet. 

You’re sitting at the table alone, your plastic lunch tray surrounded by an absurd amount of open books that Joel had very little choice but to assume came from the town’s modest, but decent sized library that he’d seen nestled between the schoolhouse and the old church, right behind Main Street. In between delicate bites of oven baked chicken and roasted vegetables harvested fresh from the gardens, you reach up and take the blunt, worn yellow pencil that’s tucked in the space behind your ear, using it to scribble on the notepad in your lap before putting the pencil back in its designated place. Although you’re clearly working through your lunch break today, that doesn’t stop you from being interrupted on several different occasions by numerous individuals—friends and familiar faces all approach you with hopeful expressions, eager to join you and keep you company. 

Sure, the hall is full, but there’s still a number of available seats still left at other partially occupied tables nearby, bigger tables that aren’t crowded with books like yours, tables whose occupants aren’t busy working, studying—doing whatever it is that you’re doing. It becomes apparent to Joel that you’re something of a hot commodity around here. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s just something about you that reminds him of the sweet and popular small town girl his favorite country artists would sing about back in the day. The kind of girl with a magnetic presence and irresistible charm—the kind of girl that anyone can fall head over heels in love with in one way or another. 

There’s something almost too endearing about the gracious way you offer up just the most saccharine smile and apologetic doe eyes as you point to your books, politely declining every offer for companionship that comes your way, saying something he can imagine to be along the lines of, not today or maybe another time. Eventually, after a while, you’re finally left alone to bury yourself back into whatever it is that’s keeping you occupied that you can’t even have your midday meal in peace—you’re so engrossed in the task that you don’t even notice the older, salt and pepper haired newcomer who’s been blatantly staring at you from his table over on the opposite of the hall for the last several minutes. 

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around.

He still vividly remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago during the winter season. 

It had been the morning after his fight with Ellie, after she’d confronted him and he had been forced to fess up about his plans to hand her off to his younger brother, Tommy—he’d asked him, pleaded with him, to get her to the Fireflies in Colorado. Joel’s mind had been in an all out raging war, his heart torn between doing what he’d felt was best for Ellie and what he truly wanted, which was to remain by her side and get her to where she needed to be himself. But how the fuck could he do that when all he’d managed to do in the few months prior to their arrival in Wyoming was fail to protect her over and over again? Sure, Ellie was a teenager, now closer to being an adult than anything else, but she was still a child, one who needed to be protected, kept safe. She needed somebody who could get to where she needed to be in one piece, and Joel had come to the conclusion that, as much as he wanted to be that person, he simply wasn’t capable. Slower, older, his hearing getting worse and worse as the days go by, he feared he’d only end up getting her killed if she continued on with him, a scenario he fucking refused to let happen at all costs. He wouldn’t hold another child’s dead body in his arms, not again.

Following a very long and sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel had pulled himself out of bed just after sunrise that morning. After getting dressed, he’d quietly slipped out of the house and made his way down to the horse stables, hoping he could leave the commune as soon as possible and without notice from Tommy—and especially without notice from Ellie. It’s not that he had wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel knew he wouldn’t have it in him to follow through with the decision he’d made about parting ways with her if he saw her face again, not a fucking chance. And so there he’d been, in one of the stalls at the stables, saddling up the horse he planned to steal and take off on when you’d walked by, flashing him a warm and friendly smile, probably assuming he was just another patrolman getting ready to head out for the morning shift. 

Joel had just stared at you, lips pressed together into a tight, thin line with an emotionless expression on his hard, stony face.

Of course, you were nothing more than a complete stranger who didn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going through his mind. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what was happening to the tortured older man you’d just encountered, the way his inner turmoil was a single thought away from tearing him apart from the inside out. You’d probably just thought he was rude for not smiling back, or at the very least, offering you a courteous good morning.

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

It’d been rather difficult for him to forget all about the prettiest goddamn fucking face he’d ever seen since the world ended two decades ago—not even after all of the events that followed that fateful morning.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Wyoming. He and Ellie had made a trip down to the produce market on Main Street to pick up some vegetables and jarred preserves to stock up the kitchen pantry of their new, forever home. He’d caught sight of you as you made your way down one of the aisles towards the sweet potato bins with a brown, woven basket hanging from one arm and a reusable shopping bag draped over the other. Before Joel even realized that he’d been staring, your kind gaze met his own from across the market and you smiled at him again.

Still just as warm, still just as friendly. And you were still just as fucking beautiful as he remembered.

Much like that winter morning in the horse stables, Joel didn’t smile back at you. 

Two for fucking two—surely you must have thought he was a mannerless asshole at this point. He honestly wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’d think the same. 

Tommy, who had made it back from leading his morning patrol group just in time to join him for lunch, waves a hand in front of Joel’s face, looking thoroughly amused. “Maybe we should find you a goddamn camera,” he teases, letting out a small chuckle once he’d finally managed to break the older Miller’s trance, garnering his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last a hell of a lot longer.”

Joel scowls at his brother, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught openly gawking. 

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots, heat flooding his face. The way Tommy’s looking at him, with that mischievous glimmer in his eyes, it reminds Joel of their younger years, when Tommy would make it his mission in life to do anything that would cause him discomfort just for his own kicks. 

“Hey, I don’t really blame you, y’know.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of sweet iced tea and picks it up, taking a long and refreshing sip. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs his shoulders, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch it. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing ’bout another woman who ain’t her,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. His brother hadn’t always been the most faithful of partners in his first life, but Tommy truly seemed to be head over heels in love with his wife. Hearing him talk about another woman makes Joel wonder if perhaps remnants of his playboy ways still lingered behind even after twenty years. With Maria having just found out she was expecting his child, Joel certainly hopes that isn’t the case. “Eyes to yourself, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no real harm in just takin’ a quick peek every once in a while,” he muses, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. Setting his glass of iced tea back down onto the table in front of him, he leans back into his chair and glances over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man around here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s a real fuckin’ beauty, she is. But I should probably go ahead and warn you now that it’s best you don’t go gettin’ any ideas when it comes to that one.”

Before Joel can even stop himself, he finds himself asking, “Why’s that?

“Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your fuckin’ age, you old fucker.”

Joel flips him off.

“Besides that, she’s already spoken for.” 

“She’s got a boyfriend.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“She’s got a husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s a married woman, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to Jackson’s only doctor.”

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes. “A real doctor? Or just some fuckin’ clueless prick who claims to be a doctor?” he questions, shoving another forkful of his carrots into his mouth.

The younger man laughs at the bitter skepticism, knowing that it’d come from a place of envy more than anything. “Real, Joel. The guy’s around my age, give or take a couple years. He was finishin’ up his medical school residency when the outbreak first happened, at least that’s what Maria says,” he explains. He notices the confusion flash across Joel’s face and continues to elaborate. “Two of them go way back, went to the same college before she transferred out to another school for her law degree. Maria came across him and his group one day while out lookin’ for supplies. She said he still knew his stuff after all these years and decided to bring him in as the community’s physician. He looks after everyone around here. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a stupid ridin’ accident last summer and he set the bone right back into place, had me good as new within a few weeks. S’a miracle we’ve got someone like him around here.”

Joel glances down at his plate, twiddling his fork between his thumb and his index finger. He would have been a goddamn dirty liar if he’d said that finding out you were a married woman didn’t bother him. 

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

That only makes it sting a little harder.

Tommy immediately picks up on his brother’s disappointment in hearing the news about you being taken and softly kicks his shin with the toe of his boot underneath the table. “Y’know Joel, there’s plenty of other single women around here. Pretty ones, and real nice, too,” he informs him with a small smile. He pauses and then offers, “If you’re interested, I could introduce you around. Maria has this friend, her name is Esther and she’s a real cute blonde—”

“That’s the last thing on my fuckin’ mind,” Joel grumbles out in reply. He tightly shakes his head. “I just fuckin’ got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to take care of. We’re both tryin’ to get used to this place after bein’ out there on the road for so long. We’re still in the middle of gettin’ ourselves settled. The kid’s my priority right now—my only fuckin’ priority. Not meetin’ someone.”

Not wanting to push him too far, Tommy goes along with the subject change. “Speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? Haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back.”

Joel hesitates, momentarily unable to meet Tommy’s eyes.

It’d been a couple of weeks now since the events that took place back in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Joel had certainly thought once or twice about confiding in Tommy about what he had done. How he had ruthlessly and without a single ounce of mercy killed all of those people in the hospital, how he had shot Marlene dead at point blank range—how he had violently and single handedly stopped what had most likely been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure for the cordyceps infection by preventing the Fireflies from operating on Ellie and performing a brain surgery that would have killed her. 

Joel doesn’t regret it, nor does he regret the choice he’d made on Ellie’s behalf.

He would do it all over again in a fucking heartbeat if it came down to it.

He doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, but he does carry the guilt of having lied to her about it after it was all said and done. He felt awful for looking her in the eye and swearing to her that everything he’d said about the Fireflies was true when it wasn’t. Ellie claimed to believe him, but he knew better than that. She was smart, too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew for certain that Joel wasn’t being entirely forthright about what had gone down in Salt Lake City while she’d been unconscious.

From that moment on the mountain, things had been quite tense between them. That conversation instantly caused a rift in their relationship, but Joel could tell she was doing her very best to force herself to fully believe that he was still a person she could trust, a person she could put her faith in. He took an odd sense of comfort in knowing that her forced efforts to keep believing in him had to have meant something good. 

She didn’t want to give up on him or on their relationship.

Joel exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried ‘bout her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single goddamn friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, barely even talks to Maria.” He sighs again, tiredly rubbing the side of his face with his free hand. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than other people. She can’t live the rest of her life like that. I try to tell her she needs to put in more effort on her part, but she won’t fuckin’ listen to me.”

“Just give her some more time, Joel. After everythin’ that poor kid’s been through in her life, it ain’t a big surprise that she’s strugglin’ a bit to fit in around here, y’know?” Tommy notices the way his older brother’s jaw clenches and he offers him a look of sympathy. “Look, I know Ellie means a whole lot to you and if I were you, I would be real worried ’bout her too. But just give her a little more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she fuckin’ will. She’s a real strong kid, big brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” Joel murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be just fine,” Tommy reassures him. “She’ll find her place here, Joel. Just wait. You’ll see.”

“I sure as hell fuckin’ hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight hitting your face.

Summer’s just beginning in Wyoming, and after a particularly long, cold and cruel winter that swept the western state this last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see that warmer weather is well on its way.

At least, for now you’re thrilled.

Winters in Jackson were god awful, but summers could be just as brutal, if not worse.

Clutching the strap of your old, but sturdy brown leather satchel bag securely over your shoulder, you hurriedly make your way across the settlement from the mess hall and back towards the horse stables, the place you commonly referred to as your second home—it wasn’t all that much of a joke, seeing as you often spent more time there than you didn’t. It’s now after lunch hour, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around, most of it which would undoubtedly trickle into the next day.

Being the only veterinarian in the community, there was always more than plenty of work to be done every day. Too much work to be done by one single person alone. Often, you find yourself feeling quite overwhelmed by it all. You feel like you’re completely in over your head, and it leaves you wondering if you’d made the right decision by taking such an enormous responsibility into your hands.

Then again, it’s not like you’d been given much of a choice. In a way, it had been expected of you.

Prior to passing away from illness two summers ago, your father had been the veterinarian who looked after the animals. Even though you hadn’t been trained professionally like he had, your father decided to spend the final years of his life teaching you to the best of his ability and with what little resources he had available. After all, Jackson was going to need someone to step up and take care of the animals when he was gone—particularly the hoses. Even as his physical health worsened, he used every last ounce of strength he had left in him to prepare you to take over for him when he died. Thanks to him and all he’d done for you, you certainly knew a thing or two, but the job was still daunting, even after all this time of being in practice on your own without him there to guide you like before.

Keeping the horses healthy to begin with made your job a hell of a lot easier, but when a horse became sick or injured, that was when your knowledge and your skills were truly put to the test. Horses were how everyone traveled when in search of needed supplies, how patrolmen and women moved around while they were out and about on watch keeping the community safe against the infected and against raiders. Horses were one of the most important, most precious resources the commune possessed. They kept everything going, everyone moving, and you’d be fucking lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them didn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

Sensing your doubt, Maria Miller often assured you that you were the best person for the role—the only person for the role. “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she had complimented you over coffee at her place the morning after you had successfully removed a bullet lodged into the shoulder of one of the horses that had been injured while Tommy and his group were out on overnight patrol. They’d stumbled across violent and armed raiders, and luckily everyone had made it out unscathed with the exception of Tommy’s beloved black horse, Ranger. You recalled being pulled out of your bed in the middle of the night to tend to him, the first serious case you had to take care of without your father’s guidance. Thankfully, the stallion’s injury hadn’t been life threatening, and you were able to patch him up within the hour. After just a few weeks of working with Ranger and putting him through physical therapy, the horse made a full recovery and both Maria and Tommy couldn’t have been more thrilled with your work.

Still, you still continued questioning your own abilities, but it didn’t really matter in the end. Both Maria and Tommy decided to assign you as Jackson’s equine veterinarian, pulling you from your previous job, which had been helping Seth make sandwiches at The Tipsy Bison.

You rush into the stables, making a mental list with the names of all the horses that you still need to check over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol. You make your way down to the very last stall which is serving as home to a stunning, chestnut-brown pregnant mare.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, beaming at the beauty. “Hi, my gorgeous girl. How are you doing today, sweetie pie?”

“I would be doing a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you slightly.

Peering around Stella’s body, you catch sight of Ellie laying down on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall. She’d made something of a pillow out of her backpack, kicking back as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for what had to be the hundredth time. She offers you a silly, lopsided grin the minute she takes a glimpse at the baffled look on your face. “Howdy.”

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly. “What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Living my best life,” she deadpans. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

You try but mostly fail, in hiding your laughter at her quick witted sense of humor. “Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your heavy satchel bag onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those apples you always carried around with you.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a small joking smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair, which she always keeps tied back in a messy ponytail.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids?”

She rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in the Boston QZ. FEDRA’s finest, dude.”

You don’t know all that much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happened to be Tommy Miller’s older brother and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, but Maria had told you that he had no familial relation to the girl, a fact that took you by complete surprise.

Their arrival in Jackson back during the winter season had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring just a couple of weeks ago. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had gone or why they had left the safety of the commune’s walls in the first place. Not even Maria, who had failed in getting her husband to talk. She swore up and down Tommy knew something she didn’t, but he refused to spill his brother’s secrets, even to his own wife.

Like everyone else in the tight knit community, you were curious about Ellie, and you were especially curious about Joel. You’d seen him around a couple of times before, but hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet. Still, even without having spoken a single word to him, you already knew he wasn’t anything like Tommy, or anyone else you’ve ever encountered, really. A man of very few words, he kept to himself, just like Ellie did. Still, Joel knew he needed to find his place and pull his weight in Jackson just like everyone else, and once he began working patrol alongside Tommy, he finally began engaging with other members of the town. 

Reluctantly so, but at the very least, he was trying.

Ellie, on the other hand, avoided everybody at all costs. Everybody, that is, except for you.

Since their arrival, Ellie chose to spend her days in the stables. She’d hang out with the horses while reading her comic books or listening to tapes on some old Walkman she had permanently borrowed from Tommy. Despite a hectic schedule that kept you busy, you eventually started taking the time out of your day to talk to her. It had started off with light chatter about the most trivial of things—how the day was going, whether or not the weather was nice outside, what had been served for lunch in the mess hall that afternoon. Ellie seemed almost annoyed with you at first, but after a couple of days, she’d quickly started warming up to you and by the end of the first week, she had started following you around the stables, joining you wherever you needed to be. The girl had taken a liking to you, but she was still quite guarded and careful, as if she were still testing the waters, figuring out whether or not you could be trusted.

You don’t mind that, though.

Little by little, simply by being kind to her and making the genuine effort to get to know her, you’re slowly beginning to chip away at her layers. There was still quite a long way to go if you ever wanted the teenager to completely open up to you, but you didn’t mind that either.

You’d be as patient with her as you needed to be.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends, you know.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

Even as you rephrase yourself, you can’t help but smile. “Friends your own age,” you remark, tucking the loose lock of your hair that had fallen loose from your dutch braid behind your ear. “You know, my husband, he has a niece named Dina. She’s about your age. I could introduce you to each other if you'd like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everyone around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I’d have an easier time fitting in around here if I was a fucking clicker.”

Chuckling, you gently shake your head at her.

By now, you’d pretty much gotten used to her rich and colorful vocabulary.

You crouch down in front of her. “Look Ellie, I know how hard it is not to fit in with others.”

“You?” Ellie blows a loud raspberry in complete disbelief. “No fucking way. I don’t believe that for one fucking second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, in case you didn’t know this, I haven’t always been this age,” you remind her, lightly swatting at the side of her knee with your hand. “I was fifteen once too.”

“Yeah, and you were probably little miss fucking perfect, just like you are now.” She rolls her brown eyes at you in a teasing manner. “I bet everyone just loved you.”

You swat at her knee again. “Oh, stop that. That couldn’t be any further from the truth,” you reply, wondering where this child had come up with the idea that you are, or had ever been perfect. “I was still living in one of the quarantine zones with my family when I was your age, Ellie. We were living in the Alburquerque QZ for quite a while before it got overrun by the infected. They had schools and everything, just like in Boston. My mother was a nurse, so she had the privilege of enrolling me in one of their better schools, a preparatory school—she had the hope that I’d become an officer so I could have a chance at a decent life.” You pause, noticing a strange glimmer flash in the girl’s eyes, but when she says nothing, you continue on, “So I got the absolute pleasure of going to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and important higher ups in the zone. And let me tell you something, the world may have gone to complete shit, but teenagers can still be fucking assholes.”

Ellie throws her head back and laughs loudly. “Whoa! I never thought I’d hear you curse. I thought you were too fucking prim and proper for that.”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, grinning at the way she continues to cackle. “Besides, spending all this time with you might just have me cursing like a fucking sailor by the end of the week.”

“Fuck yeah it will,” she agrees with a nod. 

You grin again, but when your eyes meet Ellie’s, it falters slightly.

Ellie hadn’t told you much of anything about her past, but one thing was for certain—the young girl had been through hell and back. You could see it written all over her face, even when she smiled and even when she laughed. The traces of terror, pain, and trauma were quite subtle, but they were very much present and in recent nights, you’d find yourself lying in bed, wide awake and wondering what all this poor child had gone through in her life. Thoughts about what Ellie had seen, what and who she had lost in this world haunted you.

She’s different. 

What she’d been through made her different.

It set her apart from the other children, especially those who don’t know what it’s like to live a life outside these four walls.

It pained you to know that she felt ostracized when you were willing to bet your life that whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been her fault.

Ellie Williams wasn’t your responsibility—you hardly know her. But you already care about her. An inexplicable soft spot for her had found its way into your heart from your very first interaction with her. If there’s anything you can do to help her ease into this new way of life, you’ll gladly do so without hesitation.  

“So then,” Ellie finally says after a minute, looking up at you. “Is it, uh, is it alright if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course.” You rise to your feet and glance at Stella. “But only on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short handed lately and could use the extra help. Deal?”

She jumps up to her feet, eagerly nodding her head. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving his way through the doors of the mess hall. The air outside is still relatively cool, it’s crisp and fresh—but the temperatures are sure to get a hell of a lot warmer now that summer has officially arrived. Not that he minded.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, doing his best to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction.

People seem to be getting to him, but oftentimes, he still feels like a pariah. It’s almost like he’s some fucking feral stray cat that Jackson had adopted and taken into it’s home, willing to tame him, but still afraid that he could start tearing shit up at any given moment if they didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. He could handle that, though. It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between the survivor’s guilt she’d been dealing with on a daily basis and the way she was looked at in the community by everyone, Joel feared for her well being. He could only hope that Tommy was right about her just needing time and that eventually, she’ll find her place and he’ll have the chance to give her the most normal life possible under the circumstances. 

It’s the very least Joel could do for her after all she’d been through in the last year—after what he’d done, how he had lied straight to her face. He fucking owed her that much.

Ellie deserved happiness, and he would do just about anything in his power to give it to her.

Joel arrives at the horse stables and makes his way inside. “Ellie?” He calls out her name. “Ellie? You in here?”

That’s when he hears her voice. 

“Wait, what? Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel sees Ellie standing there, her tiny little hand on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she’s holding a mane brush. She isn’t alone.

He’s surprised to see you standing there beside her, your hands planted on your hips. You’re wearing a pair of well worn light wash blue jeans, the legs tucked into a pair of weathered black riding boots whose soles are completely caked with muck. Joel remembers you wearing an oversized, long sleeved red flannel shirt back in the mess hall, but it’s now off and tied around your waist, leaving you in a thin, cotton white tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and Joel tries his hardest not to stare at the patch of bare skin that peeks between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans.

Christ.

You’re even more beautiful up close.

Fuckin’ get a grip, Miller, he thinks silently to himself.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

“What? No fucking way!” Ellie exclaims, looking thoroughly excited, but bewildered by the fact. “Horses are pregnant for a whole year? Holy shit man, that’s fucking nuts!”

“Well, for eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat on her muscular neck. “This is Stella’s first one. We’re hoping for a smooth pregnancy that reaches full term, but sometimes babies decide to come a bit sooner than expected.”

Curiously, Joel’s lips part and his eyes widen slightly.

He can’t fucking believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone in two weeks and yet here she is, engaging with you so easily and so effortlessly, cracking the first genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed that giraffe back in Salt Lake City. More than that, Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws would drop in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

You and Ellie both turn around, glancing in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” she asks, her smile fading slightly.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to go eat somethin’ kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her red and tan backpack from the ground, she hands you the mane brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Joel glances at you, a sudden wave of awkwardness washing over him. Just as he’s about to politely excuse himself and leave, you speak.

“You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake.

Your name is as beautiful as you are and it sounds heavenly when he repeats it, rolling smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own and the contrast between the two is stark. Your hand is soft against his rough, small compared to his large, but somehow still an all too perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades now stir itself awake—it’s a feeling that’s too foreign for him to pinpoint. 

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes a step back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m real sorry ‘bout Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I’ll have a talk with her.”

“No, no. Of course not. She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you quickly assure him without missing a beat. “I’m usually in here alone, so it’s actually been really nice having her around. I enjoy her company a lot.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Is that so strange?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to life here and meetin’ people. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise to his hairline—exactly how well had you and Ellie gotten to know each other already? What all had she told you? What did you know about her?

What did you know about him?

Joel tries to mask the concern on his face.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head, the ridiculousness of what you’d just said sounding sillier out loud than it had in your mind. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You detect the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly tell you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about his kid. Ellie being different is something that he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. It puts him right into protective mode and you don’t blame him, not in the slightest. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize at all, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts relaxing. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen. All it’s taking is being in your presence and talking to you. Joel suddenly understands why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re unlike anyone that either of them had ever met before. You’re bright and you bring about this warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hadn’t felt in so fucking long. It feels like seeing the sun for the very first time after spending years and years trapped in a cold, cold darkness.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. We lived in New Mexico on a horse ranch when I was growing up—he started off as a stable hand and then he went back to school to become an equine veterinarian. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’ but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He gave me a ton of books that I could read and study from, but most of it was hands-on training. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. Sorry to hear ‘bout your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, wondering what had happened to him. 

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “Cancer, we think it was, but we obviously can’t know for sure without proper testing. And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life, especially when you lived under FEDRA control for so long,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white cottage right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults.

If you didn’t stop smiling at him like that, there was going to be a problem.

“It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it would be best for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how fucking easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together tomorrow night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder. Through the small round window in the stall, he can see the very barn you’re talking about. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. We do it for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big barbecue, drinks, and even dancing. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“Hey, the world might have ended, but people still know how to get down and party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you.

Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you? A complete fucking stranger?

He thinks about it. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of his patrol duties, but if going to the damn thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you tomorrow night. 

Shit.

Yeah, he’s in fucking trouble. 

[fanfictionsworld]

Things in L/n,Michaelis and Faustus household that just make sense

I have been thinking about this for a long time so lets get into it.

Spider webs for Clauds spiders which by the way are everywhere.

Three pet cats which Sebastian found on the street,whcih y/n and Claude told that he should wash since he found them on the streets.He was deeply offended by you since you sided with Claude on this one.You just simply told him that you do not what flees or any type of disease they might carry,and reminded him that your just as much a cat person as is he.

Dancing shows that Claude owns which are always by the door.

Picture of three of you at the amusement park on which you look happy and both of them look like they wanna kill each other.

A first aid kit for when you hurt your self or bump into the doors,wall,wardrobes,etc.Which is very concerning.

A cabinet just for you favorite snacks,drinks,sweets,etc.

Five bedrooms in the house.

One is Sebastians for his free time which is petting the cats.

One for Claude for his knitting and for his spiders.

One for you when you just can not deal with them,there is also a bag of sault in your room for times when you mad at them and you draw a line which they can not pass unless you remove.

One big room for three of you which consistes of a very large bed with five pillows and blanket made of silk,two sofas,book shelfs,a gramophone,one big wardrobe,rug with spider and crow prints,one large mahogany desk filled with your work and there work and a fire place.

The fifth room is for the cats which you insisted on having because your jealous that they spend to much time with him which Sebastian teases' you about relentlessly.

Two bathrooms with large tubs,botells of your favourite shampoo,thooth brushes,hair brush the best kind,pads,for some reason condoms,skin care products of the highst caulitly,large mirror above the sink decorated in the Victorian style.

A large sittingroom with a coffiee table,all sort's of your favorite flowers,beautiful curtness made from the finest matirials,a very long sofa with a two armchairs and a few fluffy blankets which you three use mostly you when its cold,a big screen television and under it is a very large fire place.

Beautiful garden with lots of fruit and vegetables which Sebastian and Claude planted them selfs,they love when they have fresh ingredients cooking you the finest meals with them.

Small table with a few chairs and lounge chairs when you wanna sun tan.

Kitchen consistes of a large oven a small table with four chairs,a pantry which they keep all sorts of spices,flower,suger,vegertables,fruit,etc.

Large refrigerator for oil,meat,milk,yougrt,chesse,egss,etc.

And at last a front porch with a very comfortable bench and a table where in the dusk you three sit as you talk about anything and everything.

[fireandiceland]

Hetalia characters with dishes typical for their country - part 1 (part 2 here)

Italy: Maritozzo (cream bread) -> This Roman milk bread is said to be dated back to times of Ancient Rome. The baked good is filled with generous amounts of whipped cream and somtimes decorated with fruit or pistachio. Young man also used it in courtship by hiding jewellery or a ring in the filling.

Germany: Breze(l) mit Schokolade (chocolate dipped pretzel) -> A baked pastry with sweet or salty toppings, best known for its distinctive symetrical, knotted shape. Dipped in chocolate the soft pretzel is a popular snack at funfairs and markets, but there are also small, crispy pretzels that are to be eaten like crisps/chips.

Japan: 和菓子 (wagashi; plant based sweet) -> Originally meaning "Japanese confectionery" the term now refers to a traditional dessert made from plant based ingredients. It's artful shapes are influenced by season, nature, or even poetry.

France: Quiche Lorraine -> A savoury tarte traditionally made with a filling of eggs, heavy cream, ham, and bacon. Today cheese is often added, though it is controversial among professionals. (In the drawing there seems to be leek added too which is not mentioned in the original recipe either.)

England: Scotch Egg -> Supposedly inspired by the Indian nargisi koftas, this dish consists of a hard-boiled or soft-boiled egg wrapped in pork (sausage meat) which is coated in breadcrumbs and then baked or deep-fried. Often served in pubs and a popular cold snack as well.

America: Hamburger -> A popular fastfood consisting of a patty (traditionally made from ground beef) between two halfs of a sliced bun. There are countless variations made with all kinds of additional ingredients and condiments, including expensive high-end versions with edible goldflakes.

Russia: пирожки́ (Pirozhki; stuffed bread) -> This popular street food is a baked good made from yeast-dough is typically boat-shaped and filled sweet or savory with meat, vegetables, fruit, jam or tvorog (an Eastern European fermented milk product with a consistency similar to curd cheese)

China: 小籠包 / 小笼包 (Xiaolongbao; steamed bun) -> Steamed dumplings made from leavened or unleavened dough traditionally filled with minced pork, traditionally eaten for breakfast. The top of the dumpling is closed by folding and pinching it. Authentical dumplings have at least 14 folds, preferably 18.

[tianasimstreehouse]

Fried Rice

When visiting Tomarang looking for a new apartment to rent, Betty and Tim wanted to get a feel for the new neighbourhood they might be moving to. Wandering down the street, they saw a woman artfully cooking in a wok over a little cookfire. She was tossing rice with an assortment of vegetables and meats, causing tantalising aromas to waft through the bustling street. Betty and Tim both bought a plate of the Fried Rice - it was delicious!

Happy first of March! :)

*REQUIRES the latest version of my TianaSims Cookbook to work*

Category: Meals

Ingredients: Any Vegetable, Any Herb, Egg, Wrapped Red Meat

Prepped Ingredients: Prepped Meat

Skill Level: 4 (Homestyle)

Available sizes: Party, Family, Single

Dietary: Lactose-Free

DOWNLOAD (Patreon early access): Fried Rice Milk and Cookies: Now! Sugar Cookies: 15th March Public: 22nd March

[roxygen22]

Comfort food from the prompt list for Wonka

https://www.tumblr.com/roxygen22/750844187588673536/send-me-a-number-and-ill-write-a-micro-story

Micro Story Prompt

On the House

He was wandering aimlessly around the small tropical town, milking the last hours of shore leave before heading back to the ship, when he caught a waft of something delicious. The top notes of something savory filled the air and made his stomach grumble.

He let his nose lead his legs until he came to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant at the edge of town. He pulled the beaded curtain to the side and stepped in. The place was empty, but he could hear the clanking of cooking in the back. Suddenly, a friendly face popped into view from the kitchen window.

"Please, sit! I will be out in just a minute," he heard a young woman shout. He looked around and chose a table that would allow for a view of the place. It was small, but well tended to. Loved, even. He mindlessly ran his fingers along the grooves of the hand hewn wooden table as he waited.

Motion from the kitchen broke him from his thoughts. The girl wiped her hands on her apron as she stepped out. "What can I get for you, sir?" she asked while pointing to a menu board.

"I want whatever is producing that delicious aroma. I could smell it down the street!"

"Ah, I was making galina stoba for tomorrow's special. But I can spare some for you today. I'll be right back." She brought out a steaming bowl of rich brown broth, chicken, and vegetables. It almost looked like a stew. His eyes fell when she set it down in front of him.

"You don't like it? You haven't tried it!"

"No, no, ma'am. It's not that. It looks and smells scrumptious. M- my mom used to make something like this when I was sick or upset," he replied quietly.

"She is no longer of this world?"

He simply shook his head in response.

"You've been thinking a lot about her," she stated factually.

"All the time."

"She brought you here to my shop tonight. To show you that you will be alright. I can feel it." She paused. "Stoba is on the house."

He looked up at the ceiling puzzled. She chuckled.

"I mean this one is on me. Free." She cupped his shoulder, but before she could turn away, he grabbed her hand.

"Thank you. What's your name?"

"Raeni. Yours?"

"Willy. Willy Wonka."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author notes: we are finally getting closer to smut <333

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 5

Chapter 4. Date

Michael froze. Elizabeth rushed towards her father. He looked at her sternly, nodding. Girl obediently got into the car. She knew that if her father talked in that tone and looked at her with that look, then she just had to keep quiet and do what he wanted.

“Dad, i—”

“Get in the car, now.”

Mike quickly went to the car, not even looking at you. You were at a loss what to do. The situation is terribly awkward. You haven’t even thought that Michael lied to his father for the sake of hanging out with you.

“Honey, get in the car, it's cold outside. I'll give you a ride home.” Afton’s face immediately changed, he putted on a wide friendly smile. You couldn't find words, so you packed up the rest of your things and just got in the car, at the same damn front seat. Afton's kids were sitting in the back, none of them wanted to sit next to their pissed father.

William started the engine and the car moved off. The cold didn’t recede, and you already regretted that you wore only a light t-shirt and shorts.

Michael was looking at the floor the whole time, nervously playing with the zipper on his backpack. He knew what was waiting for him. He knew what he was doing, but his stupid habit of not listening to his father's orders always played a cruel joke on him. He was most afraid for you and Elizabeth, because it was him who got you into this situation after all.

“We'll deal with you at home, Michael,” man behind the wheel said seriously. Michael looked up at the mirror in the car, meeting his father's angry gaze. “you’re grown-up guy, but framed yourself and your girl friend.”

You swallowed nervously, feeling uneasy. Is Afton really that cruel? Yes, he sometimes scared you in childhood, but he never showed any hint of aggression towards you or his children, at least in front of you. When you arrived at your house, you wanted to look at Michael, but he was sitting pressed into the car seat, so you hurried out.

Elizabeth waved goodbye to you, you smiled and said goodbye to her in return.

…

A few days passed after that incident, but you still felt uncomfortable, you felt kind of guilty in front of Mike, and this guilt was eating you up from the inside, forcing you to come up with terrible scenarios in your head. What happened when Michael got home? No, William can't be that cruel.

Unfortunately, Michael started avoiding you, as if he was afraid that someone would see you next to him. When you met on the street, he tried to hurry past with his head down, like a frightened puppy. But Mr. Afton began to visit you every day, every morning he stopped by and brought food to the house: eggs, milk, meat, vegetables. Once he even gave your mom a few hundred dollars so she could buy something for herself, from his words. Sometimes Elizabeth was with him, she couldn't get enough of your company. She kept asking you to play with her in backyard, not that you'd mind, but you couldn't get Michael's behavior out of your head.

On another summer day, you spent time with Elizabeth as always, she showed you her drawings. One of them had an animatronic, although all her drawings consisted only of these robots, but this one impressed you. It was robot girl in a bright red dress and two red ponytails.

“Daddy said he's going to make me one like her soon!” girl exclaimed, looking at your reaction. You looked at the drawing in detail.

“Lizzie, that’s really… great!” you patted her on the head, giving her back her drawing.

“Elizabeth, it's time to go home.” William came up to you. She nodded obediently and headed for the car. “wait for me there, honey.” He said kindly. Still, the way he treated his daughter left you hoping that nothing terrible happened to Michael that day. “Y/n, I have a question for you…“ he began, sitting down next to you on a bench in the yard.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Sorry?” your heart started beating at a furious rate, breathing became faster. You looked at his face, which expressed absolute calm. Your body tensed. Damn, when are you going to stop reacting like that? You must do something about your anxiety.

“I asked if you wanted to go on a date with me, honey.” William repeated.

“B-but you…” you didn't know what words to answer. He's a married man, what will Mrs. Afton think? And what will your whole small town think when they see you two together in some restaurant? “I don't quite understand you…”

“You don't have to worry about such things, bunny.” Afton said stiffly, as if reading your mind. “What do you say?”

You understood that you couldn't refuse. You didn’t knew how to. He was always there for you as if he knew when you were feeling bad and anxious. And how he calmed you down at the cemetery? And how he protected you from your drunken dad when you were little? And when he helped your mom with money and groceries? And in the end, when he gave you an unforgettable birthday in his pizzeria without demanding anything in return? You thought it would be just not right to refuse here.

At some point, he replaced your father. And you was grateful.

“I agree, William.” it was the first time his name came out of your mouth. William’s impassive face immediately changed to delight.

“Good girl,” he caressed your hair. “Ill pick you up tomorrow at 7.”

…

Her doe eyes symbolizing childlike innocence, purity. Such soft lips that he wants to kiss forever. Weak, frail hands. She's so pretty, so defenseless, like a child. William, what is wrong with you? He wants to kiss her, embrace her in his arms tightly, bite her, he want to bury his face in her soft hair, inhale the sweet scent of perfume mixed with shampoo. She's all playful, flirtatious. All for him. His porcelain doll. His little angelic creature. His girl. His fucking girl. His dream.

“Daddy,” she stands in front of him in a skirt and a snow-white blouse, seductively playing with the buttons on it. “What do you want? Tell me.” her voice echoed in his head.

“I want you.” the only thing William could say. “Fuck…”

That's fucking crazy.

His pants are tight as hell, his cock is about to explode, but she doesn't seem to be going to do anything about it. She brings her finger to her mouth, sucking it, then runs it along the jaw line, going lower and lower, drawing a line around her breasts. William has completely lost track of time, who he is, where he is, why, so many questions, no answers, and no answers are needed, all he wants is a continuation of this show. In an instant, the torn shirt flies to hell, and she, as little devil approaches him, sitting on his lap.

“William,” her whisper making the blood boil. “Take me…” her playful fingers run over his hot body.

He's about to suffocate from this unrestrained passion.

Williams’s eyes shoot open and he leaned on his elbows. He was breathing heavily, trying to figure out what just happened. His own wife was sleeping next to him.

…

Afton didn’t lie, he came to pick you up at exactly 7, even a little earlier. Oh, how it cheered him up to see you in the dress he gave you for your birthday. He chose it carefully and for a long time, as well as the necklace for it. William couldn't take his eyes off you the whole way, which didn't go unnoticed by you.

Your date started at a restaurant that he personally picked up. The place was so luxurious, all those tables for two with a white tablecloth, live music and an incredibly intimate atmosphere. All of this made you feel new, completely unknown feelings, but you liked them.

William ordered the two of you a fish fillet with a vegetable side dish, which he asked the best chef of the establishment to cook, because “my girl has the best of everything.”

Still, the growing feeling that someone of neighbors might see you never left, making you nervous again.

“Y/n, don’t worry," William said, cutting the fish in half. “Think of this date as… a continuation of your birthday.”

The waiter came up to you as soon as you finished eating, but dinner wasn't over for you here, William asked for dessert. Oh, yes, he knew you were a big fan of sweets. Even as a child, when you were visiting his family, your little hands were always reaching for the table with candies, because there was never anything at home.

“What do you think, Princess?” gently, lovingly, he asks, studying your expression. You'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. There was an ice cream in front of you: chocolate, creme brulee and vanilla, all three ice cream balls were covered with caramel. Afton knew your preferences perfectly well.

“That's wonderful, thank you!” like a hungry kitten, you started eating dessert. Your thoughts receded into the background at once, now you were most focused on the taste, it is so cloying, sweet, tender, as you liked. Under all this ecstasy, you didn't even notice William's gaze piercing you. Holding his breath, he watched your actions. You were so happy, so beautiful, so… desirable. Begging to be ruined. And when you licked the rest of the ice cream off your lips, he forgot how to breathe. You're the little devil that drives him crazy.

When dinner was over, William paid the bill for the two of you, leaving a tip for the waiter.

You were standing on the street, not far from his car. Despite the evening, this time the temperature didnt drop like back then, it was very warm. Yes, apparently, this summer will be remembered by you as the hottest of all time. William was talking to someone on the old phone, probably Henry, while you stood there and obediently waited, thinking about dinner tonight. There was no point in hiding it, you liked everything. Yes, there were terrible thoughts in your head that this whole romantic setting was not suitable for a girl who just turned 18 and a man who was already 50, but nothing terrible happened, did it? That date, in your head, was just a substitute for the words “thank you” for everything he did for you.

“Princess,” you didn't even notice when he finished talking on the phone. He turned to you, "I hope I satisfied your childish whims?" He smiled. You were right, William was normal and wasnt going to go any further, you can exhale. He just sees you as a child, like his other daughter… right?

“Of course, Daddy!” you giggled, joking. William however wasn't laughing, he fell into a stupor, what did you just call him? He got speechless. That picture immediately popped into his head, that image of you that has been tormenting him for weeks, months, years. Afton raised an eyebrow, laughing nervously back at you.

“Everything for my girl, let's go to the car.”

This time, the back seats weren't occupied, but because of the state of euphoria and delight, you decided that you could at your favorite damn front seat of this purple car. William got in next to you, but he wasn't going to start the car. He couldn’t get out of his head what you called him a few minutes ago. A joke, huh? Everything is burning inside, a wild, crazy feeling gripped his brain. Whole situation got worse when your dress strap fell off your shoulder, in his head it was like a sign to act.

With a light movement, touching your skin, he tucked strand of hair behind your ear and adjusted the dress strap. His touch caused pleasant shivers that spread all over your body. Heart stopped. His hands gently stroked your neck and shoulders with careful movements. Such a… strange, inexplicable feeling. It seems that you want to continue, but something in your head screams "enough, it’s enough", is this probably the remnants of common sense? Hundreds, no, thousands of butterflies in your stomach, the feeling that you are about to melt, like this ice cream. A pleasant shiver through your body from his touches. You stared into his gray-blue eyes, fascinated, with your mouth slightly open, as if begging him to kiss you.

“You… fuck, you're driving me crazy.” Afton hissed in your ear, from the wave of all these new sensations, you couldn't even answer him. His breath burned your skin. “Let's go to my place.”

[raatart]

a complete boycott list in alphabetical order

a complete list of companies / brands / franchises to boycott in support of palestine that i have been working on putting together for a while now.

remember to support your local businesses

stand with palestine against genocide

(Food & Beverages)

A

Activia

Acqua Panna

Akmina

Absolute Vodka

Algida

A&W

Aquafina

Alpro

Actimel

B

Burger King

Baskin Robbins

Ben & Jerry's

Bugles

Betty Crocker

Badoit

Becel

C

Coca Cola

Costa Coffee

Cadbury

Cheerios

Cheetos

Campbells

Calve

Cappy

Chiquita

D

Dominos

Dasani

Dunkin' Donuts

Doritos

Dr Pepper

Danone

Dolcela

Damla

Dogadan

E

Evian

Eden

F

Fanta

Frito-lay

Fruit by the Foot Roll Ups

Falim

Fresca

G

Gatorade

Greggs

H

Hardees

Haagen Dazs

Heinz Ketchup

Hershey's

Hard Rock Cafe

Heinz

I

Innocent

Israeli Fruits & Vegetables

J

Jacob's

Jaffa

K

KitKat

KFC

Kbueno

Kraft Mac & Cheese

Kellogg's

Kraft

L

Lipton

Lays

M

McDonald's

Mars

Marks & Spencers

Maggi

Marila

Monster

Mountain Dew

Mehadrin

Minute Maid

Milk Bar

M&M's

Magnum Ice Cream

Milka Chocolates

N

Nestle

Nestle Cereals

Nescafe

Nesquik

Nespresso

Nido

Nutella

Nature Valley

Nestle Milo

Nestle Carnation

Nestle Coffee Mate

Nestle Nestum

Nimbooz

Nestea

O

Orea

Original Shredded Wheat

P

Papa John's

Pepsi

Pringles

Pizza Hut

Perrier

Pillsbury

Popeyes

Pretty a Manager

Pure Life

Powerade

Popup Bagels

Q

Quality Street

Quaker

R

Redbull

Ruffles

S

Starbucks

Subway

Smartwater

Sweetgreen

Snickers

Sprite

Sabra

Sunkist

Strauss

Smarties

S.pellegrino

Schweppes

Sana

Sirma

Sara Lee

T

Toblerone

Tang

Twix

Tesco

Tropicana

U

V

Vittle

Volvic

W

Wall's

Walmart

Walkers

Wrigley's

X

Y

Z

7Up

(Clothing)

A

America Eagle

Adidas

Alo

Adina Eden Jewelry

B

C

Converse

Calvin Klein

Cat

Castro

D

Drew

Diesel

E

F

G

Good American

GAP

H

H&M

I

J

K

Kamili

L

Levi's

Lumberjack

M

Mango

N

Nike

O

Oasis

P

Puma

Q

R

River Island

S

Skims

Skinny Dip

St. Mark

Style Nadia

T

Timberland

U

V

Victoria's Secret

Vakko

W

We Wore That

Wyeth

X

Y

Z

Zara

(Beauty)

A

Aveda

Amika

Avon

Aussie

Aveeno

Always

Aesop

Ahava

B

Bobbi Brown

Blistex

Bath & Body Works

Britney Spears Fragrance

Becca

Biotherm

Beauty Blender

C

Clinique

Covergirl

Colgate

Calgon

Camay

CeraVe

Christina Aguilera Perfumes

Clean & Clear

Crest

CND

Cacharel

D

Dr. Jart+

Dove

Dettol

Darphin Paris

Dark & Lovely

E

Essie

Elidor

F

Fenty Beauty

Fair & Lovely

G

Garnier

Gillette

Glam Glow

H

Honest Beauty

Haci Sakir

Herbal Essences

Head & Shoulders

Hugo Boss

I

J

Jo Malone

Johnson & Johnsom

K

Kerastase

Kiehl's

Kylie Cosmetics

Kylie Skin

Kotex

L

L'Oreal

Lacome

La Roche-Posey

Lifebuoy

Lux

Lubiderm

M

Maybelline

MAC

Moroccan Oil

Maui

Matrix

Max Factor

N

Nyx

Neutrogena

Nivea

Nature's Beauty

Niely

O

Olay

Origins

Orkid

Oral-B

Oax

P

Pepsodent

Pantene

Q

R

Revlon

Rimmel

Rexona

Rhode

S

Summer Fridays

Schick

Smashbox

Sephora

Sensodyne

Skinceuticals

Skin Better Science

T

The Body Shop

Too Faced Cosmetics

The Ordinary

Tom Ford Beauty

Tampax

Takami

U

Urban Decay

Ulta Beauty

V

Vichy

Vaseline

Veet

W

X

Y

Yes to

Yuesai

Z

(Luxury)

A

B

C

Chanel

D

E

Estee Lauder

F

G

Georgio Armani

H

I

J

K

L

LVMH

Louis Vuitton

La Mer

Lavs

Le Labo

M

Mugler

Maison Margiela

N

O

P

Prada

Q

R

Raplh Lauren

S

T

Tiffany & Co.

Tom Ford

Tommy Hilfiger

U

V

Valentino

W

X

Y

Yves Saint Laurent

Z

(Tech & Entertainment)

A

Aol

Amazon

AirBnB

Apple

B

BBC

Buxton

Barbie

Booking.com

C

CNN

D

Disney+

Dell

E

Energizer

F

Ford

Fiverr

G

Galaxy

H

HP

Hyundai

Hulu

I

IBM

Intel

J

K

L

Lego

M

Motorola

Movenpick

Mattel

Microsoft

N

National Geographic

Nokia

Netflix

O

Oracle

Oxi

P

Philips

Q

R

Rolls Royce

S

Siemens

Sodastream

T

Toys R Us

U

V

Volvo

Valvoline

W

Wix

X

Y

Z

(Other)

A

Axa

Ariel

Aero

Ambi Pur

Airwick

Aroma

AVC

Amway

Ace Hardware

Andrex

American Express

B

Bounty

Black & Decker

Bonux

Bref

Braun

Benadryl

Band-aid

Barclays

Blue Cross Blue Shield

Better Help

C

Caltex

Chevron

Culligan

Citi Bank

Chicco

Cravola

Clearblue

Capital One

D

Dash

Drynites

Dosmestos

Doona

E

Expedia

F

Finish

Febreeze

Fixodent

Fairy

G

Goop

Gerber

Gys

H

HSBC

Huggies

Hayat

I

Imodium

J

JCB

K

Kimberly-Clark

Kleenex

L

Lion

Little Swimmers

Lenor

M

Mr Muscle

Minidou

Monsanto

N

Nicorette

O

Omo

P

Pampers

Purina Felix

Payoneer

Palmolive

Protex

Pull-ups

P&G

Prima

Pril

Paramount Pictures

Q

R

Rejoice

Rinso

Rogaine

S

Signal

Sensus

Sudafed

T

Tide

U

Unilever

Us Cellular

V

Vim

Vanish

Vicks

W

X

Y

Yumus

Z

(Places)

A

B

C

D

Disney

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z

(People)

A

Ashley Tisdale

Amy Schumer

Andy Beshear

B

Bono

Ben Savage

Bella Thorne

Beyonce

C

Chris Evans

Claire Holt

Ciara

Chris Rock

Chris Pine

D

Demi Lovato

Dwayne Johnson

DJ Khaled

E

Eva Longoria

F

G

Gal Gadot

H

I

Ian Somerhalder

J

Jamie Lee Curtis

James Maslow

Justin Bieber

Jennifer Aniston

Jaclyn Hill

Jack Harlow

Jordan Peele

Joseph Quinn

Jack Black

K

Kylie Jenner

Kim Kardashian

Kris Jenner

Kerry Washington

Katie Perry

Karlie Kloss

Khloe Kardashian

Kat Graham

Kendall Jenner

Kourtney Kardashian

L

Lebron James

Lana Condor

Lana Del Rey

M

Millie Bobby Brown

Malala

Mindy Kaling

Mark Hamill

Madonna

N

NFL

Nina Dobrev

Natalie Portman

Nabela

Nicole Richie

Noah Schnapp

O

Octovia Spencer

P

Perez Hilton

Paul Wesley

Phoebe Tonkin

Pia Mia

P!nk

Q

R

Ronaldinho

Rihanna

S

Sofia Richie

Shaquir O'neal

Selena Gomez

T

Tara Strong

Taika Waititi

Taylor Swift

Tyler Perry

U

Usher

U2

V

Vanessa Hudgens

Viola Davis

W

X

Y

Z

[digitalstowaway]

I think the Edgeworths ate like any other family. I think Gregory packed Miles simple lunches with off-brand food because brand name is a little too pricy. I think at dinner time, Gregory brought home bags of something that was cheap and quick and hot because his son deserves hot meals and he just does not have the energy to cook.

And then Miles start eating food he can't pronounce--all from different countries he barely knows. It's well-prepared, but he never sees anyone cook. His lunches are neatly made with proper food groups. Vegetables and cheeses that hurt his tummy and cold bread and desserts that are too sweet.

He misses hot meals and fried spam and salty noodles. The beeping rice maker. Tea before bed instead of the glass of milk von Karma's staff makes him drink even though he keeps saying it makes him feel sick.

But eventually. He forgets it. He gets older. He finds preference in French-inspired cuisine and dishes native to Germany. He gets caught sneaking into the kitchen to get to German chocolate cake. There are some happy memories of almost befriending other boys and getting kebabs after school with them.

When he settles back into America, he doesn't pick up any of the food he grew up with even though it's all around him. LA grocery stores are full of it. Street vendors. Restaurants. Many of them are Japanese-American, but he's become a stranger to his own diaspora, and it's the strangest feeling.

And then he's 22 and tired and it's going on midnight. A case has taken him out of the city for a full day. He sits in the passenger seat of Gumshoe's car, aching and silent.

Gumshoe pulls over at a late-night restaurant, a little hole in the wall run by a family. Miles drags his feet. The lights are too bright. The menu items are faded.

And, ashamed, he doesn't remember the items listed as he once did.

Gumshoe tells him to sit, find them a table. They're the only two in there. Miles sits in a booth with a table that looks less than clean. His stomach hurts he's so hungry. He feels sick. He knows that that must be why Gumshoe insisted on stopping.

Gumshoe joins him and then a young girl puts two bowls of udon in front of them.

Miles had forgotten the thick noodles. The hot broth. The fishiness. He tries eating as he's been taught is polite, but muscle memory takes over. He puts the end of the noodles in his mouth and slurps.

He feels warm at the bottom of the bowl.

They share dorayaki, and Miles feels almost too full, but he lets bean paste sit on his tongue, mushes it against the roof of his mouth like he used to.

Gumshoe pays, and Miles gets back in the car. He less tired and more drowsy. There's still 30 minutes left of the drive, and Miles doses for a few of those.

He stumbles inside his house and collapses into bed, into warm sheets. And it feels like, with sweetness still on his lips and warmth still in belly, that his father is just across the hall.

[kingdomvel]

A Gift exchange

Stardew Valley au | farmer Anakin | Town doctor Obi-Wan

As he does most mornings now, Anakin takes Obi-Wan’s empty milk bottle from his doorstep and exchanges it for a full one from his cows. He wakes up early every day to milk his cows and come to the town early enough to beat the milkman to the bottle. Or most days. There are days when the animals need extra attention and he can’t get to the town early enough, or at all, but most days it’s Anakin’s cow’s milk Obi-Wan is drinking, and he also leaves some eggs and vegetables often for him.

Anakin is still crouching, empty bottle in his hand, when a sound makes him freeze. The front door to Obi-Wan’s house and clinic has just opened. Immediately to his right.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. And Anakin doesn’t answer, trying not to look as mortified as he looks as he feels at being caught. Anakin looks up at Obi-Wan, and what he finds in his face is a bit confusing. There is surprise, but he also looks like he expected to see him here and is pleased to be right.

“Uhh… good morning. I was just-“ Anakin gestures with the empty bottle in his hand. Purses his lips. Looks away. Looks at Obi-Wan again.

“Leaving milk for me before the milkman comes like you do most days?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I… guess. How did you know?”

“You know I do have to pay for the milk, right? The moment he told me that he was not the one leaving the milk for me every day I immediately thought about you.”

Anakin’s heart jumps in his chest, because Obi-Wan immediately thought about him.

“I will have to pay you for it, of course.” Obi-Wan says, and puts his hand inside of his pocket.

“What? No! I don’t want you to pay me.” Anakin exclaims, finally standing up so he is at the same level as Obi-Wan.

“It’s the product of your work, I need to pay you.”

“Well I don’t want you to. It’s a gift.”

“I assume the eggs and vegetables are also gifts from you?”

Anakin shifts his weight between his feet, purses his lips so he can take a second to answer. He didn’t know Obi-Wan had also put that together.

“Well, yeah.”

“Anakin I have not done enough to deserve so many gifts.” Obi-Wan says, and he may be right, but Anakin can’t really say I wanted you to pay attention to me and court you but I didn’t know how to so this is the best thing I could think of.

“You have taken care of me.” He settles on saying. And it’s true, Obi-Wan did his check-up, and has taken care of him when he has overdone it because of the sun a few times.

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head, like he is resigning himself to not argue more, but still doesn’t agree with him.

“Wait here for a second please, I have something for you.”

“Wait, you don’t-“ Anakin starts to call out, but Obi-Wan is gone inside his house before he can say anything more.

Anakin waits, and wonders if maybe he should allow himself inside to wait. A woman across the street is looking at him, and she doesn’t return his wave. When the milkman arrives and shakes his head with a smile at Anakin as he passes the clinic, Anakin decides to let himself in. He is just closing the door after him, one empty bottle in one had and one full one in the other and wondering what to do with them, when he hears Obi-Wan coming down the stairs and he appears in the corridor a couple of seconds later.

“Oh, I left you outside, excuse my manners.” Obi-Wan says from behind a black box. He leaves the box on a side table, takes the bottle of milk from Anakin and leaves it next to it. He takes the box again and offers it to Anakin.

“This is for me?” Anakin asks eloquently.

“Yes. You can open it.” Anakin does as Obi-Wan continues talking, “it’s not much, really, but I thought that maybe you wouldn’t wear a hat because you didn’t have one and, as I understand, this is what people wear in Tatooine farms-“

Anakin stares at the cowboy hat inside the box, lifts it carefully to take a good look at it. It’s dark brown, the sides lifted slightly. The material feels good in his hands and when he puts it on it fits him perfectly.

“You got this for me.”

“Yes. I’ll understand if you already have one and just don’t like wearing it, but I honestly think you should wear a hat when you are out in the sun, I hoped this would be an incentive.”

It IS an incentive, because if it’s a gift from Obi-Wan, Anakin doesn’t think he will take it off again. Wearing the hat will be a reminder that the man thinks about him, cares about him in some degree. Anakin did have a hat like this back in Tatooine, but the material was not that good and he had lost it when he moved here. He had looked into buying one, but the cost of the shipping alone was too much for Anakin, still trying to get the farm going again, which reminds him…

“I can’t accept this,” Anakin says, taking the hat off, as much as it pains him.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan asks, genuinely confused. He doesn’t make a move to take the hat from Anakin’s offering hands.

“It must have cost you a fortune getting this here, it’s too much.”

Obi-Wan waves his words off with a gesture. “Take it as an exchange for all the things that you leave at my door. And it wasn’t that expensive, a friend of mine came back from Tatooine not too long ago and he brought it with him.” Obi-Wan puts one of his hands on top of Anakin’s with a smile, and Anakin’s heart skips a beat. Anakin relaxes his hands under the touch. He hadn’t realised he was holding the hat so hard. “Please, accept my gift, so I don’t have to constantly worry about you out in the sun when the weather is warm.”

“Okay,” Anakin agrees, “but you will tell me if you need anything, no going back to the store for things I can provide you with.”

“Deal,” Obi-Wan says, “but please lower the amount of eggs you leave at my door, I’ve run out of things to do with them and room to store them.”

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 32: Oliver's New Life

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control

Oliver woke up slowly.

He was somewhere comfortable, extremely so, and he was deeply content to curl up on his side and wrap himself in silk sheets, dipping in and out of sleep. He spent a long time in that half-awake, dreamy state before finally waking up fully.

Oliver found himself in the middle of a huge, cloud-soft bed, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in fine sheets and blankets. Indirect sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains, allowing him to see just enough of the room to remember where he was. 

Alexander's home. His bedroom, in Alexander's home.

The first day with his new Master.

Instinctively, his hand flew to his neck and felt around. There were no scars, no bandages, no soreness. Master hadn't taken his blood yet, and he felt an odd swirl of relief and disappointment. He had said that he would give Oliver time to settle, so it was still coming, no doubt. But the vague notion that perhaps his blood wasn't pleasing to Master... 

But no, that thought was quelled as soon as it troubled him. His Master wanted him. Oliver had felt it so clearly, and even now the thought filled him with comfort. He was wanted here.

With his mind calmed, he yawned and stretched, enjoying the comfortable bedding. He'd slept like a log, and from the ancient looking pendulum clock on the wall, he could see that it was now 3pm. He'd slept most of the night and day away, which he probably needed after all that upheaval in his life.

That upheaval was over now that he was finally in his Master's home. 

His stomach growled, an angry reminder that he hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast last night (he was still unsure what to call his meals now that he was mostly nocturnal, but that would have to do). Alexander did say he had free reign of the kitchen, so he'd best put that to good use. 

First, though, he stood up and went to the window, pushing the curtains open to reveal a sunny afternoon, the sun only just dipping below the buildings. He squinted and flinched away from the light, realizing that it was the first sun he'd seen since he'd been abducted. He hadn't even realize how he'd missed the warmth of sunlight.

His room overlooked an ordinary city street, with pedestrians milling by on the tree-lined sidewalks. He recognized it as the most wealthy part of downtown, an area where he didn't usually have much cause to visit. It wasn't all that far from his bookshop, a leisurely twenty minute walk at most.

How strange to think that he'd lived so close to a vampire lord's manor all those years. How strange to think that his former life was so close and yet separated by so much. How strange to think that just a few weeks ago, he had no idea any of this world existed.

His Master had apparently not erased his memories, just as he'd said, because Oliver was having no trouble recalling his bookshop or his former life. Who could say what other alterations Master had made while he was under? He felt so much calmer and more contented than he had the day before, so surely it was for his benefit.

He turned from the window and padded down the stairs. The house was deathly quiet, and he assumed that the other occupant was not yet awake. When he arrived in the kitchen, he opened the window there to get some more sunlight, hoping that it wouldn't disturb Master too much -- he didn't know how sunlight might affect him, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. For now, it helped the kitchen to feel more cheerful and human while Oliver assessed the food situation.

There was the basket of fruit on the counter that he'd noticed yesterday, as well as a loaf of bread beside -- a good start. The pantry was sparse, but held a few ordinary staples, flour and sugar and salt and potatoes and carrots, as well as some canned vegetables and beans. The largest bounty was in the ice box: eggs, milk, cheese, butter, some paper packets from the butcher's that he'd have to open and identify later, perhaps when it was time to make dinner.

There were also a few glass bottles of what was unmistakably blood. He shuddered involuntarily at the sight. They were labeled "Moonlight Farm, Fancy Grade A". So there were places dedicated to farming what he could only assume was human blood. It made perfect sense -- how else would Alexander have kept himself alive without a thrall? --  but it was still repulsive. He didn't want to think about those humans in the blood farms, no doubt utterly mind wiped and treated like cattle.

Maybe Joe was there, maybe the waitress who had been in the cell next to Emily's. They'd had their minds erased, after all, and had been sold at auction. He felt guilty that he was safe and comfortable in a well-appointed kitchen deciding what to cook, while other innocent humans had probably been turned into little more than mindless dairy cows, tossed into pens and used for their blood for the rest of their miserable lives. It obviously wasn't his fault, and there wasn't anything he could have reasonably done about it, but it was upsetting all the same. The only thing that had stood between him and their fate was some intangible quality of his blood.

He'd feel better about everything once he ate, he was sure.

Since late afternoon was apparently now his breakfast time, he pulled out eggs and cheese, located a frying pan, and began to make an omelette. Starving as he was, he used four eggs, and once he was done making them, used the pan to toast some of the bread. He couldn't find any jam, but butter would do fine. An apple and a glass of milk completed his generous breakfast. Master said he'd have any groceries he needed, and the way he'd been treated in the auction house cells made it clear that vampires preferred their humans to be well fed, so there was no reason to hold back on eating his fill.

As he washed the dishes in the sink, he reflected that he wasn't just eating for himself now, but also eating to feed his new master. A strange thought.

He was still wearing the dress he'd arrived in from the auction house, and as eager as he was to return to the library, that luxurious bathroom was calling for him. Exiting the kitchen, he spared a look towards the front door.

Unlike the auction house, there were no vampire guards here to stop him. Alexander was likely still asleep upstairs. But the thought of even trying the door repulsed him, filling him with sick dread. As if he wanted to betray his new Master by leaving without permission!

Oliver turned and headed up the stairs to his bedroom, looking in the wardrobe. As promised, there was an assortment of outfits there -- more than he had previously owned. There were various frocks with wide necks, but also button-down shirts and slacks, a few casual suits, and an expensive-looking lined wool coat paired with a cheerful red scarf. This, at least, served as proof that Master intended to take him out of the confines of the manor sometimes. The nearby drawers held pajamas and soft cotton underthings. Satisfied at the selection of clothing, he took a cotton robe and headed for the bathroom.

He was clean enough, since he'd been allowed regular bathing at the auction house and in Miss Lily's care, but a nice hot bath was just what he needed to wash away any remnants of anxiety. He turned on the hot water and dumped in a generous helping of floral-scented soap flakes, making the bathroom smell heavenly.

Sinking in the warm water up to his shoulders was like a dream. And he had nowhere to be. He could relax in the bath as long as he felt like. And once he had his fill of that, he could head down to the library and read to his heart's content.

He realized that the foreign feeling washing over him was relief.

He'd spent so much of his life anxious and afraid, quietly terrified of not living up to a father who was long since dead. He used all of his time trying to keep his beloved bookstore afloat, fretting about money and maintenance and pleasing every patron who walked through the door. Second guessing every decision, watching from afar as others found love and excitement.

And now none of that mattered, because he'd found his place, hadn't he? Or rather, his place had found him, and it was bringing up a deep, buried longing to be cared for that he didn't even realize he had. His Master would take care of him and quiet his mind, and all he had to do was offer up his loyalty and his blood. A small price to pay, wasn't it?

He made sure his neck was extra clean, and used some of the sweet-smelling lotion that had been left in a basket for him. He wanted to please.

He could do this. He could be enticing to his master. And he'd be rewarded.

Returning to his bedroom, he slipped on a soft flannel frock, choosing a garment that would keep his neck exposed with no hesitation. He then padded downstairs to enter the library and await his Master waking.

He'd barely gotten a chance to look at the library yesterday, and Oliver was stunned all over again at the amount of books. He decided to occupy himself just browsing the shelves, not picking any one book to read yet. There would no doubt be plenty of time, and for now, he was fascinated by the many different subjects on display. 

There were shelves of ordinary fiction books, of course, albeit stocked with antique and rare editions of classics that would have filled Oliver with envy if he didn't have full access to them himself now. Near the shelves of books he recognized, there was another large section that he realized must consist of fiction written by vampires, the titles and authors all unknown to him. The preoccupation with blood above all other things was apparent just by reading the titles. Did the need for blood consume them so much? He supposed it must, if they were willing to pay such vast sums for thralls.

The section on vampire history that he had perused before was flanked by sections covering the histories of witches, werewolves, vampire hunters, faefolk, and a particularly extensive collection of books on merfolk. There was surprisingly little human history, and nothing more recent than the turn of the century. Vampires, perhaps, didn't concern themselves that much with human history.

He felt himself strangely drawn to a particular shelf further towards the back of the library. Half the books were bound in richly colored leather, embossed with gold and silver and embedded with jewels, and the other half were so tattered and worn that Oliver wouldn't dare try to pick them up. He flipped through one, and realized with surprise what they were. Spellbooks. Magic. And no reason to doubt now that it was real.

The sound of footsteps behind him startled him out of his reverie. "Hey. Evening."

He whipped around to see his Master there, hair and shirt disheveled, sleepy-eyed but looking at Oliver as though he were the only thing he had ever desired. A smile spread slowly across Alexander's face, and Oliver felt like his heart might stop.

Part 31 >> Masterlist >> Part 33

Role Reversal AU Part One

Next time, Oliver finally gets bitten.

Extras: Emily's Crayons || Fitz in the Snow || Fitz's Volunteer Part One

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[333creolelady]

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.3

Afab! OC (black) x Roman Reigns (pirate au)

Chapter Warnings: mentions of past discrimination, racism trauma, angst (with happy ending). Minors DNI

Spotify soundtrack here <-

Alternative Playlist Link <-

Next -> chapter 4

<- Back to Masterlist

Songs this chapter : the vote, whisper of a thrill.

Alternative songs this chapter: This night has opened my eyes, Warning sign, Scott street

All reblogs will receive a sneak peak to next week’s chapter.

Jane*

Dinner tonight was extra hearty with root vegetables, soups and thick breads. Dessert was even better per the request of the captain. Baked goods stuffed with cream made from milk. Being on the ship meant using spoilable items first. Jane decided that she would come along for every supply run if it meant getting to try more sweets.

After dinner she headed back to her cabin for a relaxing bath. Roman had Caden delivered the gifts to her cabin despite her insisting to help. When she was finally alone, Jane had time to relish in the beautiful items she now called her own. She scrubbed her skin soft and bathed in the most luxurious scents. Vanilla and peony. She finally got the expensive soap she always wanted with bits of flower encased on the inside. She miraculously found hair products that agreed with her hair which meant that she could finally wear her hair down for a bit. The moisturizer was the icing on the cake. She didn’t have to heat it on her hands in fear of a white cast. The cream was slightly opaque and smooth. It smelled spectacular. Then came the tooth powder which came in different flavors. Never in her life had she heard of tooth cleaners coming in different flavors. Back at home tooth cleaning was bitter, sour and strong. For the first time she could clean her teeth and not grimace at the taste. Mint. Minty tooth powder, a step up from the dull powdery tasting kind she’d been using.

By the time she was finished prepping for bed she realized her arms were sore. Never in all her years had she spent so long grooming herself. Back in London she got 10 minutes in the bathroom after a long day—Even less if she was getting ready for work. She shared a single bathroom with 8 other girls. Now she didn’t have to wait for anyone.

As she added oil to her hair she realized that she enjoyed taking care of herself more than she realized. Now she had time to look at herself in the mirror—really look at herself. The more she stared at her reflection the longer she’d realized how alienated she’d become to herself. Who was the person looking back at her ? With the hustle and bustle of life she never had time to do more than what was necessary.

Where had her 15 year old face gone ? Had the years flown by that quickly ? The baby fat of her cheeks were fading. Her eyes gleamed with a solemn understanding about the world. Her full lips were still there, so was the nose of her great grandmother and the almond upturned eyes of her father. Her long neck reminded her of the regality of her mother. On her face etched not only the pain of her past but distant faces she had no pictures of. It was in her reflection could she see every single person who once loved her. Her grandfather, mother, father and more lived in her features. The longer she looked the more the grief crept towards her. She put the mirror down and wrapped her hair in a silk scarf. She figured it would be better not to end the night in a sad mood. She slowly pulled on a silk nightgown and climbed into bed with a book beside her. She didn’t make it to the next chapter before falling into a deep sleep.

Roman

Roman stared out into the crashing waves trying to decide his next move. Roman never worried much about storms but now things were different. Jane was only just days apart from being terrified of him and everyone on the ship. Now she was to relive the very event that changed her life forever—a storm. This would be the biggest storm of the season which meant a very rocky night for everybody. He hoped that perhaps she could sleep through the storm if the weather turned in his favor. He knew to be realistic when it came to the ocean.

“ Lower the sail and batten down the hatches. Tie up the loose ends and hold fast!”, Roman snaps to his crew. Men climbed up the ropes leading to the sails to lower them.

Roman’s Helmsman Cortez agreed with his decisions as he slowed the ship to an almost complete halt. “ Good thinking Captain. Wouldn’t want to piss her off anymore than she is now”.

Her …meaning the ocean. The ocean was undoubtedly a woman for all the good and the bad it encompassed. It was vital and a mother to all life. The ocean had to be listened to and reasoned with. Where he came from, the ocean is a god. A god that was to be respected in every way possible. While Roman was far away from the stories of his culture after all these years, his love and respect for the ocean remained.

Jane

The ship rocked violently, nearly tossing her from the bed. She sat up in panic and watched her vanity slide around the room. Books and boxes flew as she tried to gain her footing. She grabbed her robe and scrambled to her door, flinging it open to see a rush of men shouting and running around the second floor. This is what she was dreading. Everything seemed to slow down as she watched what felt like the inevitable destruction of this ship.

“ What’s going on ?!”, she yelled from across the room at Caden.

“ We hit a bad storm. We couldn’t sail ahead of it but don’t worry, we’ve got it under control. Get back into your cabin!”, Caden shouts back, covered in water.

It sure didn’t seem like it. Her heart began to race as she headed for the top deck. If this thing was going to sink she’d rather be at the top than the bottom. She raced up the stairs of the ship coming out to see monstrous sized waves coming towards the boat. They were so high they nearly blocked out the light of the moon. Jane froze and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Strong arms picked her up and carried her into a warm dim room.

She’s in Roman’s Quarters. He’s covered in water but he seems level headed unlike her. He holds Jane and places her at his table, kneeling in front of her. Her eyes are round and wide with panic. “ Alright, I’ve got you”, he whispers to her and he holds her head in his hands. She’s clutching at her chest, hungry for air.

“ I have to get off! I have to go! ”, she wheezes and begins to pull from his grip. Her feet push into his stomach as she desperately tried to claw herself from him. She was no match for his solid strength however.

“ You’re fine…you’re fine— here. Focus on just my voice. Jane…focus on my voice ”, he soothes. Jane becomes even more belligerent. Her cries fill his cabin and she sounds almost wounded. Her whimpering nearly sweeps away his composure as hot large tears wash over her cheeks.

“ I-I can’t do this again!”, she panicked. Her breathing became even more erratic. Roman shushes her and places a hand on her chest and his.

“ Watch me”, he breathes through his mouth and out of his nose. She follows suit, desperately grasping for relief in the noise of her panic. “ Again”

She follows suit mimicking him the best she can. She’s not in the clear yet but she repeats it over and over again as he whispers soothing words to her. He grabs a handkerchief from his table and wipes her wet face. Roman looks down to see how tightly she was holding his hand.

“ I often forget how scary a storm on a ship can be through the eyes of someone else. The waves are huge and it seems like the water goes on forever. But you must have some faith in us Jane. We’ve been sailing for a very long time. You are safe here”, he reassures her. Another thump of the ship sends her crashing into his arms. She stays there for a few minutes trying to slow the rate of her heart.

When Jane finally calmed down and she became aware of the fact that he’s cradling her face again. He’s looking at her like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. This is the closest they’ve ever been. His thumb brushes softly against her cheek as she studies his face.

He’s insanely beautiful. So beautiful in fact that the scar faintly running from his eye into his eyebrow is simplyan accessory. A few slow breaths later and the roaring in her chest becomes a hum. Her breathing has slowed and the tremble in her hands reduced to a twitch. She lost her train of thought in the depth of his warm eyes. Has his beard grown in the last few days? Why does he smell so good—like cedar and herb laced cigars? God, his hands are so warm and calloused. She only comes back to herself when she realizes their noses we’re about to touch. She goes stiff in his hands with a gasp and he immediately drops them from her face. She stands up and steps back in a panic, stopping just as his door.

“ Jane please forgive me” he reached for her but she walked quickly out of the door before he could finish.

Roman *

A week passed since that night and Jane has regressed back into herself. She doesn’t wear the dresses he bought her. She barely looks at him. If he could turn back the clock and redo that night over he would have. The warmth of her gaze is gone and he’s snapped back to the reality of this situation. Jane does not want to be here and she’s waiting for him to find her a place to stay. Another week of her avoidance passes and he realizes that in three days they’d be sailing up to Totoguam. It was a small island with beautiful infrastructure and a good mixture of people. This would be where he would leave Jane. This is what she wanted.

However, this isn’t what he wanted at all and that scared him. He didn’t know what she thought of him now. Perhaps she thought that his generosity was all a ploy to get her in his cabin. He hated that thought because it wasn’t true. Roman had absolutely no plans on taking advantage of Jane but how could he explain that to her? That he hadn’t even thought of kissing her and then suddenly he did. That he was just as surprised as she was when he caught himself. There was no point in explaining. He would make this right. In the afternoon he finds her in the library and he can see that she’s caught off guard. She stands defensively but her eyes do not meet his own.

“ I’ve found a place for you to stay. It’s called Totoguam. It’s far enough away from England and there are no British soldiers there. It’s relatively peaceful. We can get you set up there with a place to stay. It’s one of the better places for women who are alone.”

“ I see”, she raises her gaze to meet his. He doesn’t look happy. They both knew that this would come regardless of what transpired. She nods, “Thankyou”.

“ It’s no problem at all M'lady. Good evening”, Roman tips his hat and leaves the library. A familiar ache in his chest. Disappointment.

Jane*

Totoguam was beautiful and faintly reminded her of the Caribbean. There was music and beautiful men and women. Their faces were sun kissed and speckled, ranging from glowing tans to deep rich browns. Stepping onto the dock she understood why women like it here. It’s because there were so many of them working alongside the men.

She followed quietly behind Roman as he led her to an inn with a pub. It was loud and lively as men drunkenly sang and drank the mid afternoon away. A tall woman standing at least 6 feet waved as she saw Roman from behind the counter.

“ Cap’n Roman! that you ya’ big lug ?!” Her eyes widen as she throws a rag over her shoulder and shoots him a big smile. She had both a feminine and masculine air about her. She was muscular with a beautiful face and short red hair that came just over her ear. Her ears were covered in gold piercings and she dressed in men’s casual attire. Her lips were painted with red lip rouge.

“ Alicent! How are you?”, Roman leads Jane over to the bar and they sit.

“ I’m well. At least as well as I can be dealin’ with these imbeciles. Oy’! Put that chair down or i’ll give ya’ a Glasgow kiss!!”, she yelled at a man from across the bar. He immediately sits down. Alicent seemingly ran a tight ship.

“ I see you’ve got your hands full”, Roman takes off his hat and places it on the bar. Alicent slides him a pitcher of ale.

“ This your lady?”, she eyes Jane.

“ No. She’s a guest on my ship and she’s actually the reason I’m here”.

“ Nice to meet ya. Alicent and you are…?”, Alicent holds her hand out to Jane and Jane takes it smiling at her. She already liked Alicent, she had a warm comforting air to her.

“ Jane”, she smiled

“ So, tell me what favor do I owe?”, Alicent rolls her eyes playfully at Roman. Roman slams his glass down on the table refilling his glass.

“ The lady needs a room to rent and a job—aaaaand possibly a new name too”.

“ She in trouble with the law?”

“ Yes, wrongfully accused. However they likely think she’s dead. The ship she was on sank”

“ Can you cook?”

“ Y-yes ma’am. I used to be one”, Jane clears her throat nervously. Alicent slides a glass towards her and fills it with wine.

“ You’ve got yourself a job. Can you start tomorrow by any chance ?”

“ Of course”, Jane smiled thankfully.

“ After this I owe you no more favors. We’re even”

“ Of course”. Roman drops three coins on the table and Alicent playfully pockets it. “ You two make yourself comfortable. My shift ends in about 30 minutes. I’ll show her around and get her set up”.

“ You’re a life saver Alicent”, said Roman. She playfully rolls her eyes and heads back towards the customers. Their corner of the pub turns quiet. Jane takes a slow sip of her wine as she sets in their looming goodbye.

“ So….”, she begins. Roman turns to her. Something is bothering him and she can tell but he’s hiding it. “ Where do you know Alicent from?”

“ She was my Quartermaster. You’re in her old room actually”

“ But I thought only men could be pirates ?”

“ Pirates are criminals little Dove, we make our own rules. And while pirates are traditionally men, it didn’t matter much to me. Where I come from women make the rules alongside men. Half the time they controlled the decisions of the house. It used to be matriarchal.”

“ Oh wow. Hard to imagine a world where women were in charge. It’s never been like that for me.”

“ Well that’s why I figured it be good to get you under Alicent’s wing. She’s respected here and this is her Inn. She won’t let anything happen to you”

“ Thankyou Roman…for everything”, Jane looks him in the eye this time. The warmth of her gaze heating his face like the morning sun. He took a picture of her face with his mind, wishing he could frame it.

“ It’s the least I could do…and I wanted to say sorry about….”

Janes brows wrinkle in confusion. “ Why are you apologizing ?”

“ Well because I didn’t want you to think me a liar. Especially after what I said on the dock”

“ I believe you to be a man of your word Captain. I was just …overwhelmed is all. I am not close to many people….I get nervous at times. My head was swimming and I—don’t be sorry”, she stuttered. She wanted to say more but she stopped herself. It didn’t matter now.

His brows raise in relief. “ Okay” he says.

“ Okay ” she sighs. A silence settles over them but the tension eventually melts away from the drinks. “ You’re very tall”, Jane blurts flatly. “ I think you’re the tallest man I’ve ever seen. Are people tall where you come from ?”

“Many are… some aren’t. I didn’t think I was tall but rather the people overseas were small and weak from the food they ate. Boiled meat and soggy bread can only do so much for a person ”, he snorts. Jane giggles, holding her mouth. Roman smirks at the sounds of her muffling her laugh.

“ Oh? I didn't know your disdain for the food ran so deep. Was it not seasoned to your liking? ”, she laughed.

“ No…and ya’ know…For people who claim that their god favors them so much, you’d think he’d give them better food and less barren crops”, Roman loosened his hair and propped his feet up.

Jane's eyes widened at his whitt. He sure had a point. They were constantly battling famine with wet rodent filled crops and terrible weather. Sounded like a curse to her but who was she to pretend to know the intent of God? “ Do tell me your other opinions Mr. Roman”, Jane chuckled and took another swig of her wine.

“ Ahh let’s see…”,, Roman rested his hands behind his head as he thought. “ I think all monarchs have rats for brains. And judging from what I’ve seen crawl from under their wigs, I’d say my guess isn’t that far off”.

Jane bursted with a loud chuckle, this time covering her entire face. Roman joined her, loving the sound of her abrupt laughter. He liked this version of her. Her guard was slipping. It was just a shame this would be the last time he saw her smile.

“ I can’t argue with you there. I used to work for an Earl and his lady wife. They had me clean their wigs and one day as I was shaking them out, a mouse jumped on my hand. I’d never screamed so hard in my life. They had the nerve to shout at me like I was crazy,” Jane snorted.

“ These royals I tell ya’. All the money in the world and the dirtiest people of all. I had to watch where I stepped back in Germany. The ball room seemed to be a favorite toiled of theirs”, he shivered.

Jane made a playful gagging noise “ That’s just strange”.

“ Strange isn’t the word. It’s uncivilized. But my people are the savages ? Last time I checked my people my people don’t defecate where they walk. Not even a dog will sleep in it’s own excrement if it can help it”.

Roman tried to adhere to every code and every rule established for him. He was exceptional by force. He had to be great or he was disposable. He spoke foreign languages, traveled, studied hard, out fenced his peers, and even earned the best marks. All the hard work and submission to his situation got him nowhere in the end. He was bitter for a long while—not because he felt betrayed but because he thought he could stop his fate. No matter how special he was for a savage…he was still just that to them. A savage. He unlearned his gods, put away his religion, he left behind the names of his father and his great grandfathers and adopted the life of someone else. Someone more simple. Someone not him.

“ You have a point”, she shrugged.

“ Maybe. Maybe not. I’m just all vinegar”.

“ I find you to be very sweet”.

He grumbled, “quite a few people would disagree with you m’lady. Here”, he pushes a plate of fresh bread towards her and she accepts. The two fill their bellies while people watching and dialing into the conversations around them. She felt safe with Roman, especially in a place with drunk men. No man would harass her with him around.

“ So what do you plan to do when I’m gone ? I know you’ll be working as a cook but what else ? What did you do for fun back in England ?”

“ I didn’t have a lot of time to do what I wanted. I worked 6 days a week. I loved to read but I was constantly working and by the time I got off my shift I was exhausted. I hope I have more time to read in my privacy here. Even if it’s just for a day.”

“ I’ll put in a word to make sure Alicent gives you good hour.”

“ Oh you don’t have to do that Roman.”

“ Consider it my final gift to you.”

Roman notices her face drop. She can’t hide that the disappointment hits her like a truck.

“ New life….new name. This will be good for you”, he encourages.

“ I suppose so. I did it once before, what's another go at it right ? But what about you ?”

“ What about me?”

“ Once you find this treasure what will you do?”

“ Whatever I desire. I’ll always love the sea. I’m sure a day will come when I decide I’ve had enough and when that happens I’ll have the funds to do so.”

“ I wish you the best of luck Roman”, she smiles sadly at him.

The pair are interrupted by Alice who tiredly sat at the table and threw back a cup of ale.

“ So Jane, how about a tour ?”, says Alicent.

“ Let’s do it.”

Alicents pub sat underneath a three story high inn that held 24 rooms. The kitchen was relatively small with only two other cooks. Alicent was also a tenet of a small home with small bedrooms to rent. This is where Jane would be staying and paying a small price to live. She was used to living with strangers so it would be no difficult feat for her.

Although the space was cramped, it was pretty clean and tidy. Alicent seemed to care about it and it reflected in the quality of the home. Roman however, was not pleased at all.

“ Alicent can I speak with you for a moment?” He asks his old friend. They walk outside as Jane continues to take in her new home. Moments later they both walked back into the room.

“ Change of plans…and residency. We have something better for you”

“ Are you sure ? I’m okay here. This is the nicest place I’ve seen for servants.”

“ I assure you it’s not a problem. Follow me.”

A five minute walk down the road brought them to a cottage about 5 minutes from the outskirts of town. They walk inside of an empty house. It was relatively small but beautiful.

“ This is much better and she’ll have enough land for a few animals too. A nice side job for any extra income that she needs— “

Jane’s face contorted in confusion.“ Wait, you— what ?”

“ This is the house you’ll be staying in. I bought it.”

Jane grunts with disapproval. “ Roman— I”

“ It’s not problem”

“ It is. This is far too generous Roman. I’m okay living with other people, I’ve done it all my life. This is far too expensive and kind for someone you barely know.”

“ I don’t care”, Roman says in a final tone. The two stare at each other with challenging expressions.

Alicent eyes the two.“ Well you two sure do bicker like you know each other”, she chuckles. They glare at her.

Alicent crosses her arms tired of the silence wafting between her two guests. “ Alright. Do you want the house or not?”

“ This is final. I bought it. It technically belongs to me so you don’t have to worry about anything. The payments for the house are low. It’s stable…it’s actually got some ventilation. I thought you’d be happy ?”

“ I am happy I just….”, Jane sighs, giving up expressing anything.

“ Well then it’s settled”, Roman insists.

Roman *

He didn’t understand this sudden change in demeanor. He thought she’d be jumping with joy from a gift like this. Now she wouldn’t be surrounded by sweaty sailors. She’d get her wish no matter how much he wanted her to stay.

Later on that evening Earl and few of Roman’s crew helped bring her belongings back to her home. Caden shopped at a nearby livestock farm picking a few animals for her. Roman watched her sit quietly in the corner watching helplessly at the entire interaction. What isn’t she saying? Why is she looking at him with such disappointment ?

When everything was settled he watched Jane's eyes rest in defeat. She insisted that they walk down to the dock together so that she could say goodbye to Caden and see them off. He obliged and the walk back was quiet. Caden and Jane talked quietly eliciting a few giggles from her. She seemed very comfortable around him. He imagined that the reason for her sadness is losing a friend in him.

“ Goodbye Caden. It was nice meeting you”, she held out a hand to him but he pulled her in for a hug. She looked a bit startled but exchanged her surprise for a warm smile, hugging him back.

“ Goodbye Caden. It was nice meeting you”, she held out a hand to him but he pulled her in for a hug. She looked a bit startled but exchanged her surprise for a warm smile, eventually hugging him back.

“ Nice meeting you M’lady. Shame you couldn’t come with us. Maybe we can visit after all this? Though I can’t promise it won’t be for a long while. Maybe next winter after this one ?”, he turns to Roman expectantly . His expression is hopeful, almost like that of a child to a parent.

“ I suppose if it is alright with her”, Says Roman.

“ Visit me anytime. Always happy to see my old friends who helped me out so much”, she smiled sadly.

Caden went ahead before them with the other sailors. They awaited in the distance giving the two some space. Roman put on his tricorn hat which gave his eyes some room for honesty. The two looked around the bustling dock filled with workers running from left to right. The sun was setting and people would soon be retiring for the day. He could see Alicent in the distance having a drink outside with her co-workers. His eyes fall over the beautiful Jane again.

The sunset suits her beautiful skin. There’s a glow that reflects off of her, making her look somewhat benevolent in this light. He notices how watery her irises appear and he realizes in that moment that maybe he should have begged her to stay. She shamelessly wipes a tear away and closes the distance between them. He towers over her frame but yet her hug feels as big as him. She squeezes him tight and he returns the embrace, cradling her head to his chest like she was made of glass.

He imprints the smell of her hair into his memory. He tries to memorize the feel of her against his chest—her hands that dug into his flesh desperately. The way he could feel the flutter of her little heart against his stomach. She pulls away too soon but he hides the ache of it. This was inappropriate. This hug was inappropriate and far too familiar. A man does not hug a lady he barely knows. Her expression slowly fades to formal again and she slowly lifts her dress and slowly curtsies with the utmost respect. In return he tips his hat to her and turns away, returning to the paddle boat headed back to his ship.

“ You sure this is the right thing to do cap’n?”, Caden asks as he pushes the oar in sync with another ship mate. Roman doesn’t answer. Everytime Roman looks back it appears that Jane has gotten closer to the edge of the dock. Every alarm is going off in his body. As they docked the ship his heart began to race in objection. It felt as if she’d attached a rope to him and the further he went the more his body bent against the pressure of it. Pain. He felt pain somewhere that he hadn’t in quite some time.

As he barked orders he went into himself. His mouth shouted commands he couldn’t hear. Sweaty palms rubbed against the sides of his trousers. He looked back to see her standing at the edge of the dock. The ship sets sail and her tiny frame becomes smaller and smaller.

“ Go back for her ”, Caden says firmly.

“ No. She wants to be here.”

“ That’s not true and you know it Roman.”

Roman looks at his cabin boy incredulously for his tone. Caden’s firm look doesn’t falter. They continue to sail and Roman points his spyglass at her tiny frame. It magnifies her but only so much. He can see the outline of her body sitting on the edge of the dock now. His body screams at him. This isn’t right. Caden isn’t done fighting.

“ Go back for her!”

“ I- i can’t”

“ Why?”

“ She’s—-she wants a new life”

“ She’s safer here. You want her here just as much as I do. Go back for her.”

“ I- “

Roman paces the weather deck impatiently. His crew took notice but said nothing, continuing to set sail East.

“ Captain…I’m not the only person on this ship who saw the way she looked at you. She didn’t want to go and she was my friend too! You can’t just leave her.”

Roman wanted to rip his own ears off.

“ You will regret this for the rest of your life if you do not turn around and get her ”, Earl spoke up in his tremulous voice. Roman paused at that. The older man’s regretful tone stunned him because it sounded as if he experienced it himself. “ Go to her”, Earl adds silently. His voice was the final nail in the coffin.

As if his body was simply waiting for his permission, Roman speeds into action. He quickly begins to untie the rope to the paddle boat alongside the ship. Earl and Caden assist him. He dives into the water and climbs into the paddle boat, beginning a frantic paddle back to shore with his oar in the water.

Soaking wet and paddling back to shore for the woman of his dreams wasn’t something he foresaw in his near future. When he finally docked it was almost night fall and Jane was gone. There were barely any people on the dock now. He looked around frantically for her. He checked the pub but Alicent was no longer there. He asked around about her but everyone had not a clue of who she was quite yet.

He made the journey back to her house and just half way there he spotted her. She was walking slowly back to her new abode. As if her body sensed him before her mind could, she stopped. Jane slowly turns around to see Roman standing there drenched in water. He was panting and his expression was unsure. He felt foolish as she took in his frame but her eyes reaffirmed his decision.

“ I’m sorry. You…probably think I'm an absolute fool and you’d be right but —everything in me told me to turn around. I don’t know why Jane”, he rushed. It was cold now. The sun was just about to disappear behind the ocean and the chill of the night was getting to him.

Jane looks at him for a moment. Her eyes were swollen and so were her lips. She’d been crying and that breaks his heart. He hated the idea of how she’d fair if he hadn’t come back. If maybe he’d done more harm than good.

“Come with me Jane….please”, he says firmly. Though his expression is anything short of afraid. Her eyes well up in relief as she puffs out the tension building up inside of her. The remaining tears she was saving for the privacy of her home spilled over onto her cheeks. A watery smile spreads across her face.

“ Okay ”

[berylcups]

Head canons: What’s La Squadras Eating Habits Like?

CW: Food, Sensory issues, Smoking, food cravings, meal skipping

Risotto:

Dietary preference: Omnivore with a preference for red meat, due to his stand he’s always craving iron rich foods

Allergies/ food intolerances: lactose intolerant, mild peanut allergy

Table manners/behaviors: has TMJ so his jaw pops when he eats. He’s kinda embarrassed about it but he doesn’t eat with his mouth open and his table manners are impeccable. So he’s someone I’d gladly eat with 🥺

Favorite taste: savory

Cook, take out, or fast food: he prefers cooking but never has the energy or time for it so he usually opts for street food.

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 3.5 he has some sicilian dishes that he’s perfect at, but other regions he’s just Ok at. Not bad but not great. He can make most things as long as he has a recipe to follow.

Formaggio:

Dietary preference: omnivore, very high carb diet

Allergies/ food intolerances: none! He’s healthy~

Table manners/behaviors: eats way too fast and ends up overeating. He compensates by making singular portions

Favorite taste: Salty

Cook, take out, or fast food: he loves to cook when hes home but when he’s out he indulges on junky fast food 🤤 he could live off of fries and chips/crisps. If it’s deep fried he’s on it. He’d love an American State Fair 🤤

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 5+++ he’s a god tier cook. You ask him for whatever recipe you want he can recreate it. Vincenzo’s Plate, Uncle Roger, and other YT critics got nothing on him. He has a permanent uncle title. BUT…he can’t bake for shit. Don’t even ask him to microwave you a mug cupcake. 🧁 he just can’t. But you’ll get a 5 star 6 course meal that will make your mouth orgasm. His best recipe is his 12 layer lasagna. No he won’t tell you what’s in it, family secret 🤫

Illuso:

Dietary preference: lacto-ovo vegetarian

Allergies/ food intolerances: hes deathly allergic to tree nuts

Table manners/behaviors: talks with his mouth full 😒

Favorite taste: sweet

Cook, take out, or fast food: take out. There’s soooo many reflective surfaces in restaurant kitchens where he can sneak through and just steal a plate of food that he finds appealing and jump back in. 😂 he saves a lot of money on food costs.

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 3.5 cooking wise he’s average. Nothing to write home about. But due to his sweet tooth he’s a god at baking. Choux cream puffs are his specialty. He can make a mean cupcake too his decoration skills are on point 🧁 if you ask him to bake a cake for you, you might be better off buying from an actual bakery. His prices are ridiculously high. But the taste though… it's probably worth every lira

Prosciutto:

Dietary preference: mostly carnivore diet

Allergies/ food intolerances: cruciferous vegetables give him terrible gas pains ☠️ and he’s lactose intolerance (he’s secretly jealous that Pesci can drink milk without getting the shits but he even looks a drop of milk and he’s running to the toilet )

Table manners/behaviors: SMOKES WHILE HE EATS 😡 yuck! this isn’t the 90s bitch. We don’t do smoking sections anymore. He also puts salt on EVERYTHING. If he didn’t smoke so much he’d be able to taste things better 😒

Favorite taste: bitter

Cook, take out, or fast food: cooking if he’s home, if he’s out it’s take out but it has to be from the best of the best! Prosciutto has high standards with his diet and won’t eat any dingy hole in the wall restaurant or some greasy fast food !

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 4 - pretty good cook! Has many recipes he learned from his nonna that he knows by heart. The only issue is he needs to use less salt.

Pesci:

Dietary preference: lacto-ovo pescatarian

Allergies/ food intolerances: has the cilantro gene where it tastes super soapy, also stimulants like coffee and non herbal tea give him an upset stomach 🤢

Table manners/behaviors: his table manners are impeccable. Doesn’t talk with his mouth full, doesn’t slurp, nothing! But he drinks fast and sometimes gets the hiccups 😭 also…he can only drink milk or water- no wine or espresso. It’s not bad table manners but it makes the team look bad (according to Prosciutto 😒 let the boy have his milk dammit )

Favorite taste: sour 🍋

Cook, take out, or fast food: Cook- he likes the rewarding process of fishing for his food, then to process and filet it, and turn it into a dish. Is there really anything more satisfying than that?

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 3- he’s a good cook but he has an issue of overcooking meat since he doesn’t eat it himself other than fish. Don’t ask him for a medium rare steak because it’s either going to be blue rare or very well done. He worries about food safety and food borne illnesses so he always ends up over cooking or burning the meat. His meat dishes may be dry and terrible but at least you know you won’t get salmonella. Fish dishes are obviously his best work. Ask him to make you some sashimi or nigiri sushi some time! It might not be the quality of a Japanese chef but for a home cook he’s pretty damn talented!

Melone:

Dietary preference: highly processed diet

Allergies/ food intolerances: shellfish allergy

Table manners/behaviors: skips meals…needs reminders to eat! Good table manners for the most part but…. He LOUDLY slurps his noodles 😬

Favorite taste: savory

Cook, take out, or fast food: cook and by cooking I mean ready made foods. Ramen noodles, Mac and cheese, frozen microwaveable foods, hamburger helper, -questionable canned foods… he eats like a fucking bachelor. That’s if he even remembers to eat.

How good of a cook are they (1-5): 1.5 can boil pasta and use jar sauce. can use a microwave and that’s about it. He can make cup ramen and throw whatever he finds in the fridge in there and thinks it’s a 5 star meal 😭

Ghiaccio:

Dietary preference: high carb low fat

Allergies/ food intolerances: latex allergy - banana, avocado and kiwi. Has sensory issues so certain textures are intolerable.

Table manners/behaviors: hates when his food touches other foods. WILL NOT EAT IT. Very particular about textures too. If his pasta isn’t al dente he can’t eat it. The mouthfeel is so off it will make him gag. He’d rather eat raw crunchy dried pasta instead of overdone mushy pasta.

Favorite taste: Spicy 🌶️

Cook, take out, or fast food: Take out; he prefers home cooked food but he’s not allowed near a stove. He gravitates towards hot foods when he’s out, like pasta arrabiata, mapo tofu, or Vindaloo.

How good of a cook are they (1-5): -5 this guy could burn cereal. Do not let him in the kitchen. Ever. He’s too literal with following recipes, when they say to turn the stove on high- he puts it on the highest setting and then complains that the recipe is wrong and not him 😬 (same man same 😔)

[soracities]

where do you stand with living in the moment, feeling grateful, and how do you personally approach it?

It's interesting, I actually struggle a lot with staying in the moment even though I also tend to notice small things so easily--I could be having the worst day of my life but I will always notice the veins on a leaf, for example, or how light falls into the train carriage, or a patchy section of grass erupting between the footpath and the street.

More than anything I think that, even if I struggle with staying centered, the thing for me is making sure I find these individual pockets to slip into and you really can find them everywhere: watching steam rise from a cup of warm milk, a slant of afternoon sunlight in mid-winter, tree roots buckling the tarmac along a footpath, overgrown patches of ivy, a flower stall in the middle of the high street etc. They don't even need to be traditionally "romantic" or pleasant or picturesque things, either: there's something in a moment of sympathy for a pigeon hobbling across the tram tracks with an injured foot, or the patterns made by paint peeling off a dilapidated door, or even the geometric cross-sections of electricity wires against the sky (whether blue, or pink, or grey).

It's not necessarily that I actively root myself deeply in these moments (as I said, actively quieting my mind is hard for me to do), but more that, because I always notice them, and because I always take note of myself noticing them, because I feel something for them, even just fleetingly, they create a kind of interruption to whatever was going on before. The interruption might last a second and no more, but I've noted it for that second. It doesn't automatically make a bad day go away, but it's a nice reminder that a bad day doesn't have to be all consuming. There's always going to be something new to see, even if you have seen it before because each time you see it is it's own unique event. I'll be going through it and see a pigeon huddled by a window as the bus passes and when it's out of sight I'll still be going through it, but I'll be going through it having just seen a pigeon and there is a kind of momentary lull in that for me. The easiest way I can describe it is like a dark and empty room where all you've done is lift a single blind. The room is still empty, but also it's not--does that make sense?

In any case when I am trying to stay present my favourite thing is to try and find some kind of immersive activity--this could be a small craft like origami or braiding bracelets, but my favourite is to just go on walks along the beach or through a park and pay as much attention to things as I can: the smell of vegetation when I pass the wild compost heap, or if the grass has been cut, or the gulls picking their way along the sand, or the faraway voices of people and dogs. Sometimes, if I really, really need to calm my mind I'll narrate everything I do: now I am walking up this hill, now I am crossing the grass, now I can feel the mud because it's rained, now the hill is steeper and my legs are pushing harder and I feel it in my thighs etc.

Gratitude, I think, is maybe partly tied in with the whole noticing every little thing--it's not a conscious decision, but I think it does open space for it in a way even if I'm not thinking "I'm so grateful I saw that toddler dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog". It's like the open blind in the dark and empty room again: there's space for something, even if the room itself doesn't change.

But like the rest, there are a lot of things I struggle with where I do need to train myself to be actively conscious of gratitude: I have a series of cue cards tacked over my bed and one of them is, literally, "choose gratitude, bitch ❤️" (heart included). The rest involves me not letting my inner voice doom-monger my life as much which is difficult, but I try. By far the most important to me, though, is trying not to counter the compliments people close to me give by going "actually, I'm really not" or something along those lines. It's not about whether or not I can see these things in myself (some days I can, a lot of days I can't) but about acknowleding that I can't dictate what others see or feel: rejecting their kind words is, in essence, the same as rejecting them, and I don't want to do that.

None of this is to say they have all been failsafes for me or that I don't struggle with things because I do--but they're the scaffolds I have and use the most and that make the world what it is for me. Granted, I think I've always been like this, even as a childhood (I was the very opposite of an apathetic teenager)--so maybe I'm always tuned up this way already and that makes it a little easier; but, again, it doesn't make you immune to the world or to your own troubles so while it isn't necessarily a conscious thing, the older I get the more aware of it I become, and the more intentional I try to make my approach to things, if that makes sense 🤍

[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

CHAPTER SIX: a break.

read the previous chapter here or the entire fic on ao3.

this is 11.5k.... this fic will never end..... surprise i still have no idea how long this will be. tentatively setting the goal to end at 9 chapters total. taglist will be in a rb, ask to be added or removed!

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Danny doesn’t sleep. He dozes lightly, enough for his thoughts to slow down without losing his awareness of the world around him, but he doesn’t sleep.

How can he? 

He didn’t find a shady basement full of illegal things. No, he found an entire cave used as a home base for Gotham’s heroes. 

It is a very nice cave. Not dark and wet and miserable at all, as he thought all caves were. It did have bats, though, but most stayed away from the main cavern. And it was big; multiple different levels, all full of different things. Part of him wants to go back to snoop around, but the larger, more wary and sensible part wants to run away and pretend this night never happened.

Danny stays in bed until the clock hits 7AM. Then he heaves a sigh and pulls himself out of bed, forgoing changing out of his pajamas in favor of walking through walls directly to the kitchen. He’s still reeling from what he’s discovered, torn between wanting to run away and wanting to learn more about them.

They’re heroes. Actual, legitimate heroes, and he works for them. When else is he going to get a chance like this?

But if they see him as a threat…

Well. It’s not like Danny has much. If he needs to, he can just walk out of the manor and never be seen again. 

Although, it might be a little harder now that he has a legal identity and they can put out a missing person report on him. 

The kitchen is dark and still when he arrives. Even Alfred isn’t up yet, it seems. Which makes sense; if he’s wrangling a bunch of heroes until three in the morning, he’d need to wake up later in the day to get enough sleep. Danny hopes it’s not a regular thing, staying up to help the rest of the Gotham heroes—who he still can’t believe are the Waynes—because that would mean Alfred had been forgoing sleep or running off of very little in order to have their dawn chats while Danny was living on the streets. 

He should make breakfast for Alfred.

The rest of the Wayne family can fend for themselves. Though he doubts any of them will wake up until much, much later. 

A large part of him still balks at rummaging through someone else’s kitchen without permission. Never mind that in order to do his job, he has to; his poor Midwestern heart demands he respect other people’s spaces. He has to push it down as hard as he can just to open the fridge and look through it, trying to think of what he can make. 

Nothing too difficult. He can barely make pasta dishes on his own and he still tenses when the fridge opens, fully prepared to take down reanimated food. 

There’s a lot of fresh vegetables and fruits. Milk and eggs, too. That’s… maybe something he can work with?

Danny pulls out a few fruits and sets them onto the counter next to the sink. It takes him a few seconds of indecision to decide on which knife to take from the knife block, then grabs the smallest one he can find, just to be safe.

It’s not like he needs a big one to peel and cut fruit. 

He makes a mess trying to get everything plated, apple peels of all different sizes scattered on the counter and strawberries bleeding down his hands as he cuts them into halves after removing the leafy heads. They don’t come up exactly even, but it’s good enough that Danny decides he can serve them to Alfred without shame. 

Cracking the eggs goes fine, after he’s done with the fruits. No pieces of shell fall into the greased frying pan and the yolk is intact until he accidentally hits it when trying to move the egg closer to the middle of the pan. Fuck it, he decides, frantically mixing it all together, scrambled eggs it is.

No one will know he messed up. No one.

He seasons the eggs lightly, then gets them on a separate plate. 

Fruits and eggs doesn’t seem very filling, so Danny hunts through the refrigerator once more and comes out with a tub of vanilla yogurt. He scoops it out into a small bowl then tops it off with granola and honey. 

Fruits, eggs, yogurt. That’s a breakfast, right? It’s the healthiest and fanciest breakfast he’s ever made. He certainly never got this back home, usually going for cereal or bread on the days he wasn’t running late to school. 

Danny sets everything onto the kitchen table, ready to wait for Alfred to wake up. Then he realizes he hasn’t set out anything to drink and panics, tearing through the cabinets like hurricane, frantically searching for tea.

This house doesn’t use teabags, he realizes with despite when he comes up boxes up boxes of loose tea leaves. 

Did people really drink it like this? How?

He brings down a box of English breakfast tea; it sounds perfect for Alfred, if only he knew how to brew it.

Despairing, Danny drops his head onto the counter and sighs heavily.

“That was quite the sigh,” a deep voice rumbles behind him. Danny jumps up to the ceiling, floating in the air as he tries to get away from Bruce, who has once again snuck up on him unnoticed. “Ah. Sorry for startling you,” Bruce offers.

It’s hard to believe this man is a vigilante who protects all of Gotham.

“It’s fine,” Danny replies weakly. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I asked you first.”

“I supposed you did,” Bruce concedes with a small smile. “I just came up from the Batcave. I haven’t slept yet, and it’ll have to wait until I return to the manor after lunch.”

It’s even harder to believe that billionaire Bruce Wayne can call anything the Batcave with a straight face, yet here they are. This dimension is so bizarre. 

“I just came up to grab something to drink,” Bruce says. He turns his attention to the fridge, looking through it before he pulls out a carton of apple juice and pours himself a cup.

Slowly, Danny floats back down to the ground, silently setting his feet down. 

“Don’t tell the kids,” Bruce says as he takes a sip from his cup.

“Um. What?”

“That I’m drinking their juice. They each have their own juice that they are very protective of and they always get in fights over who else is drinking it, or ‘stealing it’ as they say.”

“And it’s you?”

“As I said. Don’t tell, Danny. Let me have my fun.”

“Sure, I guess.” He is amused by that, but the way Bruce is so casual and friendly with him despite having his secret identity be revealed makes Danny’s nerves stand on edge. It reminds him too much of Vlad, always acting friendly and nice to try and sway Danny over to his side, only to react violently when Danny refused.

“I’ll get out of your hair now,” Bruce says, putting his now empty cup down in the sink. “We’ll train later today. And we can talk about the family secret you’ve stumbled upon before you head to bed, alright?”

Not alright, not at all, but Danny did agree to training. Even if that was before he knew about Bruce being a vigilante. As much as he isn’t looking forward to it, he’s also not a quitter. He’ll worry about it more when the time comes. Surely that won’t end badly for him.

“Okay,” Danny says quietly. Bruce gives him a parting nod, then leaves the kitchen. Danny’s eyes follow him until he’s sure the man is gone, not yet ready to turn his back on him. As nice as Bruce has been, he’s also very dangerous. Now, Danny knows why but he’s been burned too many times to just believe someone when they claim to be a crime fighting hero.

Usually, he’s the crime they’re fighting, attacking him with prejudice when all he wanted was to protect people and ghosts from each other. 

He doesn’t even want to think about how things would have turned out if he hadn’t met Alfred, if the Wayne family—not a mob family but clearly just as dangerous—went after him without that buffer. Would they have driven him out of Gotham? Made sure he couldn’t be safe in this dimension either?

If things ever go too badly, maybe he can track down Martin Manhunter and beg for help?

There’s nothing more he can do now but see how it all turns out and prepare for the worst. No one else is in the kitchen, and when he strains his hearing, it’s clear that there’s no one nearby. Deeming it safe enough, Danny dares to turn his back to the kitchen entrance and return to his tea making struggle. 

Rummaging through drawers gets him a tea infuser he has no idea how to use. To think he used to complain about how long it took to make Jazz’s tea. At least she used tea bags like a normal person. 

This is rich people nonsense. This is too much effort for tea. Alfred will just have to do with some water, unless he also enjoys stealing other people’s juice.

He’s just starting to put the tea away when a knock on the doorframe startles him. Danny looks behind him and relaxes when he sees it’s only Alfred, looking as put together as ever despite the early hour.

“Good morning, Alfred,” he says, “I made you breakfast! And I tried to make you tea but I don’t actually know how to make it when it’s not in a tea bag.”

“Good morning, Danny. Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Alfred smiles. “Have you already eaten?”

“Oh. No, not feeling very hungry right now.”

“I would prefer if you ate something. Sit, I will make something light for you.”

“No, no need! I can just eat like. Yogurt or something.”

He really doesn’t think he can stomach anything when he’s still reeling over the fact that his employers have a giant underground cave for crime fighting and has no idea how to interact with them anymore. They seem fine with his powers so far, but what happens when they start to see him as dangerous? Or worse, interesting?

Interesting is what gets him captured and cut open and studied. Danny doesn’t think he can survive that, halfa or not.

“Very well,” Alfred says, but Danny can see the way he forces back a frown, the line of his shoulder drawn tight. Before he can start fixing Danny a bowl, Danny ushers him into his seat and works on quickly taking care of his own small breakfast, leaving his yogurt plain. 

Alfred frowns at the amount he puts in his bowl, but doesn’t say anything. He waits until Danny sits across from him to thank him for the breakfast. 

They eat in silence, the silence not quite as comforting as it had been in the past. Danny’s too on edge to let his guard down any more, despite how much he wants to trust Alfred. He needs to see with his own eyes that the Waynes mean him no harm, that he can trust them to be good and let him live quietly and safely. 

When he can’t take the silence anymore, staring down at his empty bowl, Danny says, “Superheroes, huh.”

“I would be more than happy to answer any questions you have.”

There’s so much Danny wants to ask that it all crashes together into a tangled mess in his head. Instead of important questions like how often is the city in danger to need so many heroes or aren’t you afraid they’ll all die and you won’t be able to do anything about it, what comes out is, “When they asked who my favorite hero was at dinner, were they just looking for an ego boost?”

Alfred laughs, the lines in his brow smoothing out some. “Oh, yes. They are a rather vain lot when it comes to their night identities.”

It eases the tension in the air, makes it easier for Danny to relax enough to focus on the conversation and keep his mouth from running ahead of his mind. “So, I know Dick is Nightwing. Who’s everyone else?”

“They would be very excited to tell you themselves, but they’re also not going to wake up for many hours yet. I will tell you the basics, but I encourage you to ask them about this,” Alfred says. “Master Bruce is Batman. He is the very first vigilante in Gotham. He is among the first generation of heroes and a founder of the Justice League. Master Richard is Nightwing, as you’ve said, and he leads the Titans in New York when he is not here. Master Tim is Red Robin and often works with many other heroes and groups, such as the Teen Titans. Master Damian is the current Robin and Master Duke is the newest of us, operating in the day as the Signal.”

“That’s a lot.”

“There are more. Mistress Cassandra is Black Bat. She has recently returned from Hong Kong. Miss Barbara Gordon is Oracle, who is the leader of the Birds of Prey and works digitally. There are many others who operate within Gotham or visit the manor, and I’m sure you’ll meet them in due time.”

“Great,” Danny offers weakly. So many heroes, just in Gotham. He’s seen firsthand how bad it can be, all the crime and dangerous villain plots, but it’s also concerning to know that this world has such a need for all these heroes. He was enough in his old dimension, as Phantom. 

But he wouldn’t be enough here. There’s constant danger everywhere, and he realizes now that he’s taken the peace of him home dimension for granted. Admittedly, at the time, it didn’t seem like peace when he was dodging ghost hunters and the government and trying to wrangle ghosts. But all of that was mostly kept in Amity Park, and he was the person most affected by it so there weren’t many civilians getting caught in the crossfire. 

“Do they have powers?” he asks.

“No. All they do is a result of their own skill, hard work, and equipment.”

“So they’re just normal humans beneath the masks?”

“Yes, they are.”

The knowledge sends a chill down his spine. He would panic when Sam or Tucker or Jazz got caught in a ghost fight, even when they were equip with Fenton Blasters or something else that they could use to defend themselves. And that was just against ghosts! Here there are people waving around guns, fully prepared to kill, and the members of the Wayne family go out only in colorful armor? 

They could die so easily. All it would take is one good shot, one unlucky hit, and they’re gone forever.

“How do you stand it?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you stand watching them all go out and endanger themselves? How can you be fine with just staying here?”

Alfred leans back in the chair and looks to the window, gaze distant. “I am not fine. I never will be. But I also see how much good they are capable of, how many lives they save because they choose to risk themselves each night. They are all good, good people who want the world to be a better place and are willing to fight for it.”

He pauses for a long moment, lost in thought, then says, “I will always worry about them. Even when they go out as civilians. As much as I would like to keep them safe within these walls forever, I know that they would be unhappy living like that. It’s enough to know that they will do all they can to come home to me and be cared for. I tend to their wounds and ensure they can rest and heal in the manor. It is very rarely enough, but it’s better than nothing.”

“My parents hurt me,” Danny admits quietly. He keeps his gaze fixed on the table, trying to ignore how tense Alfred becomes, the heavy weight of his full attention. “When they found out what I am, what I can do, I just… stopped being their son and became their… prey? Target? Mission? I wish I had someone like you back then, because then it wouldn’t have hurt so much all the time. But all I had was my sister and my friends and they can’t do much against adults except help me escape.”

“I am so sorry, my boy, that you have had to suffer so much. But you’re here now, and I will take care of you, just as everyone else in this household will. You are not alone, Danny.”

Danny shrugs, slouching in his seat. “Thanks,” he mutters. 

“Well!” Alfred claps his hands together, the suddenness of the sound making Danny flinch, then he rises to his feet. “We have much to do today. Would you like to help me make breakfast for the rest of the household? Or would you like to tend to the vegetable garden?”

“What will I have to do for the vegetable garden?”

“Water the plants, pull any weeds, and also pick a few cucumbers and bell peppers, if you would.”

Danny offers Alfred a small salute and slides out of the chair. “I’m on it, boss!”

He ducks out the back door, grateful to be given an escape from the conversation and all the unpleasant memories it brought up, and takes his time walking to the vegetable garden. The sun is fully above the horizon now, and though it’s still cloudy, it’s not enough to block out the sunlight that rains down onto the garden. 

He hits up the small shed for a water can, then fills it up to the very top until it spills out whenever it’s jostled. He waters each raised bed, making sure the to get every inch of dirt thoroughly soaked.

It takes refilling the water can another four times before everything is watered and tended to. There are barely any weeds to pull, but he searches carefully just in case any escaped him the first time, then gets to carefully picking cucumbers and bell peppers, lifting up the hem of his shirt to create a makeshift basket. 

All of that takes the better part of an hour, which is apparently enough time for more people to wake up, and for Alfred to make a full spread of breakfast left on the kitchen island, while the man himself is nowhere to be found.

Damian is sitting at the table, eating, when he reenters the kitchen. Danny freezes for a moment and just looks at Damian, takes in how young he is, how small, and is horrified that anyone lets him out so late at night to fight crime.

“Good morning,” Damian says, setting down his fork, “As you now are aware of our secret identities, let it be known that if you endanger any of us, I will remove your limbs for your body. Slowly.”

“Sure,” Danny replies, distracted as he tries to get all the vegetables onto the counter without dropping any of them. “Sounds fair. Quick question: aren’t you too young to be fighting crime? Shouldn’t there be an age requirement or something?”

Damian scoffs. “I have trained since I could walk. I am made to be the heir to the Bat and the Demon’s head. I am more than capable of defeating the criminals of Gotham.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole situation.”

“It’s none of your business anyways. As long as you stay out of it, none of this will be a problem for you.”

“As long as I’m here, I won’t be able to stay out of it,” Danny says. “I just don’t have that kind of luck. The world always finds some way to screw me over.”

Damian doesn’t speak again, so Danny takes that as his cue to focus on putting all the vegetables away. There’s nothing more they can add to that conversation anyways, so Danny is more than happy to put it behind him and pretend at normalcy again. 

He wonders where Alfred went, wondering if it would be rude to just leave while Damian is still around to search for him. He’s still pondering it when Damian asks, quietly, “Do you really want nothing to do with our… night lives?”

The thing is, just two years ago, Danny would be jumping at the chance to be a hero. A proper  one, working alongside other heroes to save people. But a lot has changed since then. The Danny who existed back then was always moving, always trying out some new trick with his powers, always trying to juggle heroics and normal life. He was innocent. 

Or, at least, as innocent as anyone so familiar with death could be. 

As he is now, Danny is just tired. He doesn’t want people to get hurt, and he’ll protect them if he can, but he’s so tired of being scared and hated and hunted down. 

He’s a kid too. He was even more of a kid back when he was fourteen. 

Why did no one protect him?

That’s not a fair question to ask, really, because he did have his friends and his sister and a few ghosts who would do their best, but it wasn’t enough. 

“No,” Danny answers, voice hard. “I’m done with all of that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Were you a vigilante too? Before you arrived here.”

Danny turns to face Damian and leans back against the counter. He doesn’t look at the kid, really, just at the floor in his general direction. “I don’t know.”

“How could you possibly not know? Either you are, or you aren’t.”

“It was complicated,” Danny snaps. “I was trying to protect everyone. But a lot of them didn’t see it that way. Just saw me as a threat, or am monster, or something. God, the government was out to get me.”

“Vigilantes are not usually well liked,” Damian says.

“Yeah, well, most vigilantes still get human rights. I got nothing. Everyone like me got classified as non-sentient, so we had no protections. If they wanted to experiment on us and cut us open, there was nothing stopping them.”

“And where was this taking place?” The clear rage in his voice startles Danny, makes him look up and warily eye the way Damian is gripping his fork, looking as if he wants nothing more than to bury into someone who’s wronged him.

“...It doesn’t matter,” Danny says slowly. “There’s nothing any of you can do. And it’s too far away to matter. Does that answer your question?”

Damian lets out a slow breath, forcing himself to call down. Danny can almost hear Jazz’s voice in his ear, counting slowly and saying Good! Now again, deep breath in and—

He shakes his head, trying to force her imagined voice away, and focuses on Damian’s controlled breathing; in, out, in, out, slowly each time.

“Every answer we get,” Damian says at last, “Brings up more questions. We will find where you came from. You can make things easier for us by just telling us your background.”

“Not a chance in hell, dude.”

Damian clicks his tongue and stands, holding his empty plate. “Very well. We’ll just investigate as we usually do. You won’t be able to keep your secrets from us forever.”

“I can do my best, though.”

“You will not be joining us as a vigilante,” Damian says again, putting his plate in the sink. 

Didn’t they just cover this? Was Danny not clear enough? 

“Right,” he confirms, “No heroics for me.”

“I will ensure you have proper protections befitting an associate of the Wayne family, then.”

Danny blinks. “What. Hey, wait, hang on. Didn’t we just talk about me not being involved in any of that?”

“Trackers,” Damian says, thoughtfully, steamrolling right on ahead, “A taser, of course. We’ll find a way to hide a few panic buttons on your person. Those will also have trackers, so if you should ever need help, we will be able to find you.”

“I really do not need any of that.”

“I will talk to father about it,” Damian nods.

“Don’t,” Danny starts to say, but somehow Damian is already out of the kitchen, leaving Danny behind absolutely bewildered by all directions their conversation went. 

Seriously, what was all that?

Danny huffs, then shakes his head. Not his problem. If it comes to it, he can just go invisible and run away until the Waynes learn to act like normal people. He pushes the entire conversation out of his mind and washes Damian’s plate, then sticks it onto the dish drying rack next to the sink. 

He’s not sure where Alfred is, so he busies himself with cleaning the kitchen, wiping the down the table and counters then straightening everything up. 

Some more poking around in the kitchen and the rooms and hallways beyond help him find where more cleaning supplies are. He considers mopping the kitchen, but figures that should be saved for after dinner, so any messes he makes while helping Alfred cooked won’t be messing up a newly cleaned floor.

By then, it’s well into the morning, just a few hours away from noon, and Danny hasn’t seen anyone else come by. 

He’s… uncomfortable being left unsupervised in someone else’s house like this. Sure, he lives here now, but it’s not his home. He’s just a new employee who doesn’t have any close bonds with anyone in the family. He spends way too long debating on whether he should stay in the kitchen and wait for someone to show up, or if he should go through the manor and find Alfred in order to get some instructions on what he should do. 

Eventually, Danny tires of pacing around restlessly and ventures away from the kitchen, poking his head into random rooms and straining his hearing to make sure no one sneaks up on him.

Not that it helps, when a chill races up his spine just before someone taps his shoulder.

Danny whirls around, stumbling away, and holds himself back from lashing out at Cass. 

She immediately takes five steps back, giving him space, and offers him a smile and a small wave. “Morning.”

“...Good morning,” Danny returns, looking over her carefully. Cass gives him his time, and he’s grateful that she backed off immediately, but he’s still rattled by the fact that she snuck up on him so easily. The space between them is reassuring, but he’s not foolish enough to think it’s anywhere close to enough if she actually wanted to hurt him.

Cass is a vigilante too. Black Bat, Alfred had said. It goes to stand that she’s as dangerous as the rest of them. He’s sure she’s the scariest of the bunch. There’s just something about her that makes every nerve in his body scream to alertness, prepared for a fight, waiting for a knife to slip into his ribs.

She doesn’t say a thing as he stares at her. Danny shifts his weight off one foot, trying to think of a way out of this situation, and comes up blank.

“So.” He cringes immediately at how he breaks the silence, then rolls with it. Might as well, really. It’s not going to get any worse from here. “Did you want breakfast?”

Cass shakes her head. “Not hungry for food. Hungry for snacks.”

“Oh, well I made cookies last night. I’m not sure where Alfred put them, though.”

She shakes her head again. “All gone.”

Danny blinks. “Huh?”

“Ate them all,” Cass explains, “Last night. Family meeting about you. Very good cookies.”

He’s… not going to unpack all that right now. Or ever, hopefully. “Cool. Which one did you like most?”

“Sugar cookie. The brown one?”

It takes a moment to remember which one that is, with all the cookies he made yesterday, but he recalls that particular batch quickly. “The brown sugar cookies!” 

“Yes!”

“I thought they were missing something, so I rolled them in cinnamon sugar. Alfred’s recommendation, really, I was just going to dump cinnamon in the dough. Turned out really good, though.”

“Very good,” Cass says again, nodding sagely. “Best cookies. Make more?”

“Uh, maybe later. I’m looking for Alfred right now?”

“He is calling Jason. I can… guide you?”

Cass offers a hand, still five steps away from him. There’s still plenty of space between them, enough for him to stay out of grabbing reach, but he can take her hand if he wants to. Or he can go intangible and just fall through the wall behind him. 

But she’s nice. Terrifying, of course, but nice. 

He got scared, and she moved back to give him space. She doesn’t push for questions or explanations, just treats him as if he’s always been here. 

Danny looks between Cass and her hand. 

He’s going to stay here. He’s staying for Alfred. And now he’s staying because the Wayne family regularly endanger themselves and it makes Alfred upset. He can wonder about running away all he wants; Danny knows himself and he knows he’s here to stay.

He didn’t even run from his parents until they tried to kill him for good, captured him and had the basement prepped for his vivisection. There’s a chance he can make something of himself here, to create someplace he can be safe, and he can’t afford to lose it.

He takes Cass’s hand.

“Yeah, okay. Take me to Alfred, please?”

“Okay,” Cass says, a bright smile on her face. She turns and leads him down the hall, her grip loose and easy to break from. Danny doesn’t let it break.

Cass is both dangerous and kind. Danny’s survived all sorts of dangerous people before. If he can just get his brain to chill out, then he can act normal around her and the rest of the Waynes. He can do this.

She leads him through the manor with ease, as if she could navigate it blind, and opens a door to a little balcony on the second floor that Danny didn’t know about. Alfred turns to face them as soon as the door opens, phone held up to his ear, and he gives them a smile and waves them in, inviting them to sit on the small bench. Cass sits him down on one of the cushions tied to the bench, then pats his head.

“Still training today?” she asks.

“Apparently,” Danny answers with a grimace. “Think I can get out of it?”

“No. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

That’s not really reassuring, but it is nice to know that he won’t be locked in a room alone with Bruce and forced to fight his boss. That’s got to be against some labor law. Sam would probably know.

Cass leaves, giving him one last wave from the door, then disappears back into the manor.

Alfred looks out over the grounds, nodding lightly to whatever Jason is saying. Danny doesn’t want to eavesdrop, so he just bounces his leg and stares up at the cloudy sky, wondering if he’d be able to see the stars on a clear night. 

“I shall speak to you again soon, Master Jason,” Alfred says, barely a minute later. “Yes, do take care of yourself. Until next month, then.” And his phone is put away in one smooth movement. Alfred straightens out his waistcoat, then turns to Danny. “I apologize for being away for so long. Are you ready to start the day?”

“Sure. It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? So what’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” Alfred says, looking Danny over thoughtfully. “If you would be willing, there are some lightbulbs that need changing and chandeliers to be dusted. It’s difficult for most people to reach these, but if you are able to fly up and take care of these tasks…”

The thought of causally using his powers out in the open makes his skin crawl with nerves, but it’s too late to try to keep it a secret. He did float down into their secret crime fighting cave. There was no way he was ever going to keep that from the Waynes. 

Honestly, if all they want is for him to use his powers for mundane things like this, it’s not bad. Definitely better than being tested and observed like some newly discovered creature. 

Alfred just wants some help with household tasks, and Danny’s powers make it easy for him to do them. That’s all.

“Sure,” Danny says, “I can do that.”

It’s normal. Normal enough, anyways.

As long as they keep to this facade of normality, he’ll be fine.

Bruce Wayne apparently does not care to be normal. 

.

.

.

This is more a rich people are different from the rest of humanity than it is this is top secret hero stuff. Who has a giant gym in their house complete with a pool and a locker room? On top of a giant crime fighting cave? 

It’s absurd.

Danny stares at his locker—complete with his name on it, so he doesn’t accidentally open someone else’s—and wonders what, exactly, a training session with Bruce Wayne is going to look like. He had been expecting basic exercises to see where he’s at, something close to what he does at school in P.E. Now he has to factor in weights, treadmills, and a boxing ring. There’s also ceiling to floor mirrors on one wall and a large section of the room covered in a thick mat, with only a single martial arts dummy on it. 

He tries very hard to ignore the wooden swords and bo staffs hanging on the wall. He’s definitely not touching those while other people are around.

Sighing, he decides that putting off this training session isn’t going to make it end any faster and opens his locker. 

There’s a set of training clothes already set inside for him. He’s sure it’s perfectly his size. He’s just not going to think too hard about how they managed to get his size at all. 

Though the locker room is empty, he doesn’t want to change out in the open. He was the same way in school, and though this often got him teased by the football team for his ‘insecurities’, they quieted down when they saw his scars. Dash never asked about it, but he was always careful afterwards to make sure Danny’s shirt never rode up and revealed anything when he tossed Danny around. 

He peeks around the locker room before he hurries into the changing stall, paranoid that he’s being watched somehow. He changes quickly and, sure enough, everything fits him perfectly.

The only problem is that the shirt he was given is short sleeve. Th Lichtenberg scar, made permanent by his death and the ectoplasm that flooded his system at the same time as the electricity of the portal, is clearly visible. The white scar tissue branches down his arm all the way to his wrist, wide and ugly. 

He really doesn’t want any questions about it. 

Danny takes off the shirt, then puts his long sleeve shirt back on. He can train just fine in it, and if they have a problem with it, they can order him a long sleeve shirt for training.

He takes his clothes to his locker and shoves them in, then takes a few minutes to just breathe, trying to force his nerves away long enough that he can walk out to Bruce without feeling nauseous. 

When he finally manages to force his feet to move, Cass and Damian are in the gym as well. 

Cass he expected after their morning conversation. Damian is a surprise, and it seems like the boy is trying to act as if he’s not here to watch Danny train, using one of the wooden swords to go through a series of careful movements. 

Bruce is waiting on the mat next to the dummy, and he nods when he sees Danny approach. “Come here,” he says, “We’ll do some stretching first, then we’ll see where you are in self-defense.”

Cass looks them both over with a sharp eye, then walks away to pull out a yoga mat and set it just outside the mats. She effortlessly goes into a handstand, then goes down onto her forearms and lowers her legs into a split.

“You’re not expecting me to do that, right?” he asks, looking at Bruce.

He smiles, a small thing that softens the serious expression he had been sporting, and shakes his head. “No, not at all. We’ll just do basic stretches. After me, now.” And with that, he immediately gets started, rolling out his shoulders and stretching his arms and wrists, then dropping down into a forward fold. Danny does his best to follow along, glancing up often to make sure he’s doing everything right.

Stretching is easy.  He’s definitely not as flexible as Bruce or Cass, but he doesn’t do too badly. At the very least, he can press his palms flat to the floor in a forward fold. 

They’re just finishing up, rolling out their necks, when the door to the gym is pushed open and Tim comes in. “Have we started yet?” he asks, looking a mess. His hair is windswept and tangled and he’s sporting a split lip that he didn’t have yesterday.

“Do I want to know,” Bruce says, and Tim grins.

“Know what? I’ve been having a peaceful, relaxing day. Quit worrying so much, it’s bad for your heart.”

Damian scoffs, swinging his sword down at an angle. “As if any of us would ever believe that you’re not causing messes for us to clean up.”

“What’s that, Gremlin? You’re looking for a sparring partner? You should have said so sooner!” And Tim’s grabbing a bo staff from the wall and throwing himself at Damian without any warning.

Danny makes an aborted sound in the back of his throat, torn between yelling for Damian to watch out and Tim to stop, but Damian isn’t phased at all. He scowls harder and blocks Tim’s attack, then hits back. The heavy thud of their weapons hitting each other echo through the gym, but neither of them get hurt. They dodge each hit expertly, dancing circles around each other, fighting gracefully in ways Danny has never seen. 

Bruce clears his throat and Danny snaps his attention back to the man in front of him. 

“Why don’t we begin with something easy,” Bruce says. “Punch me.”

“What?”

“Punch me,” Bruce repeats. 

Danny stares at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to defend myself, not attack other people?”

“Both require the same skills. The only difference is in how you choose to use it. Now, punch me.”

Slowly, Danny lifts an arm, curling his fingers into a fist, and looks up at Bruce’s face to make sure this is fine. Bruce looks unimpressed, waiting for him to move.

He throws a weak punch at Bruce’s abdomen and is entirely unsurprised when his wrist is grabbed and held in place easily.

“Again,” Bruce says, “And do it seriously, this time.”

Okay. 

Okay, he can do this.

Danny steps back, giving himself some space, and takes a deep breath. He’s fought plenty of people before. Mostly ghosts, but still. He can figure out how to fight hand to hand without using any of his powers. He can hold back his strength. He can do it.

He shifts his stance, standing with his feet shoulder width apart, a more stable base, and lifts his hands in front of his face, not curling them into fists but holding them loose. Just as his mother taught him, before she started handing him and Jazz weapons to familiarize themselves with. 

Bruce is a vigilante, he reminds himself. They all are. They know how to fight and how to defend themselves. They have plenty of experience and he’s sure they’ve already come up with ways to take him out if they need to. 

Danny lets out one last fortifying breath, then looks up at Bruce, who is watching him with a shrewd gaze. Whatever he sees makes him nod approvingly and shift his own stance, no longer casually standing in place but ready to move.

“I will try to stay at human power levels,” Danny says, one last warning before they really begin. “Stop me if I go too far.”

“I can handle anything you throw my way, Danny. Don’t worry about me. This is about helping you be able to protect yourself.”

No more stalling. 

Danny darts forward, throwing out a punch. Bruce takes a single step back, twisting to the side so Danny’s fist sails past his body, and sweeps out a leg to trip him. Danny’s already moving, trying to get to Bruce’s back, get out of his line of sight, staying light on his feet. 

Distantly, he’s aware of the sound of Tim and Damian’s battle falling silent, but he can’t focus on it as he tries to strike Bruce’s pressure points, darting in and out so he can’t be grabbed. His mother’s old lessons come back to him, body falling into that familiar rhythm, and it’s enough to make him slip up, use a little too much strength.

Bruce staggers back two steps, then is grabbing Danny’s arm and tossing him over his shoulder before Danny can process what’s happening. 

Instinct has him floating in place, then his legs shoot out and kick Bruce in the chest, using it as a springboard to jump off of to get some distance between them. 

“Good,” Bruce says, giving him a moment to catch his breath. “You’ve had training before.”

“My mom is ninth-degree black belt in mixed martial arts. She taught me a few things.”

“We’ll need to see where you might need some improvements. Otherwise, I give you permission to use your powers against me.”

Danny drops his hands in shock, coming out of his ready stance. “Wait, seriously? I could really hurt you!”

“I promise you, Danny, you really can’t,” Bruce says. “Remember, I’m Batman. I’ve fought gods and monsters before.”

“I don’t know…”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with Danny, even if it means you only stick to flying.”

That’s… reasonable. He does fly a lot; he loves flying. It’s the best part of being a halfa, really. And most of his fights involve him flying. Having to stay on the ground puts him at a disadvantage, and if they really want to train him up to hero standards—

No. He’s not going to be a hero in this world. He’s going to live a quiet, normal life as best he can and he won’t be flaunting his powers around in a world he’s unfamiliar with. 

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Danny refocuses on the training match and nods. “Flying only,” he says.

He’s up in the air before Bruce can move, darting around him, then ramming into his side like a bulldozer. This, he didn’t learn from his mother. He learned it from Cujo.

Bruce grunts, his breath knocked out of him, and grabs Danny. There’s a brief moment of struggle where Danny tries to get away, but he’s laid out on the floor before he can go intangible.

The lights above him are blinding. Bruce towers above him, all broad shoulders and heavy muscle, looking down, and his face is shadowed enough that is makes Danny’s heart stop and he sees—

Dad, wait, it’s me! Stop, please!

His father wasn’t smiling. There was no manic grin, no booming laughter, no victory cry for catching Phantom. Just his father standing above him, expressionless, as he held up a Fenton Thermos and—

Bruce reaches for him—

“Stop!”

Before anyone can move, before Danny can come back to his sense and make his brain understand that it’s not his father standing before him, ready to capture him and treat him like a thing to be cut open, before he can say anything more, the air shifts.

Cass is there, suddenly and without warning, and slams into Bruce, then tosses him over her shoulder and onto the mats. She kneels with one knee on his chest, keeping him pinned down, and steel in her eyes.

“We’re done,” she says. “Time for a break. Snacks.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Bruce relaxes and nods. “Right. This is enough for today. I’ll make a light training regime for Danny so he can protect himself both with and without his powers. Boys,” he says, looking to where Tim and Damian have been watching them, “If you want to continue training, do so in the Batcave. Don’t use flimsy excuses to learn more about Danny.”

“What excuse? I genuinely wanted to beat Damian up,” Tim retorts, and follows it up with a soft whack to the back of Damian’s head.

“As if you could beat me!”

They’re back to tussling a moment later, weapons thrown aside in favor of slapping the shit out of each other.

It would make him laugh in any other circumstance. As it is, Danny’s frozen, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, staring at where Cass is keeping Bruce pinned, keeping him safe from the man who resembles his father in the lowlight. 

He can’t focus on much more than them, frantically trying to piece together the last two minutes to make sure he’s safe, it was just Bruce, everything’s fine. He may have yelled for Bruce to stop, but he’s sure that Cass was moving even before then.

Somehow, she had known that he needed to get out of that situation. Needed distance from Bruce. Needed protection.

And she had given it to him.

Dangerous and kind indeed.

“Go,” she says, pulling Bruce back up to his feet. “I will stay with him.” She doesn’t give him any time to argue, pushing him towards the door. 

Then she shoots Tim and Damian a look and they immediately disengage from their fight. Damian tosses his wooden sword over to Tim, who snatches it out of the air without even looking at it and puts both their weapons back on the wall. They leave within a minute, closing the door behind them.

A stillness settles over the room, the world gone quiet now that it’s just him and Cass.

He’s shaking, he realizes. His hands tremble where they rest on his chest and it takes far too much effort to force himself to sit up.

Cass doesn’t comment on it. She just sits down next to him, giving him enough space that he feels comforted by her presence rather than trapped.

“Sorry about that,” Danny manages to say at last, forcing the words out. His voice is rough and his heart feels like it’s been scrapped over with sandpaper.

“No.”

“What?”

“No sorries. Bruce went too far. Saw you weren’t… safe? Did not stop, so I made him.”

“I’m still sorry you had to get involved.”

“Danny,” she says, then waits until he looks at her. “It’s okay. I always beat Bruce. It’s good for him to lose sometimes.”

He can’t help but smile a bit. Between her and Tim, he can see that Bruce’s kids really enjoy causing him trouble. That’s how it’s supposed to be with siblings; everyone teams up against the parents. All siblings have to unionize, that’s how every world works.

“Thanks.”

Cass reaches out a hand. This time, Danny doesn’t hesitate to take it. 

They sit in silence for a long time. His heart settles down and the last of his fear dissipates; the guilt of being so terrified of just the idea of his father towering over him remains, but that’s something he’s sure will accompany him for the rest of his life. Cass doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push for conversation, and simply waits patiently as he regains him composure.

As much as he’d like to, he can’t hide away in the gym forever. 

He begins to stand and Cass follows him up, keeping hold of his hand. She looks him over carefully, then nods and pushes him towards the locker room.

“You’re not going to ask questions about…” Danny waves a hand through the air, “All this, right?”

“No questions,” Cass reassures. “Tell when you want to. Even bad memories are important. Yours to keep.”

“Okay. Thanks for being so cool about all this.”

Cass gives him a sunny smile. “Go. Change. I will get Alfred.”

Danny offers a weak salute, then heads off to the locker room to change, happily chucking off his training clothes and dropping them into the laundry chute. 

Training was a disaster in a different way than he expected, but either way, he’s relieved it’s over. Now, all they have to do is pretend his little panic never happened and they can all move on with their lives.

Alfred must see that resolve on his face when he exits the gym. Danny isn’t asked any questions as they walk through the halls, simply told about the chores that need to be completed. They don’t come across any members of the Wayne family and Danny can’t help but feel that’s purposefully, that they’re avoiding him to keep him from getting spooked and running away.

Danny takes over dusting the high rafters and corners of the ceiling, sneezing when a particularly strong sweep of the duster over the top of a hanging light fixture brings up a cloud of dust. Below him, Alfred vacuums and straightens out rooms, calling out directions to help Danny get everything clean.

Once the sun begins to set, Alfred sends Danny to the kitchen while he puts away all their cleaning supplies. Dinner prep has apparently been taken care of while he was training with Bruce; all Danny has to do is start the oven and pull everything out of the fridge. 

He wants to offer to set the table, be more helpful, but the thought of seeing everyone again has his throat tightening up, bringing up the residual panic that hasn’t left him since he fell through the Infinite Realms into the streets of Gotham. Instead of helping more with dinner, Alfred pulls out a thick recipe book, paged faded with age, and sets him on making a cake for dessert. 

Danny manages to get all the ingredients together, measured carefully and mixed slowly so none of the flour spills out of the bowl. He does well enough that Alfred decides he can safely leave Danny without any supervision in order to bring dinner to the dining table where the Wayne family waits. 

In the time he’s alone, Danny tries very hard not to mess anything up, folding in melted chocolate into the batter. 

He works slowly enough that Alfred is able to return before Danny tries to hunt down a baking pan. He wordlessly pulls one out of a cabinet and sprays it with cooking oil before setting it on the counter next to Danny, watching with a shrewd eye as Danny pours out the batter, using a rubber spatula to scrape batter down from the sides of the bowl.

“Very good,” Alfred comments, then instructs Danny to lift the baking pan and drop it onto the counter gently a few times to break any air bubbles in the batter. 

They get it in the oven and start the timer after that. Alfred pulls out another mixing bowl and gets to work making buttercream frosting, showing Danny how to separate the egg whites from the yolk. 

Danny is not ready to try it on his own, but it’s cool to see how it’s done. Alfred does everything so precisely, with clean movements and nothing wasted. It’s beyond impressive. Danny can only hope he can emulate some of that one day.

The smell of rich chocolate cake fills the kitchen and Danny feels his mouth start watering. He hasn’t had much to eat since lunch, and even that was small. For once, he’s feeling hungry enough to eat a horse, and is a strange mix of embarrassed and elated when his stomach growls loudly.

“Oh my,” Alfred laughs, “I see that cake never fails to wake a boy’s appetite.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly, and allows Alfred to usher him into a chair at the kitchen table. He watches as Alfred bustles around the kitchen, whipping together a quick meal of sauteed radishes, sliced in halves and with the leaves included, and a wrap so full Danny worried it would burst when he bit into it. 

It’s a bigger meal than what he’s used to, made with larger portions and heavier ingredients, but all the events of the day have drained him of enough energy that Danny all but devours his dinner. He even brings out his fangs to tear into the wrap more easily, eating quickly to sate his hunger. 

“How are you liking your food, Danny?”

“It’s delicious!” he answers with his mouth full.

“Do try to avoid talking with food in your moth,” Alfred gently reprimands, and Danny shoots him a thumbs up, trying to chew faster.

“I can have some of the cake later, right?”

“Of course. So long as you finish your dinner, then I will give you the first slice.”

Danny clears his plate in record time and has everything washed and dried by the time the oven beeps. Alfred opens the oven door, flooding the kitchen with warmth and an even strong aroma of chocolate, then slides on a pair of Batman oven mitts; they’re black, with a bat symbol on the back and little white eyes glaring out from the fingertips, and have little bat eats sticking out from the tops. He has to bite back a laugh and wonders how much of their own merch the Wayne family owns. 

“Now we must wait for it to cool down before we can frost it,” Alfred says, setting the cake down on the counter. 

“Can I use my powers to help it cool faster?”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“Well,” Danny says, holding up a hand, “I can make ice.” He lets his fingers frost over, his ice the pale blue of an iceberg’s submerged bottom. “I can freeze the counter space around and under the cake.”

Alfred looks intrigued, which is a good sign. “Would it not melt?”

“Not unless I want it to.”

“Then by all means, Danny.” He steps back to give Danny space to work, watching as Danny presses his fingers to the counter and lets the ice spread from the point of contact, circling the cake. He pushes his ice to be a few degrees cooler than usual and feels the chill race up his arms. 

It’s comfortable for him, but he knows he shouldn’t touch anyone until he warms back up. Sam and Tucker have told him plenty of times that he’s colder than ice after he uses his powers, a biting kind of cold that always hurt their hands. 

“It should be cool enough soon,” he says, stepping back from the counter and shaking out his hands.

“Thank you, Danny. Would you mind keeping the frosting cool as well?”

“No problem, Alfred!” He ices over the frosting bowl; it’s not quite as cold as the ice on the counter, but enough to keep the frosting chilled. “Do you want me to do anything else?”

Alfred thinks it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not at the moment, no. Go take a break. I’ll wash up and get everyone’s dishes. Master Bruce would like to speak to you as well, when you’re ready.”

Oh, great. No more running from questions, it seems. 

His mood plummets immediately, but he still forces up a smile for Alfred. “You got it. I’ll just… wait for him to get me, then.”

He’s out of the kitchen before Alfred can offer an platitudes, wandering aimlessly until he ends up in the grand foyer. He flies up to the ceiling and sits upside down, legs crossed, and tries not to think about training and all the explanations he doesn’t want to give. 

His thoughts drift towards Amity and he misses it with an ache. He never planned to stay there forever, already looking for out of state college options, joining the rest of his class in wanting to leave and find their way into the wider world. 

But all he wants now is an hour at Nasty Burger with his friends, a trip to the bookstore with Jazz, the familiar shared panic as everyone on the road tried to avoid the Fenton AV whenever his parents decided to go grocery shopping. Hell, he even misses Caspar High and the stress of having his work pile up as he fought ghosts and ghost hunters and his own procrastination. He misses the park where he’d play fetch with Cujo. He misses flying through the clear skies of Amity, the way the lights of the city shone up to him from where he rested high above it all. He misses the empty fields and forests and the clear air that Gotham will never have. 

Danny is so far from home. He doesn’t think he can ever go back.

Would he even have a home if he found some way back to his original dimension? 

His parents know the truth now. They captured Phantom, trapped him in the Fenton Thermos, and when they opened it again, Danny came out. He transformed immediately, full of panic and fear, begging for something as his mother sank into denial, shooting at him, while his father was emotionless and Jazz was screaming as a distraction, for him, at being pushed down by her parents as they focused all their attention on Danny. 

The last thing he ever heard from his home was Jazz screaming I hate you! How could you! Danny is⁠—

And then the Infinite Realms wrapped him in its embrace and took him away. 

“Danny?”

Danny jolts and falls from the ceiling. His stomach drops and he braces himself for impact, too out of it to use any of his powers. Instead of hitting the floor, he crashes into someone’s chest, their arms wrapping around him to hold him steady.

He blinks his eyes open and looks up at Bruce, who gives him a moment to collect himself, then sets him down on his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Danny says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just startled.”

“If you don’t feel up for a conversation⁠—”

“No, no, let’s just get this over with. The sooner the better, right?” He offers Bruce a strained smile, but it falls from his face quickly.

“Alright,” Bruce says slowly. “Let’s head up to my office.”

He guides Danny up the stairs, keeping a heavy hand on his shoulder. It makes Danny feel trapped, but he’s too tired to get away. He’s resigned to this happening and just wants it to be over already. 

When the door closes the behind them, it sounds final in Danny’s ears. He sinks into the armchair off to the side of Bruce’s office, rather than taking one of the more uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk.

Bruce sits across from him on the lounge couch, elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled together.

“Danny,” he begins. “I know you’ve had a stressful day, but it’s important that we discuss this now.”

“Discuss what,” Danny says tiredly. He’s not asking, not really, just trying to lead Bruce to where they need to go.

“You are aware of our identities as Gotham’s vigilantes.”

“I’m still not very familiar with any vigilantes. I don’t really know anything other than your names.”

“But you know our identities. You know where we live and where we operate from. This is dangerous information; in the wrong hands, it will destroy us and leave Gotham to be torn apart from the inside by all the corruption we work to keep off the streets.”

Irritation prickles down his spine. Danny knows how important secret identities; look at what happened to him when he was discovered. Logically, he knows Bruce has no way of knowing this, but emotionally, Danny wants to snap at him, hurl insults and accusations to distract from his own hurt.

“This must remain secret,” Bruce continues, leaning forward some. “We will know if you reveal this information to anyone.”

“If you’re going to threaten me, can you just do it outright?”

Bruce blinks, then leans back, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Danny sighs and folds his arms across his chest, holding himself in a mockery of a hug as he looks away. “I get it, this is a big deal and having an outsider suddenly in the know is a huge risk. But I also need you to consider who I am.”

“And who are you, Danny?”

“A homeless runaway freak of nature. I have no support in Gotham. I have no one outside of Alfred that I can rely on in this country. You talk as if I have any power over you, but I don’t. Who would I even go to? Who would believe me?”

“Reporters would pay a lot for information like this⁠—”

“That’s not the point,” Danny interrupts, a bite in his voice. “The point is that even if I know all your identities, you’re still the one who has power here. I am entirely dependent on you for housing, food, safety. You’re my boss. The only reason I have anything, including a legal identity, is because of you. And you can take it away at any time.”

“I wouldn’t⁠—”

“People can excuse anything when they’re desperate enough.”

Bruce falls silent, staring at Danny with dark eyes. His expression is unreadable, as warm as stone, and Danny tenses in preparation for something awful; being fired, or kicked out, or imprisoned. 

“No matter how good they think they are, or try to be,” Danny continues, his voice growing quieter, more tired, “When the time comes, they’re willing to do anything to get what they want. No matter who you are to them. No matter what they have to do to you.” He looks over to Bruce, finally meeting his gaze. “Do you understand? You don’t have to threaten me because my entire existence here is a threat to my survival. I can only hope that everyone will be kind for another day before they decide I’ll be better off being cut open by scientists and studied.”

“Is that what happened to you? Why you ran away?”

“That isn’t important. It’s none of your business.”

Bruce frowns. “If it puts you in danger, it is my business, as you’re a minor in my care.”

“I am always in danger, okay? The details don’t matter. If you make me talk about it, I’ll run away and make sure no one can ever find me again. Got it?”

“Understood,” Bruce says after a tense moment. “I won’t push. But if you ever want to talk⁠—”

“Yeah, no. Not going to happen. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

He leans back, straightening up. “There is. In regards to training⁠—” 

Here it is. Danny just said he didn’t want to talk about, so Bruce hops right into the next topic of conversation that will make them talk about it.

“⁠—You have a good foundation to grow from. It would benefit you to learn how to handle a few of our weapons as well, and if there’s something you want to learn that we can’t provide for you, we can find someone else to train you. I will need to know what your triggers are so I can avoid frightening you as I did today.”

“I don’t have triggers,” Danny says, “I just don’t trust anyone but Alfred and Cass to not really hurt me. It’s just how it is.”

“...Very well.”

“Is that all?”

Bruce nods. “For now, yes. I know one of your conditions was not being involved in our nightlife, but if you’d ever like to learn more or see more of the Batcave⁠—properly, this time⁠— then we’d be more than happier to lead you through it.”

His gut reaction is to turn it down immediately, to ensure he doesn't have anything to do with their ‘nightlife.’ But Alfred’s involved.

All Danny is here to do is help Alfred, and that apparently includes wrangling vigilantes into surviving each night and being tended to. He already knows he’s going to join Alfred down there one day, but he’s not ready for it yet.

“Maybe some time in the future,” Danny offers. “Not any time soon, though.”

“That’s fine, Danny. We’ll go at your pace.”

A knock on the door stops the conversation from continuing. Damian opens the door and comes in before he has permission.

“Are you finished yet?” he asks, looking between Danny and Bruce.

“Uh, just about. Why?” Danny replies.

“We cannot eat any cake until you have the first slice.”

Conversation fully over; Danny has cake to eat and he needs to get to it right away. It’s way more important that talking to Bruce about his trauma and the family’s secret vigilante activities. 

“Sweet, let’s go get cake.”

He stands and Damian turns back to the door, ready to go. He stops at the doorway and glances back to Bruce, then asks, “Is he to remain aware of our nightly activities?”

“Yes, he is,” Bruce answers.

“I will be showing you where all the supply caches in the manor are,” Damian tells Danny. “They will hold either weapons, first aid kits, or fire extinguishers. It is crucial to memorize the location of all of them in the event of an emergency.”

“Isn’t this place safe? I mean, you all live here.”

“We hold events here, unfortunately,” Damian scowls. “There’s a gala coming up, in fact. You will need to know all of this before it begins. We shall start after we eat cake.”

From what he’s seen and heard of Gotham so far, this really is for the best. If this were Amity Park, Danny would call this behavior overly paranoid. Here, it’s an appropriate level of preparedness. 

“After cake,” he agrees, following Damian as he leads the way out of Bruce’s office .

He’ll worry about everything else after that promised first slice. As long as he’s got Alfred on his side, he’ll deal with anything thrown his way.

.

.

.

(“Don’t push,” Cass warns. “He’s like me. Will run.”

Tim sighs and slumps against the counter. “I just need to know more in order to help him! Come on, Cass, don’t tell me you don’t want to beat up everyone who’s ever hurt him.”

“Only if he wants to tell us,” she says, firm in her stance. 

Alfred nods approvingly from where he’s slicing the recently frosted cake. Danny’s ice remains on the counter, and he makes a mental note to ask the boy to remove it before he goes to sleep. 

“Miss Cassandra is right,” he interjects when Tim opens his mouth to speak, trying to find some way to change Cass’s mind. “Danny has had a difficult life and needs time and space to trust us and feel safe in the manor. I will not allow anyone to push him more than he can handle, simply because they could not handle their own curiosity.”

“You’d better tell that to Bruce, then. You really think he won’t interrogate Danny?”

Alfred sets down the cake knife with more slightly more force than necessary. “He has been warned. Should I hear that he did not take my warning lightly, I will ensure he faces the consequences of disregarding Danny’s needs.”

“Well,” Tim says, “You’ve got me and Cass to back you up. Danny will be fine with the three of us in his corner.”

“I do hope so,” Alfred replies. Cass is looking towards the kitchen door, so he begins to plate some of the slices. She has a sixth sense for knowing when someone is approaching, and when she’s around, Alfred takes his cues from her to make sure everything is prepared when they enter the room. 

Sure enough, just as he’s finished plating the last slice, the door opens and Damian enters with Danny trailing after him, looking paler and wrung out. 

It seems he will have to remind Bruce about Danny’s boundaries. Tim and Cass will be pleased to take on this new mission, and from the look in Damian’s eye, so will the youngest Robin.

Good. 

He won’t let anyone push Danny out of the manor. Not while he still has breath in his body.)

[danvolodar]

Pathologic and the Town's Russianness: 5

In this last numbered part of the miniseries we'll explore the issue that, honestly speaking, prompted me to write on the subject to begin with: the Town's eating habits, and whether they match those of the historic Russian Empire.

As in the previous parts, a warning is prudent - the Town's unique situation must affect its cuisine as much as the rest of its life. So an unusually large share of meat in the local diets, or the shortage of grains and legumes due to the lack of fields we've discussed prior, cannot be used as indicators of difference.

Still, some amount of grains must be making it into the Town-on-Gorkhon, since they do have bread available. It wouldn't be fair to say it's un-Russian for not having black rye bread, though, since it only makes sense the Town makes do with whatever's shipped in, and it's likely wheat grows better in the climes near the steppe (in the Marble Nest demo the Bachelor even notes that "the local [bread] is greyish in color and crumbly to the touch, making you doubt if it was actually made from grain"). What is decidedly un-Russian, though, is the lack of any buns when there's flour available: pirozhki stuffed with beef or fish, rasstegai, or vatrushkas. Those were the street food of choice in the Imperial Russia, so extremely common, which means not seeing them is a strong sign the Town is not a part of anything like it.

And since we've mentioned vatrushkas - it's surprising that there's no stuffing for it in sight, no tvorog. Then again, there are no cheeses other than the steppe qurt at all, so I guess that can be attributed to that. There's a decisive shortage of diary foods in general: other than milk and tan (ayran), ice cream is spoken about but never shown (but at least it must be available), and kefir (widely spread throughout Russia by early XX century) isn't even mentioned.

But those are all foods one can carry; even if not exactly a cornucopia, they got at least some representation. Cooked dishes, the foundation of Russian cuisine, did not, at all. "Schi and porridge are our food" is a Russian saying describing the commoner diet throughout history; but I don't think I've seen even mentions of any soup or porridge in the game. Vegetables might be lacking for a soup (although I imagine it's pretty easy to catch scurvy with a diet like this), but where there's bread, there must be grains, and where there are grains, there can be porridge - especially minding that there's a source of milk always available to make it tastier.

The fruit and berry variety is even stranger. There are raisins, lemons and coffee beans available, yet the Haruspex has never eatern nor even seen in person a strawberry or a raspberry, both widely cultivated in temperate climate - despite him having studied outside of the Town for years, and likely joining the Army for a while. From that alone, one can imagine that the Capital-based civilization must have a climate radically different from the Russian Empire; further supported by the fact that the railroad to the Town is called "the north-western" one. This could suggest a state somewhere south-east of the steppe zone, in the mediterranean clime maybe.

Finally, while there are as already mentioned coffee beans for the healers to chew raw (like a wild animal would), there is a remarkable absence of the quintessential Russian drink: tea. Neither in compressed bricks, which one would expect in the steppe, and which would be the right thing to bite into, nor as the beautiful brew. Minding that a fancy samovar was a common way of showing prosperity at the beginning of the XX century for the lower classes, the absence of these is also telling. Lack of tea in historical Russia was a sure sign of utter societal collapse, only seen in the worst days of the Revolution - and even then people drank hot water from cups, even if there was nothing to brew with it.

Furthermore, drinking tea necessiates having sweets and confections, and there are noticeably few of these, too. As mentioned, ice cream can be found (in the dialogs), Murky says Sticky made her some candy, and Fellow Traveller calls the coupons he sells "candy wrappers", but that's about it - it would be nearly impossible for a Russian to properly drink tea in the Town to begin with!

I think this factor settles the original question decisively: a Town in which no one drinks tea ten times a day cannot possibly be a part of anything resembling the Russian Empire.