#same impulse as “i want to live in the zoo” or “i want to live in an alien's enclosure” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keanureevesisbae · 3 years ago

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Summary: A slice of life of Henry and Becky

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 5k

A/N: It's official: the ending of Henry and Becky - not gonna lie, it was quite the ride and boy, did I enjoy it. From March till now, these two have taught me a lot. Writing wise, storytelling wise, sex wise, and character development wise. I hope you will like this ending of theirs 😘 I know I do!

Henry finally has the family he always wanted. His beautiful wife Becky and three lively boys: Adrien, who is ten, seven year old Lucas and little Jordan just turned four. Henry adores his family. Every weekend, he makes sure he doesn’t have any work to do, so he can take the four of them on a little trip, whether that is the zoo, the park or dinner with a view (most likely an aquarium, because the boys love to watch the fish).

It’s sweet to see how his kids are and their personalities. Adrien is a typical oldest child, very head strong and takes charges like no other. Lucas is a very happy go lucky kid, always up for something and goes into a project head first and is very very impulsive. Jordan is very timid, always hiding behind his mom’s legs whenever he finds something frightening or pushes his face into Henry’s chest, wanting to quiet down the hectic world.

After a long and draining day at the office, Henry arrives back home from work that Friday night. He hears the four of them discussing. Not the heated kind, but more a sneaky one, deciding what to make for dinner.

‘Not wanting to ruin the surprise, but I heard something about food,’ Henry says, placing his case on the floor.

‘Dad, you’re home!’ Lucas says, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his arms around Henry. No matter how long he has been gone (it can vary from a day to a week to a minute), Lucas is always happy to see him again.

Adrien gives his dad a hug as well, but like usual, Jordan has a bit of starting problems. He looks from his mom to Henry to his mom again. ‘Dad’s home,’ Becky says with a smile. ‘Want to hug him?’

Jordan slides from her lap and walks over to his dad, hugging his leg. It usually takes him a few moments before he can react to something, a trait Henry finds so endearing.

Henry scoots him up in his arms, giving him a kiss on his chubby cheek, before walking over to Becky. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he says. ‘I missed you.’

‘Missed you too. We were just discussing what we would make you for dinner,’ Becky says, pressing a kiss on his lips. ‘We were thinking either some pasta or some Soto soup.’

‘How about,’ Henry says, ‘the boys can help me out and you sit right here? We’ll make dinner for you.’

Adrien nods. ‘Yes, mom, you always cook. We can do it now. We’ll make pasta for you.’

‘Dad is not like uncle Greg, who always burns down the kitchen,’ Lucas says.

She smiles. ‘Okay, I’ll be right here. Jordan, what do you want to do? Help them out?’

Jordan nods. ‘Help dad,’ he whispers and Henry presses a kiss on his cheek again, before saying: ‘Okay, buddy, you can help me with stirring, okay?’

And together with his three boys, Henry walks into the kitchen.

It took them approximately nine to ten months before Becky became pregnant with Adrien. It was scary, yet exciting at the same time. Finally their new beginning started. They had already moved to a bigger place, with a backyard and tons of space for the kids, but now it was becoming even more real, with a little one on the way.

When they found out she was pregnant, Becky officially quit working at the archives and became what she always wanted: a full time author and mom.

Henry absolutely adored seeing the changes with her and her body, prepping for the arrival of the baby and giving Becky all the things her heart desires.

Becky was an amazing mother, everything came natural to her. She was kind, sweet and patient, while Henry found himself often confused and scared. But now they have three boys and he is becoming more and more secure with himself.

For ten years there always has been at least one kid around her when Henry went to work, but with Jordan going to school after this weekend, he knows it’s gonna be hard on her.

They have been bringing Jordan to Pre-K, however that’s only for two mornings a week, since he finds it very scary not to be around his mom.

He can see it’s eating Becky alive. When he looks over his shoulder, he notices her staring at the pictures. ‘Jordan,’ he says, ‘you’ve been helping me very well, but will you do me a favor?’

‘What is it?’ Jordan asks with a slight lisp.

‘Can you sit with your mom? Give her a big hug?’

He nods and after Henry lifted him off the counter, the little man walks over to his mom. ‘Momma,’ he hears Jordan say, ‘dad said I should give you a hug.’

Becky laughs. ‘Do you want to give me a hug?’

‘Always.’

She wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a kiss, lifting Jordan on her lap.

While Henry and the other boys finish up dinner, he cannot stop looking over his shoulder at the other two. Becky is listening intently to something Jordan is telling her and her soft smile is making his heart still pound after years of being together.

Jordan places his head on her chest and she wraps her arms tightly around him.

And it warms Henry’s heart to see that.

✤ ✤ ✤

The next morning, Henry wakes up before the kids do, but Becky is already up. He is quick to get out of bed as well, rushing downstairs to see his beautiful wife of more than eleven years in the kitchen, trying to get the coffee machine to work.

‘Good morning, baby girl, please, allow me to do it.’

She turns around. ‘Good morning, my knight in shining armor.’

He stands next to her, fixing the coffee machine with one hand, while he uses his other to pull her closer to him. He absolutely adores her pajama’s, that consist of pink shorts and a large shirt of his. He gives her a kiss on her cheek. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Wonderful and I know you did as well, because you snored a little.’

‘I don’t snore,’ Henry retorts, but he knows that might not be the entire truth. He does that from time to time, especially when he’s really tired. ‘What’s the plan today?’

‘I have some work to finish,’ Becky says, ‘and Adrien has some homework. Maybe you can make sure Jordan and Lucas have something to do?’

Before he can answer to that (which is yes), the door opens and they see little Jordan standing in the doorway. ‘Momma,’ he whimpers.

‘Oh honey, what’s wrong?’ Becky asks, walking over to him, crouching down in front of him.

‘I’m scared.’

‘Why?’

‘Monday.’

‘Oh, is it because you’re going to school?’

He nods. ‘I wanted to sleep in your bed, but you and dad weren’t there.’

Henry’s heart breaks in tiny little pieces and when Becky lifts him up, she looks at him with a pout. ‘Honey, there is nothing to worry about,’ Becky says.

Jordan curls up against her chest and little sobs escape from his lips. ‘I’m scared.’

She takes a seat at the dining table, pressing a kiss on top of his head. ‘I understand that you’re scared, but there is nothing to be afraid of. Miss Sue is a lovely lady, did you know that? You already saw her a few times and on top of that, she was Adrien’s and Lucas’ kindergarten teacher and they loved her.’

‘I miss you,’ Jordan continues to say.

‘I know you will miss me,’ Becky says. ‘I’ll miss you too, but you know: going to school is a lot of fun.’

Jordan sighs, his eyes still a little heavy. Henry understands. It’s five in the morning and while he and Becky are used to getting up at this hour, the boys aren’t.

‘Why don’t you two get back in bed?’ Henry suggests. ‘I’ll bring some coffee and some apple juice up.’

As the two of them go upstairs again, he quickly gets the drinks ready and goes to the master bedroom. He sees Jordan is asleep against her chest, his cheeks still a little bit red. He slides in next to her after placing the drinks on the nightstand and smiles. ‘Did he fall asleep fast?’

‘Instantly,’ Becky says, stroking through Jordan’s soft light brown curls. ‘I worry.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I do too.’

‘What if school is going to be too hard on him? Life can already be too hard for him and school isn’t easy.’

‘I know,’ Henry says again. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, placing his other hand on Jordan’s back. ‘You know, it’ll all be fine,’ he says. ‘He is a trooper.’

‘He sure is, but what if he… What if he gets bullied?’

‘Darling, they loved him at Pre-K, the kids loved him there too. Jordan is an easy to love little man. It’ll go great, I just feel it in my bones.’

‘I sure hope so,’ she says. She leans against his chest. ‘Henry, I’m going to miss him so much. The house is gonna be empty without him.’ He figures that she wants to continue to speak what is pressing on her heart and he figured correctly, because she continues to say: ‘He always follows me around the house, doing what I do. When I was writing, he would grab his little toy laptop and pretend to be writing as well.’

Henry can already see it happening. While they are all mommy’s boys, Jordan really is attached to her like velcro. ‘Sweetheart,’ he whispers, ‘he is going to school every other day at first. You’ll have him here two days a week and then on the weekends as well.’

‘I know.’ She lets out a sigh and he gives her a peck on her temple. She looks up and gives him a long kiss on his lips. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, sweetheart.’

They spend their time looking at Jordan, who finally opens his eyes and smiles a little when he sees the two of them. ‘Dad,’ he says, ‘was momma worried?’

Henry smiles. ‘A little, but that’s what moms do. But don’t you worry, I comforted her.’

Jordan gives her a kiss, before climbing on top of Henry. ‘I love you,’ he whispers softly, almost like he is afraid of Henry hearing his little declaration of love.

‘I love you too,’ Henry says, wrapping his arms around Jordan. ‘What do you want to do today?’

Jordan shrugs. ‘I want to do a puzzle.’

‘You want a new one?’ Henry asks.

‘Maybe.’ Jordan giggles, before admitting: ‘Yes, please.’

✤ ✤ ✤

After telling the boys they’re going to the zoo tomorrow, Henry takes Lucas and Jordan to the store and buys them a few things. Jordan got his puzzle, Lucas got a new soccer ball and Adrien a science game he has been eyeing for a while.

‘I can’t wait to go to the zoo,’ Lucas says. ‘So I can finally show Adrien I’m better on the monkey bars.’

Henry laughs. ‘You sure? Adrien is pretty good.’

‘Lucas is better,’ Jordan says.

‘Thank you.’ Lucas holds out his hand for a high five and Jordan obliges. The three of them walk into the house and he hears some arguing.

‘Go to your rooms, okay?’ Henry says, but it isn’t much of a question. Lucas grabs Jordan’s hand and helps him upstairs, while Henry walks into the living room.

‘You always do it wrong,’ Adrien says. ‘You’re useless.’

Henry’s eyes fall on Becky, who sits on the chair, looking at Adrien, but doesn’t say anything.

‘Why do you even bother to help me out?’

‘Excuse me,’ Henry says, before Becky can even answer, ‘is this how you talk to your mother?’

‘Henry,’ Becky says, in an oddly calm tone, ‘don’t you worry. It’s okay.’

Henry doesn’t think so. ‘You cannot possibly think that you can talk to your mom like that.’ His voice is loud, almost with mean streak in it. He has never been like this before, but also: his kids have never spoken to any one of them like this before.

‘Dad, listen—’

But Henry isn’t having any of it. He barely knows what he is saying, but he is angry and blood boiling mad. Never was he in a situation like this, except for the times when it was Henry’s own dad in front of him.

It should stop him, but it doesn’t. No, he continues, scolding Adrien about his poor behavior and finally Becky stands up from her chair and stops in front of him. ‘Henry, please stop,’ she says in a soft tone. ‘He understood.’

And then his eyes finally see clearly again. He sees his boy, his first born, with wide eyes and tears burning in them. Without saying anything, Henry marches out of the room and closes the door.

Fuck, he screwed up big time.

‘Mom, did dad mean that?’ Adrien asks his mom from behind the door.

‘No,’ she says, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Is he mad at me?’

‘You know, sweetheart, I think he is more mad at himself.’

Henry walks up the stairs and hides in his home office. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There is so much wrong with what he just said.

Never did he raise his voice at his kids. Both him and Becky are very patient parents, they don’t need to raise their voice. Their calmness is what works best with their three sons.

But now…

He did the exact thing he promised himself never to do again. He remembers seeing the little boy for the first time, their first born kid. Adrien was so fragile, so perfect.

Henry slams his fist on the desk, but before he can do anymore damage, Becky walks in. ‘Okay, talk to me,’ she says, closing the door behind her. ‘What happened there?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says, rubbing his face. ‘Shit, fuck, I went too far.’

‘You did,’ she agrees, sitting on his desk, as he sits down on his seat. ‘That’s okay, sweetheart, stuff like this happens.’

‘It never happened to you,’ he says.

‘I know, but I made tons of other mistakes. It’ll all be fine.’

‘Adrien hates me.’

She smiles. ‘No, honey, he doesn’t. He could never. You went a little too far, but that’s it.’

Henry places his hands on the sides of her thighs and leans his head on her legs. ‘Now what?’

She runs her fingers through his hair. ‘Sweetheart, it’s okay.’

‘It’s not.’

‘You just cool down, go to him and apologize.’ She holds his face in her hands and gives him a kiss. ‘He understood he was wrong,’ Becky continues. ‘It’s not that bad what he did. But I’ll let you two figure it out. Adrien is in his room, I’ll go check up on Lucas and Jordan.’

After Becky leaves his office, it takes him about five minutes before he realizes he truly needs to apologize. He hears Becky talking to Lucas and Jordan and when he walks towards Adrien’s room, he takes a deep breath. He can do it.

He knocks on the door and hears a soft: ‘Come in.’

Adrien is pacing through his own room and blinks his eyes fast when he sees Henry. Shit, that should’ve never be the case. Never should his kids look this scared when seeing him.

‘Hey buddy,’ he says to Adrien, ‘can we talk?’

‘Sure.’

Henry takes a seat on his bed and Adrien plops down on his windowsill. ‘Listen, kid, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was outta line.’

Adrien shrugs. ‘Well, you were right. I shouldn’t have spoken to mom like that.’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘I got frustrated,’ he says, ‘calculus was hard, I didn’t understand her immediately.’

‘I see,’ Henry mumbles. ‘Listen, I shouldn’t have reacted like this and for that I apologize.’

‘I know that, it’s okay. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have spoken to mom like that. I’ll tell her in a minute.’

‘She already knows, but good for you. Proud of you, kid. We good again?’

‘We always good,’ Adrien says. He stands up and sits next to him, wrapping his arms around his dad. ‘I love you, dad.’

‘Love you too, kid. Forever and ever.’

✤ ✤ ✤

After they spend that Sunday in the zoo, they all know it’s time for Jordan to go to school that Monday. Monday morning is also time for the other boys to hype up their youngest brother, because they know how he can get. They see Jordan is worried, so they try their best to make sure he has nothing to be afraid of.

But it’s barely working, because when Henry and Becky walk little Jordan to his class after saying goodbye to his brothers, he has a pout no one can say no to. Despite having done this two times before, it almost hits different now, especially because Jordan is their youngest and there isn’t gonna be a kid at home.

Maybe it’s the reason Henry took a day off, so he could be there for his wife. He did that when the other boys went to school for the first time as well, now shouldn’t be an exception. He just knows that now more than ever, Becky needs him back at home.

‘Okay, honey, honey, honey,’ Becky says, crouching down so she’s at the same eye level as Jordan, ‘it’s all okay.’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ he hiccups, tears staining his cheeks.

Becky is actually at a loss for words, so Henry crouches down near her, placing his hand on Jordan’s arm. ‘Listen, buddy, I get that you’re scared, but there is nothing to be afraid of. You spend some time with the other kids, you listen to your teacher and then mom and dad will pick you up.’

Jordan becomes a little bit calmer, as Becky dries his cheeks. ‘You’re a brave kid, sweetheart. It’ll go well.’

He nods. ‘I’m brave.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Henry says. ‘You’ll make friends, I know that for sure.’

A little boy walks over to Jordan. He seems a little bit older than Jordan and from the looks of it, he is totally at peace here in the classroom. ‘Why are you crying?’ he asks.

‘I’m scared,’ Jordan admits.

The boy nods. ‘I get it. I was scared too on my first day. I’m Kevin. Wanna be friends?’

If only live was this easy later on.

Jordan nods. ‘Yes.’ He gives his parents a big kiss, before walking off with Kevin. Henry slowly manages to drag away Becky from the class and once they are in the car, she starts to sniffle.

He was kinda waiting for that. He knows that this is extremely hard on her. It’s hard on him too, but there is this thing between the bond of mother and child, something he can only try to understand. ‘It’s okay,’ Henry says.

‘I’m going to do this every day for at least a month, so I’m sorry in advance.’

‘It’s okay. Jordan is going to school now, meaning the kids are really growing up.’

‘I know,’ she whimpers, ‘but he is my baby.’ She places her hand over her face, hiding all the things she is feeling now.

Henry places his hand in the back of her neck. ‘Darling, darling,’ he says, ‘how about we go home, I make you some tea and we’ll talk about it, okay?’

She nods. ‘Yes, sure.’

By the time they arrive home, she’s still sad, but the cries has stopped, thankfully. As Henry makes some tea for the two of them, he has one arm wrapped around her body, pressing kisses on top of her head. ‘Tell me, darling, what’s the problem?’ he asks, once they are seated on the couch.

Becky curls up next to him, holding his hand in hers as she plays with his wedding band. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘It could never be stupid,’ he retorts immediately.

‘It’ just that I feel less like a mom now,’ she says in a soft tone. ‘Mostly because I don’t have kids around me the entire time anymore and— Shit, this is stupid, I told you.’

‘No, it’s not stupid. I get it.’ He squeezes her fingers. ‘Listen, I’ve been putting this conversation off for a while now, because I don’t want to force or rush you in any way. You always said to me that you wanted an even number of kids.’

She nods. ‘I did. Why didn’t you want to rush me?’

‘Well, Jordan ended up being an emergency c-section. I saw how out you were after it.’

She smiles. ‘Oh, you love me,’ she chuckles. ‘It’s sweet that you did that.’

He pushes up her shirt and places his heavy hand on her back, her warm skin against his hand palm. ‘So just a question,’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

She nods. ‘With you? Of course. I’d love to have another kid.’

He gives her a kiss. ‘Wanna start now?’

✤ ✤ ✤

Henry can’t get over the fact that she is still wearing her tank top, not wanting to show him everything. ‘Stop,’ she whispers, pushing his hand away from underneath her top.

‘Why, baby?’

‘It’s ugly and I hate it.’

It makes sense now. He usually sneaked into the shower with her, warm water embracing the both of them, but she hasn’t let him in for so long. She gets dressed out of his sight, she gently pushes his hands from her body when he apparently is overstepping.

Years he could touch her and now he is hesitant, something he never thought would happen.

‘Why do you hate it?’ Henry asks.

‘Because the boys took a toll on my body. While you continue to look like perfection, I’m not the same anymore.’

He sighs. ‘It’s not necessary,’ he says, ‘to worry about that. You are still absolutely beautiful. When we got married, I promised you to always love you and take care of you and I am dead set on fulfilling that promise. Allow me baby, to show you how much I love you.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Ten months later

A lot has changed. After deciding they wanted to have their fourth child, they conceived pretty quickly. When Becky told her two best friends Genevieve and Viola about it, it turned out they were pregnant as well. Three months ago, Genevieve gave birth to a little boy named Jimmy and Viola had twin girls two months ago, Sophia and Sharon.

Seeing both Greg and Noah so careful with their newly born kids, made Henry realize how much he has learned over the course of these years. He now stays calm, doesn’t freak out and because the other guys not as cool as collected yet, he has spend quite some time with them, helping them out with the kids.

And now, it was their turn. After three days of labor, Becky holds their little baby boy in her arms, their newest addition to their family. Henry wraps an arm around her shoulders, when he sits next to her on the bed. He looks just like Lucas when he was born.

‘You know,’ Henry says, ‘I’ll forever be amazed by you. You are wonderful, more than wonderful even.’

Becky places her head against his shoulder and smiles. ‘Thanks for being here,’ she says. ‘Will the boys be here soon?’

‘Greg is bringing them right this second. I’m picking them up in a minute.’

‘I’m officially a boy mom,’ she chuckles. ‘I mean, I already was, but I kinda suspected this one was gonna be a girl.’ Becky stares at the little baby. ‘But I love him dearly.’

Henry gives her a kiss and walks over to the door, goes downstairs with the elevator and sees his three boys, Jordan securely standing in between Lucas and Adrien. The oldest two rush towards him and give him a hug. ‘Dad, can we see him now?’

‘Yes, you can.’ He looks over at Greg. ‘Thanks for watching them. I hope they weren’t too much?’ Henry carefully asks.

‘They were angels,’ Greg admits. ‘Think these kids were more of a help to Gen, then I was. Can tell this wasn’t Adrien’s first rodeo. So thank you for letting them stay over.’

They all say goodbye to Greg and walk upstairs. ‘Listen,’ he says to the boys, Jordan balancing on his hip, ‘mom is very tired and the baby is very small and asleep, so the three of you need to be very quiet.’

‘Will do,’ Adrien says, who has already done this two more times and knows the drill.

Lucas holds Henry’s hand and the four of them quietly tiptoe into the room. ‘Hi mom,’ Adrien says, carefully sitting on the bed with Becky, looking at the wrapped bundle of joy in her arms.

‘Wow, he is tiny,’ Lucas says, sitting next to Adrien.

Henry lifts up Jordan, placing him on the other side of the bed next to his mom. ‘What do you think, buddy?’

Jordan smiles. ‘Cool. I’m a brother now.’

‘A big brother even,’ Becky says.

‘You okay, mom?’ Adrien asks, placing his head against her upper arm.

‘I’m fine, just tired, so you three wouldn’t mind helping out dad a lot, would you?’

The boys shake their heads. ‘What’s his name?’ Lucas says.

‘Well, you know, when Jordan was born, there were two names we were thinking about. Jordan and another name.’

‘Did you name him the other name?’

Henry nods. ‘This is Dominic Cavill.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Six years later

‘Congratulations, honey,’ Becky says, wrapping her arms around Adrien, who just earned his driver’s license. She gives him a kiss on his cheek, before saying: ‘Oh, wait, that’s not cool. Sorry.’

Adrien smirks. ‘It’s okay mom, you could never embarrass me.’ He gives her another hug, causing Henry to smile at the sight. ‘It’s just weird. I can drive now.’

‘You wanna drive me to my friend tonight?’ Lucas asks, who is now thirteen years old and has even more energy than he had before.

Adrien sticks out his tongue. ‘Very funny.’

‘Well, I want you to drive me to my soccer practice,’ Jordan says. ‘Show everyone I’ve got the coolest brother.’

‘Okay, I might actually do that. You got some cute girls in the older group, so I might impress them.’ Adrien bumps Jordan’s shoulder. ‘So, Dom, what do you think? Do I look cool behind the wheel?’

Dominic nods, leaning his head against Becky’s leg. ‘You do.’

‘Well, guess this is a right moment for this,’ Henry says, rummaging his pocket for the set of keys. ‘Here you go, kid.’ He throws the keys towards Adrien, who—captain of the basketball team—catches it easily.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ he asks, his eyes enlarged with a smile of happiness plastered on his face.

‘Go find it. It’s parked in the lot. You’ll probably find it instantly, because your mom parked it.’

‘Shut your face,’ Becky says, pinching his side. After Adrien was a year old, Becky decided that it was time to learn how to drive. It was a hassle: took her around a year and a half, but now she is a master behind the wheel.

Parking is just not quite her forte.

‘Wow, thanks dad.’ Adrien gives Henry a tight hug and together with his three brothers (while keeping an eye out on them), he walks over to the parking lot.

‘My boy is growing,’ Becky mumbles, holding Henry’s hand in hers, as they stroll behind them. ‘We did well with him, didn’t we?’

‘We did excellent. With all of them.’

‘Wow, dad, this is absolutely amazing!’ Adrien says, walking around the car, his brothers following him closely. ‘Thank you, I don’t know how to thank you enough for it.’

‘Just make sure you don’t wreck the car, then we’ll be alright.’

‘We don’t want to scrap you or anyone from this vehicle,’ Becky says, placing her hands over Dominic’s ears. ‘Okay?’

‘Yes, mom,’ Adrien says with a smile. ‘How about I bring the boys back home?’

Henry looks at his watch, seeing it’s not at a time that it’s too busy on the road. ‘Sure, just grab the seat from our car and you’ll be fine.’

Adrien swiftly grabs Dominic from their car and places it into the backseat. ‘Okay, ready to go?’

‘Yes!’ the boys yell and quickly give their mom a kiss and their dad a cool boy hand shake. They all step in, Adrien helping Dominic in his car seat and Henry and Becky stare at the car as Adrien drives off.

‘I’m not worrying,’ Becky says.

‘You are, darling, however there is nothing for you to worry about. Adrien is a responsible young fellow—obviously taking after his dad—and the kids will be fine.’

While there was nothing to worry about, Becky did worry the entire way back and she also didn’t like sitting at home, glancing out of the window, hoping to see the car arrive.

Henry stands behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss on her temple. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ she says. ‘And they have been gone for a long time now and I think something happened to them. Oh no, what if they— Oh, thank the heavens, there they are!’ She wants to wiggle out of his arms, but Henry is stronger, whispering a: ‘Let them.’

It’s hard, but she does let them. They witness all of the boys getting out of the car, Adrien holding Dominic’s hand and his happy meal box, as the other boys step out of the car as well. Lucas wraps his arm around Jordan, obviously joking around, as the two laugh loudly.

‘We did well,’ Becky says.

‘We did splendid, darling and I would never ever would’ve wanted it with someone else,’ Henry says, pressing a kiss on her lips. ‘Because you, my love, are the heart of the home.’

✤ ✤ ✤

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Day (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Title: Bad Day (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Synopsis: You’re in one of your… moods again, barely able to lift your head on your own. Kai wants to help you.

Notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You are having one of your… “off days,” again.

Kai Chisaki purses his lips behind the black face mask stretched across his face. He’s been sitting at his desk, diligently working, sneaking glances to the tablet dedicated exclusively for streaming footage from your room 24/7. It gave him solace to see you curled up reading a book or pecking away at a puzzle or humming to yourself while you cleaned up what tiny messes you were able to make in your room.

But for the past few hours, since morning actually, you had been curled up on the side of your bed doing… nothing.

He had a feeling that something was off in the morning when you did little to obey or resist him as he went about your routine. You didn’t tell him to “fuck off” which was a plus, but you didn’t greet him or acknowledge him, either. It took you far too long to put on your clothes, and Kai had almost forced himself to turn around and see if something was wrong, before you finally mumbled that you were finished.

After he’d gotten you ready, he set down your breakfast tray and mentioned that you’d be eating alone--he had something to get done. You didn’t reply. He had watched on his tablet as you slowly, almost dizzily seemed to sit down at your desk and pick at your food. A few bites, if that. Then you walked to your bed, legs nearly dragging, and curled up with your pillow.

And now, there you were, still curled up. Kai zoomed in with his stylus, and saw the hints of glinting wetness on your cheeks. You’re crying, silently. The sight tugs at his heartstrings. He could handle it when you cried during a punishment--your tears were a consequence of not listening to his superior intellect and judgement, after all. But the late night cries or the days, like this one, where you simply weep endlessly are a different matter.

He sighs and shuts his laptop with a quiet click. He opens a locked drawer in his desk and retrieves a small bag with vials and needles--in case he needs them. Then he walks the few steps to your door and knocks.

You’re crying. You barely realize it until you feel the thick wetness pooling on your cheeks as they press against the pillow. You wipe the tears away, but more come easily to replace them, and you don’t have the energy to move your hands anymore. You hope your silent tears become sobs, soon. Those feel better than the bitter quiet ones.

Everything feels heavy and slow. You curl up tighter and wish you could make the heavy weight on your chest go away. It feels like an anchor--or a night hag. You wonder if you’re dreaming, one of those terrible dreams you’ve been having since you were taken captive; the ones where you can’t move and the world is a giant rush of thick, slowing fluidity and rushing sounds but no matter what you do, how hard you try to scream through your thick tongue, you can’t move a muscle. You wake up endlessly, falsely, until finally the morning (and Kai) arrives.

But you’ve done all the dream checks Kai has taught you (you hated to admit the nightmares at first, but they got so bad that you were losing sleep, and the conversation about your dark eye circles was inevitable) and it’s clear: you’re awake.

You’re not having a nightmare. You’re just… sad.

The realization drags you down further. You’re sad. You’re sad and… there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t escape. Even mental escapes were few and far between.

Thinking about the past makes you cry, but thinking about the future is just as crushing. What future? Trapped in a room that’s not your own, doing puzzles and reading books, eating food from trays; you felt like a specimen in a zoo, a character stray out of a science fiction short story. Come one, come all, come watch the fascinating (Y/N) as she lives in her little bubble where the only choices she has are the ones we give her!

Whoop-de-doo, you think, whoop-de-fucking-doo.

Yet even your bitter sarcasm, once something you held onto to keep you sane as your captor chipped away at your defiance, feels hollow. What’s the point? Nothing you said had any real effect on him. Or you. They were just words. You were helpless. He could close your throat with a gesture. He wouldn’t--probably, you think, probably--but he still controlled what you did and what you ate and lately, how you felt, and that was the present. Your present.

You swallow, throat dry and begging for a drink, but you can’t be bothered to get out of bed and reach the glass of water still sitting on your desk. Your eyes trace the curvature of the glass, the little beads of condensation on the rim.

You’re a few minutes into your tracing game when you hear a firm, deceptively polite knock at the door.

Oh.

He likes to knock, likes to hear you tell him “Come in.” But you don’t have the energy for that today, so you stare aimlessly at the door. A few more knocks, and then he enters, anyway. Figures.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says.

You stare ahead, seeing him, but not focusing on him. Your eyes eventually drift back to the glass.

He watches you.

“You didn’t get enough water today, did you? You know hydration is important.”

You lick your lips unconsciously but say nothing.

“Come, (Y/N), get out of bed and we’ll get you a fresh glass of water.”

Your body, your throat, aches for the refreshment. But your mind keeps you firmly planted in bed.

Kai sighs, and you tense. That sigh either means you’re in for a lecture or some type of injection. Or both. But even the threat of a mysterious liquid burning inside your veins can’t get you to move, so you remain curled up, staring ahead.

You think about turning around so you can stare at the wall and not Kai, walking towards you, but whatever part of your brain that controls common sense overrides the impulse.

Kai sits himself on the side of your bed, his back almost carelessly brushing your legs. It makes you shiver.

“Do you feel ill?”

At that, you force yourself to whisper, afraid of what will happen if you let him go down that road again. Your voice is hoarse, dry, and painfully in need of use.

“No,” you say. You vainly attempt to clear your throat. “I’m not sick, I swear.”

“Hmm.”

Kai reaches a hand across your body and places it against your forehead. You feel his cool skin against your head and realize that he’s taken his gloves off. For you, he said once, only for you.

“Your head doesn’t feel warm.”

You dimly remember your mom saying that, once or twice or maybe a dozen times, when you were trying to fake sick to get out of school. You close your eyes and pretend, for just a second, that you’re little and under your cartoon-character-print covers and that it’s your mom touching you.

You open your eyes as Kai speaks and ruins the illusion.

“Is something bothering you?”

You’re bothering me, you think. You want him to go away. You just want to stare at the glass or the wall anything, really, anything that lets you unfocus your mind and let your emotions weigh you down. You want to cry and cry until your chest heaves and your eyes sting and snot pours down your face.

“Answer me,” he says, and you almost flinch at the order when you realize that it was spoken with none of his characteristic sternness or condescension.. Usually when you don’t listen, he gets stern, almost paternalistic in his desire to make you just listen-to-him-for-once. But now, his voice is soft. Almost… pleading, you think. Almost caring.

You whimper softly when you feel both his hands around your upper arms. He pulls you up, his grip firm but not harsh, until you’re sitting against the headboard. The position almost makes you dizzy--you’d been laying prone since the morning.

“Answer me,” he says again, this time as his hands trace the tears on your cheeks and wipe the remnants away. You wonder if he’s fighting the urge to scrub the saltiness from his fingers--they must feel dirty.

You shake your head, vaguely, softly. You stare at your hands, folded almost primly in your lap. You don’t want to tell him anything. You want him to go away so you can weep about everything you’ve lost, past, future and present. His prying makes your stomach twist with something you don’t recognize. Pity? Hope?

You look up at him and flinch.

His eyes are wet. Tears brimming underneath.

Your captor. Kai Chisaki. Overhaul. Is crying--or close to it.

Instinctively, your hand reaches for his shoulder. Now it’s his turn to flinch at your fingers curl around him, softly at first, then with a sympathetic grip.

“Don’t… don’t cry,” you say. Your stomach feels like it’s doing flips. You hate seeing him cry, and you don’t know why you should--he’s made you cry countless times.

“I’m worried about you, ” he says, “So worried.” His voice is dripping with warmth and truth. You hate it. But it makes you feel like you’re cocooned and safe, all the same.

You barely register as Kai wraps both his arms around your back and pulls you in close. The sudden gesture is shocking, unwanted. Your other hand grips his other shoulder and you want to push away, but the sudden warmth and closeness--physical interactions you haven’t been able to enjoy for months--brings tears back to your eyes. When was the last time you had been held, except in dreams?

“Please tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he says. His own voice is hoarse now, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry. Your hands release their defensive grip and you find your fingers clenching the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m just…” You struggle for the words and grip his shirt tighter. “I’m just having a bad day,” you whisper, finally. You lean your face against his chest, closing your eyes against the tears that spill down your cheeks.

Kai’s hands, which have killed countless men, rub your back softly. He shushes you, soft and plying. You close your eyes and wonder what will happen when you open them again.

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #yandere bnha #yandere x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,975

Chapter Warnings: swearing, mentioned death, mild sui.cidal ideation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur has several conversations of emotional import, and then comes face to face with his son.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Sixteen: head down

“Are you sure you’re good?” Tommy asks him.

Around them, the lava of the nether pops and crackles, the heat sticking to him like resin. Techno and Phil walk ahead of them, swords out in readiness for the odd ghast or hoglin, and Ranboo trails along behind them like a lost duckling. He could walk with them, he knows, probably should, but weariness clings to his bones today, and he doesn’t feel much up to the conversations he knows Phil might try to start. So he’s been walking a few paces to the rear, hands shoved in his pockets, but now here is Tommy, dropping back to keep pace with him.

“I’ve said it already, haven’t I?” he asks, and just an ounce of irritation leaks into his tone. “I’m fine, Tommy, I promise. And I’ve already had an earful from Phil this morning, so I don’t need you to repeat it.”

He anticipated it, of course. After his worry subsided, Phil was not particularly happy to learn that he provoked a dangerous god on purpose. He doesn’t blame him for that, but being chided like a child rankled. Still rankles.

(he doesn’t blame him, though, truly, because it is easy for some part of him at least to look at it through Phil’s eyes, and it must have terrified him, finding him slumped against the portal like that, eyes hazy and words slurring, some sliver of the infinite still hanging about him like a shroud)

“I’m not Phil,” Tommy says, seeming offended by the very prospect. “I’m not—you just scared me, Wil. And you’re still acting all out of it.” His eyes drift upward, landing around the vicinity of his forehead, and Wilbur knows he’s staring at his hair again. It makes him want to pull his beanie forward to hide it, but that would draw a different kind of attention, a different kind of concern.

(he looked in the mirror this morning. almost a third of his hair, it seems, has been bleached white, in streaks that stand out starkly against the brown. he wouldn’t mind it so much if people would stop looking at it, would stop looking at him like he’s some sort of zoo animal)

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I had kind of an eventful night last night,” he says. “I’m just tired, is all.”

Tommy’s face darkens, and he glances away. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“That,” Tommy says, gesturing. “It’s—it’s deflection, is what it is. Puffy told me so. It’s called an avoidance tactic.” He sounds out the syllables one by one, obviously repeating something he heard. “I thought you said you weren’t going to hide shit anymore. You said.”

“I—” He breaks off, sighing. “I know. Tommy, I’m sorry. I just feel like focusing on the current problem is what we need to be doing right now. And then later we deal with all of my shit. Can’t do that if we’ve all been sacrificed to an egg cult. But I really am just tired, Tommy. Nothing more than that.”

“I feel like last time we tried to focus on the current problem and ignore all of yours, it didn’t go so well,” Tommy says, and there’s no real heat to his words, but Wilbur stops in his tracks. He’s not sure why it hits him so hard, in this moment of all moments, but it does. Perhaps his ability to emotionally distance was damaged last night, somewhere between having a god in his head and staring into the void once again. He feels raw, in a way. An exposed wire.

“Oh,” he says.

(dark walls dark walls and dark paths and no railings and he didn’t place the buttons but he may as well have for all that they were projections of him)

Tommy takes several more steps before realizing that he’s not beside him anymore, and he stops, too, turning. “Oh,” he echoes, eyes widening. “Wait, no, that wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to—shit, Wilbur, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just bring it up like that.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” he manages. “You have every right to bring it up. You’re the one who got hurt.”

(you hurt him even though you didn’t mean to, lashed out because some part of you was crying out for help and this was the only way you knew how to ask for it, so convinced were you that you deserved nothing, nothing at all, deserved to be consigned to the dark, and you didn’t mean to but you hurt him all the same)

“Nothing can hurt me,” Tommy says, probably an automatic response, but Wilbur shoots him a look, and he trails off. This doesn’t seem like the time or place to be having a conversation like this, not with the snap-pop of lava beneath and all around them and the wail of mobs in the distance, but if they’re going to have it, then let them have it. “Alright, yeah. I guess.” His eyes skitter off him for a moment, drifting to one of the closer lava pools, and then back again. “But you were hurt too, Wil.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he says.

“No, but it’s—it’s a reason, y’know? It’s an explanation. And it’s not—it’s not an excuse, I’m not trying to say it’s an excuse, but it’s still important. And I—I’ve forgiven you, really, for all of it. So this isn’t—I just don’t want things to end the same. And I’m a, a little bit freaked out lately, Wilbur, if you couldn’t tell, because this all just seems like history repeating itself. We were supposed to be done with shit like this, and then you came back and I thought to myself, here it is, here’s our second chance. But now we’re fighting Dream again, and the whole server might be taken over by now, and it’s us against the bastards in charge but that didn’t end well last time, Wilbur!”

“It’ll be different,” he offers, and his voice falls flat.

“You can’t know that,” Tommy says. “There’s no way for you to—Prime, Wilbur, I just wanted everything to stay the same.” He buries his face in his hands. “You, me, and Tubbo. Back the way we used to be. None of this shit. But Dream’s out again and Phil and Techno are here, and you know, I never wanted to see them again. Did you know that? I wanted them to stay just, just so fucking far away. But then Techno did that, in the Egg room, and Phil’s wings are all fucked, and—and I didn’t want to think they cared, Wil, I didn’t, but now they do, and it’s all messy and complicated, and I hate it, I hate it so much, and I don’t understand why I can’t ever have anything good—”

It’s nice to hear that Tommy is, perhaps, inching toward forgiving Phil and Techno. Wilbur would rather like to have a family at the end of this, even if they can never be what they once were. But the rest of that speech is what takes up his attention, and he strides forward, reaching out and gripping Tommy’s elbows.

“Hey,” he says, insistently, “no, no, that’s all wrong. You get to have good things. You haven’t had nearly as many good things as you deserve, and that’s at least partially my fault, but once this is all over, you’re going to have so many good things, you won’t know what to do with them all. But you deserve good things and you can have them, I swear, because you’re so good, Tommy, do you hear me? You’re so good. And I will make fucking sure that you get those good things if it’s the last thing I do.”

Tommy lowers his hands. His face is not tear-stained, as Wilbur half-expected, but his eyes have grown irritated, and they glimmer in the red-orange light.

“But you’re one of the good things,” he chokes out, “and you don’t even fucking want to be here. You want to leave again.”

His heart twists in on itself.

“Oh,” he says, much weaker, this time. “Tommy, I—”

What can he say to that? He’s promised himself not to lie anymore. Not to him. But he can’t give him any comfort, not regarding this, because while he feels steadier than he did at the start, more resigned to this new life he’s been

(pulled into by a god at the request of the universe)

granted, more determined to stay if only for Tommy’s sake, but that’s the thing. It is for Tommy’s sake. For the sake of all the other people who somehow seem to want him around. It is not for his own.

(he forgot how to live for his own sake a long, long time ago, and though he can at least recognize as much now, recognition does not lead him to a solution, a solution he’s not even sure he wants)

“I’m sorry,” he finishes, because it’s all he has to give, inadequate though it is, and he takes Tommy’s hands. “I’m not leaving. Not on purpose. I swear that to you. I’m not leaving.”

“You—what are you doing?” Tommy asks, and he blinks. Tommy blinks back, his face scrunching up, and he lifts their joined hands. Both of them are now stained with blue. Which—what?

Oh. Did he—he did, didn’t he? Opened up his inventory, pulled out the blue dye from days ago? Pressed it into Tommy’s hands on instinct, some drive insisting that it would help, that it would be better than nothing at all, that even if it was nothing but dye it would at least show that he cared, that he was trying?

He must have. He did. He remembers doing it now. He didn’t even think about it, moved on some natural impulse.

“I don’t know,” he says.

(calm yourself, have some blue)

“This is Ghostbur’s thing,” Tommy says.

“I’m not Ghostbur.”

(for his heart beats in his chest beats out alive alive alive in a way that Ghostbur’s never could, though his blood stained his sweater, and yet he has Ghostbur’s memories and if he is not Ghostbur, shares nothing with the shade, then what was the ghost, in the end, and where did he come from, if he was not)

“But Ghostbur was part of you, wasn’t he?” Tommy says, and he sounds just a bit calmer, now, so maybe the blue has helped. Even though it’s just dye. “Even if he wasn’t you you. So he’s still part of you, isn’t he?”

“I—” His heart is thundering. He doesn’t know why. “I haven’t been thinking about it. Not like that.”

(he has to keep Ghostbur separate from him has to consider him separate because the ghost was not him the ghost in all his smiles and useless platitudes and all-encompassing desire to help was not him his endless love was not him because the ghost was useless to the last but he was good and kind and he has never believed that he is any of those things so the ghost must be separate must have come from him but been separate been something else in the end and there must be nothing but faded memories to connect them)

(but you know better than that, deep down, know better than to truly believe that your kindness exists as a different entity from the rest of you because you are capable of so much if you only allow yourself if you are only given the space to grow and to be if someone stops you from taking the world on your shoulders and the ghost was the you that broke was a you that rejected the responsibility was a you that crumbled and he was what remained but he was you he was you he was you but less and you are him but more)

(and perhaps one day you will learn to accept yourself better)

“Maybe you should,” Tommy says, and glances away. “Ghostbur tried. And he was my brother too. You’re my brother. No matter what, that hasn’t changed. Even if you’re a prick.”

Tears spring to his eyes, surprising him, and he blinks them back.

“Right,” he says. “Right, I—yeah. Okay. But Tommy, Tommy, listen to me, alright? I swear to you” —He squeezes Tommy’s hands, and watches as the blue dye runs between them. Their fingers will be stained for hours, and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all— “I will do everything in my power to make sure that good things come again. You say it’s all messy and complicated, and that’s true. I know that’s true. But we’re going to have time to figure it all out. We’re going to have time. And I’m including myself in that. I know I’m not—I’m not always the most trustworthy, I know that. But I promise, I mean this. Staying is—it’s worth it if it’s for you, alright?”

Something passes across Tommy’s face, too quick and too complicated to read. But he presses on, bringing Tommy’s hands up to his chest and keeping them there.

“We are not powerless,” he states. “History doesn’t make us, we make history. And if history is repeating itself, we don’t let it. We won’t let it. You deserve good things, Tommyinnit, and you’re going to get them.”

“If you say so, Wil,” Tommy says, and he still seems a bit discomfited, but also a bit steadier, now. A bit more secure.

“I do say so,” he says. “I’ll say it again if you need me to.”

“Please don’t,” Tommy says. “You’ve—see, look at what you’ve done, now my hands are all blue and sticky. You’ve given me sticky fingers, Wil.”

Tommy has chosen to end the moment, it seems. He’s not sure whether they’ve managed to say what needed to be said or not.

“Don’t say that to me,” he says. He squeezes Tommy’s hands one last time, and then lets go. “That makes me sound terrible.”

“Well, maybe you are,” Tommy shoots back, with a smirk that takes away any potential sting. “Live with it, bastard.” A pause, and then: “Did those arseholes even bother to wait for us? Dickheads, the lot of them. C’mon, they’ll start bitching about it if we fall too far behind.”

And then, Tommy grabs his hand himself, of his own volition, and starts to pull Wilbur along the path, cobblestone and meandering and precarious, and Wilbur’s chest feels hot, full of pressure. But it’s not quite a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all, in fact.

(he was always so cold in that ravine, no matter how he gathered his coat around him, shoved his hands in his pockets, and he watched everyone else and felt colder still, froze in the face of their flickering warmth with each other, and he turned away because he knew the warmth was not for him, that soon there would be no warmth at all)

(and the fire gave him heat but no warmth, his desired ending but no absolution)

(something you will keep to yourself: you were warm at the end, as your blood stained your father’s hands, as your vision dimmed and he held you close, so very warm at last, but it would hurt him to know that to hear from your mouth the relief you felt so you must not must not say)

The others have indeed had the decency to wait for them not too far ahead, and he nods in response to Phil’s raised eyebrow. Everything’s fine, he means to say, and Phil nods back and says nothing else about it, which he appreciates, for Tommy’s sake just as much as his. The portal isn’t far from there, and it’s not long before he’s stepping into the purple glow, closing his eyes at the dizzying upheaval of his surroundings.

The rain hits his face immediately. Thunder rolls, and wind buffets his jacket. It is a welcome change from the stifling heat of the nether, but he has to squint against the downpour, everyone else’s figures suddenly becoming shadowy, indistinct. The sky itself is dark and angry, black clouds churning, and it’s almost as if it were still night rather than early morning.

He takes another step out of the portal and almost trips. Looking down, he can’t stop his sudden inhalation. The color is dull, washed out in the lack of sunlight,

(though his mind is eager to fill in the gaps eager to show him)

but he doesn’t need the color to recognize the vine by his foot, nor any of the vines that crawl across the stone.

“Oh, fuck,” Phil says.

“We’ve been gone for a day,” Tommy says, disbelieving. “It wasn’t like this yesterday, was it?”

He cannot believe that leaving was a mistake, not with what it led to, even if the original plan was foolhardy. He does not regret the opportunity to petition a god, to make himself heard, even if it results in nothing in the end. But staring out over the landscape, the Prime Path ahead of them is choked with the things, and though the community house is little more than a vague structure in the rainy haze, it almost appears as if it’s grown hair, or tentacles, or something of that kind, so covered over with the foliage as it is.

“They’re all okay, right?” Ranboo says, his voice nearly a whisper. “They all have to be okay.”

Eret’s castle is visible from here, but just barely. He can’t tell if the vines have taken it over as well, but there’s only one way to find out.

“I think we craft some boats, cross the lake rather than going by the Prime Path,” he says. “Unless you’d like to chop your way through, but—” He glances at the ground. The vines are motionless, but he doesn’t trust that not to change.

“I have to say,” Techno says, “bein’ strangled by Egg tentacles? Not my idea of a good time.” There’s nothing on his face except his typical disgruntlement, or at least, nothing that Wilbur can see. The wind whips his hair in and out of his face, the long pink strands obscuring his expression. But there is an edge to his voice, barely discernible. It wouldn’t be, to anyone who didn’t know him well. “If boats’ll let us avoid the things, my vote’s for boats.”

Ranboo snorts, and then wilts when eyes turn to him. “It rhymed,” he offers weakly, and Tommy groans.

“Can we give Ranboo to the Egg?” he asks, and Wilbur

(doesn’t like that, not at all, even though he knows that Tommy is joking, though he knows that Tommy does not hear the Egg for some unknown, blessed reason and he’s not looking that gift horse in the mouth, but that means that Tommy doesn’t really get that it’s not a thing to make jokes about, giving someone to the Egg, to the creep and crawl of something alien and void scraping out your mind and making it something that is you but not, you but slightly tilted, diagonal, something that fits the Egg’s wants more than your own even if you don’t realize it, and he doesn’t have the energy to berate him for the quip but he really wishes he wouldn’t suggest it, even in jest, even though he knows that Tommy copes through jokes and they’re all just struggling to make it through this, really)

shakes his head. Phil’s moved closer to the stairs, so he goes to join him, picking his way through the vines as best he can, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Techno and Ranboo follow.

“Someone’s had the same idea,” Phil says, inclining his head to the nearest bit of shoreline. There is a figure clearly visible there, though they are too distant and hidden by the gloom to make out features. They’re pulling a boat ashore, and then they turn in their direction and raise a hand, making a come-hither gesture.

Lightning flashes, and thunder follows shortly thereafter. The brief instant of light is enough to illuminate Eret’s features, the curl of his hair and his ever present crown.

“Are they on our side?” Techno asks, and—did anyone remember to fill Techno in? He certainly didn’t, and he doesn’t particularly want to right now. Even just watching the monarch puts a sour taste in his mouth.

(and some of the vitriol he directs at himself, because he is cognizant of his own hypocrisy)

“Presumably,” he mutters, but Tommy’s already making his way down, waving his hands around and shouting like a bloody moron, because of course he is, because of course Tommy’s not concerned with who might hear him.

(and that, at least, has not changed, and it is a good thing that Tommy still has it in him to challenge the world, to make his presence known, because that is part of what makes Tommy himself and he does not deserve to lose that, even when it is unwise, even when it can make everything else so much more difficult)

Which is not great, because not seeing anyone else around doesn’t mean that no one is there, so the only choice from there is to go after him and make sure he doesn’t get ambushed.

“I’m glad to see you all in one piece,” Eret says, as soon as they all come within hearing range. “You as well, Technoblade.”

Techno doesn’t dignify that with a response, but Eret continues, apparently unbothered.

“We saw the activity from the portal,” he says. “I thought I’d come to escort you all. You might have noticed, but the Prime Path is not currently particularly traversable.” He smiles wryly. “You’ll be please to know that the castle grounds, however, are currently free of unwanted flora, and aside from spreading these eyesores all over the place, the Egg and its cohorts have been quiet. If we’re quick about it, I don’t see us having much issue, and to that end” —He flicks his fingers, and two more spruce boats land in the water, summoned from his inventory— “I brought these. If you’d like, we can be on our way. Might be a bit bumpy because of the storm, but it’s perfectly passable.”

“Oh, we would like,” Tommy says, clambering in without hesitation. “We would like very much. C’mon, Ranboob, in.” He tugs on Ranboo’s hand, and Ranboo all but topples into the boat beside him. Phil and Techno claim the next one, and he—

He’s going to have to ride with Eret. Brilliant.

He sighs, stepping in and settling on one of the two seats. Eret barely casts him a glance before he gets to rowing, and then they’re off, gliding across choppy water. Wilbur stares into it, watches the ripples of the raindrops as they impact the surface, studies the patterns they make rather than looking at Eret himself. But even the noise of the wind and the thunder overhead cannot disguise the note of anticipation in the atmosphere.

“I really am glad you’re back, Wilbur,” Eret says. His voice is low, carries just enough to reach him, but the noise of the rain will prevent it from drifting to the other boats. “I’d been hoping for a chance to speak to you again for—quite some time now, actually.”

He shifts, and idly wonders how many conversations like this he’s going to have to have today. He’s already worn out from speaking to Tommy in the way that he did, though at least with Eret, he doesn’t feel the need to guard his tone nearly as much.

“You were involved in trying to resurrect me a while ago,” he says. Neutral, probing. “I remember that much.”

“You—so you do have Ghostbur’s memories,” Eret says.

“Some,” he replies. “Most, I’d say. What he bothered to remember, at least. He was never very good at figuring out people’s motivations, though. Very trusting, he was. Naive. Was it guilt that drove you to help? I can’t picture what you think you would have gotten out of it otherwise.”

It’s difficult to see Eret’s expression; the weather and his glasses unite to mask the minutiae of his face.

“I suppose it was, in the end,” he says, soft and slow. “I carry a lot of regrets with me. I’m sure that’s something you know a lot about. Regrets.” He stiffens, but Eret shakes his head. “I don’t mean that as an attack. Just a statement. I doubt you could find anyone on this server who hasn’t done something they wish they could take back. But for me, betraying L’Manberg, betraying you—that’s my regret. I’ve been aimless since then.” Lightning flashes again; he’s smiling, but Wilbur knows a joyless smile when he sees one. “A throne with no power, a crown that means nothing—none of that was worth betraying my friends. I know that now. So I’ve sought redemption, tried to make amends, and I’ve tried to change. I would like to think that I have. But the one person I needed to make it up to the most wasn’t here anymore. So I suppose you could say that it was guilt, that it was selfish of me. But I wanted to be able to atone to you. That’s all there was to it, really.”

He digests that for a moment. He isn’t sure how to feel about it.

(because on one hand his heart sings traitor, sings you killed us all killed me killed my brothers killed my son, but can he say that the betrayal was worse than his? can he deny Eret his redemption when he is struggling for atonement himself, forgiveness that he is certain he does not and never will deserve?)

(he’s thought through all of this before, gone round in circles again and again, and it might be time to make a decision)

“And what would you do if I didn’t accept your atonement?” he asks. He dips a hand in the water. When he lifts it out again, it is still stained blue.

“I would keep on,” Eret answers. “I think that’s all I could do. If you never forgive me, that’s more than understandable on your end. I hardly have the right to force the issue. But I’m completely sincere when I tell you that I want to be better. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t really know whether I’ve done a good job of that lately or not. I’ve been rather absent, truth be told. But I don’t plan on stopping my efforts.”

He frowns.

“That’s fair,” he says, “though I feel like you should know that I’m hardly the type of man who can go around giving other people absolution.”

“It’s not really absolution that I’m looking for,” Eret says. “More of a chance to try again.”

He has no answer to that. And no time to give one even if he had it, because the boat runs aground, the castle looming over them all, and true to Eret’s word, the walls themselves show no signs of encroachment, though the land surrounding it almost looks like a great red rug for all that the grass itself is barely visible.

“Tubbo managed to ward the castle,” Eret says, addressing all of them. “I’m still not entirely sure how. This isn’t a kind of magic that’s familiar to me. But whatever he did, it worked, and then when Fundy got here he backed him up. He did a really good job, actually.”

“Of course he did,” Tommy says. “He’s Tubbo.”

But Wilbur’s stuck on the other thing. Said so offhandedly.

The thought has crossed his mind, of course, that he has not yet seen his son. Has not yet so much as spoken to him. But it is one thing to know it in the abstract and quite another to be confronted with it suddenly. Fundy is in the castle, is mere feet away, and he is exhausted and entirely unprepared for this.

(and what a selfish thought that is, that he is unprepared to meet with his own child, unprepared to do the bare minimum, to tell him of his return, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, how selfish it is that his child has fallen so low on his list of priorities, how selfish, how selfish, and he does not know whether he has the strength to admit it out loud)

(he is certain that he owes Fundy an apology, just as he owes so many people apologies, and yet he remembers his son burning down the flag, burning down all he held dear, carrying out Schlatt’s every order to its full extent in a way that even Tubbo did not, and Fundy claimed that he was a spy all along, that he never truly turned against him, but by that time the damage had already been done and how was he supposed to believe when he already felt so alone, already felt like the world had turned against him and his legacy was ruined so all there was left to do was send it and himself to hell)

“Can we go in?” he asks. “We’re soaked. Unless there’s a point to hanging around here. And also—have you not set anyone to stand watch?”

There’s no one visible on the walls above them, and gates only do so much to keep out an invading force.

“The enchantments keep them out,” Eret answers, and places a hand against the gates. The wood shimmers slightly, the effect just barely perceptible, and looks almost as if the gate itself is rippling, distorted, like viewing it through a fun house mirror. “Or rather, as near as we can tell, the enchantments prevent the Egg from gaining a foothold in here. Which means if it wants to continue to communicate with its people, its people have to stay out.” With that, he pushes the gates, and they swing open with a horrendous creak.

“That would hardly stop Dream,” he remarks, and Eret inclines his head, conceding the point.

“True,” he says, “but to be fair, I’m not sure that gates would do much good to that end, either, whether we’re watching them or not. Better to be as well rested as we possibly can be.”

He remembers Dream’s appearance last night, his appearance and swift disappearance, and says nothing. Eret is right, of course; the highest walls and toughest gates and sharpest watchers all mean nothing in the face of someone who can go anywhere he pleases with a thought.

“You hear that, Wil?” Phil says, just a little too loudly. “Rest. Rest is important.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” he mutters, and at the same time, Ranboo starts asking about whether these enchantments can be applied to people as well, and he lends half an ear to that conversation, because that would be very useful. Eret tells him that Tubbo’s been experimenting, but even getting the wards up around the castle was a trial, so he’s not sure when they’ll be able to do much else, or whether any other breakthroughs will be in time to be useful, even with Fundy now helping, and—

There it is again.

(he should have done this sooner, should have done this before hesitance turned to outright avoidance, and for all Phil’s faults as a parent at least he has reason for what he’s done, reason and a willingness to face them now, and that is something that he evidently lacks, and his heart is caged by his own cowardice, and he doesn’t know what to expect from this and he hates not knowing what to expect, how to plan for it)

(there is no plan in the world that will help him right now)

Eret leads them into the castle, and it is warm and well lit, but it does nothing to assuage the chill settling in his bones.

“Most everyone’s down the hall there,” Eret says, pointing, “and I think I’ve got towels somewhere if you want to dry off—”

“Forget about towels,” Tommy interrupts, “where’s Tubbo?”

“He’s set himself up on the second floor,” Eret says. “If you want, I can—”

Predictably, Tommy’s already off, his feet slapping against the floor with wet squelches.

“I think the rest of us will take you up on the towels,” Phil says. “Particularly Ranboo, you still good there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Ranboo says. “Um, my armor protects me pretty well, so I’m good. But um, yeah, towels might still be a good idea.”

“Great. If you’ll follow me, then—”

He can put this off no longer. He grabs Eret’s arm, cutting him off.

“Is Fundy with Tubbo?” he asks.

For a moment, Eret is silent. He doesn’t particularly like the expression he’s making, somewhere between realization and pity. He does not need pity, doesn’t know what to do with it, and he especially doesn’t want it from Eret, of all people. Everyone else is silent, still, and he can feel their gazes on him like spotlights.

“Last I knew, yes,” Eret says.

“Does he know?”

He wonders if he should elaborate, but Eret doesn’t seem to need him to.

“He does. It, ah, wasn’t exactly broken to him in the softest way. Nobody was actually aware that the news needed to be broken at all, so I believe Puffy brought it up somewhere along the way here. I’m—not sure of the details.”

He doesn’t know whether that means Eret actually doesn’t know the details,

(doesn’t know how his son reacted to the return of his father, whether there was any happiness at all or just shock, perhaps betrayal, perhaps anger, perhaps perhaps perhaps he could have avoided this if he’d taken a little more responsibility from the start but now here he is and here they are)

or whether he’s sparing him them. He doesn’t know which he would prefer. If it matters.

“Alright,” he says, even if it’s the furthest thing from it. “I’ll be up there, then. Don’t wait for me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s turning on his heel and following after Tommy, even though it would have been wiser to ask for the specific room. He’s not feeling very wise at the moment. If he ever was wise. He doesn’t think he can say that he’s ever had a claim to wisdom. He thought that he was wise when he was running his own country, and look where that got him. Him, and everyone else.

He climbs up the stairs. Keeps his back straight. His head held high.

(it is habit to draw on the general’s role for strength since that was when he was strongest but is that not what caused so many of the problems in the first place? the general leads, wins, considers people in terms of numbers rather than names, and personal relationships fall to the wayside)

It’s the same room that he found Tommy and Tubbo talking in yesterday. The same room where he lingered outside the door rather than moving on, absorbing words that were not meant for his ears, old hurts that have their roots in him and his actions, that he is not sure he will ever be able to heal, to make up for. For a moment, he allows himself to do the same thing, stands just outside and listens to their voices. They’re easier to hear; the door hangs open rather than closed, likely from Tommy’s entry. Their voices overlap, Tommy talking over Tubbo and then vice versa as they both try to explain what’s happened in their day of separation, and Fundy—

Fundy is there, too, chiming in every now and again. He sounds—Wilbur isn’t sure how he sounds. Pleased to be talking to the other two, perhaps. Beyond that, he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

(it’s a question you must ask yourself, whether you know your son at all, because you remember all too clearly cradling him in your arms and holding him close and vowing to protect him to see him safe no matter the cost but he grew older as children do and the cost was too steep too steep to pay for you looked at him and saw a child still for though he grew up too quickly he did grow up and your heart was too weak to accept it so is there any wonder that he came to resent you came to chafe under the watch of a man who could not see him for who he was and who he tried so hard to be)

(is there any wonder that he would go to such lengths to escape your shadow)

He steps forward. That’s all it takes, to be standing in the doorway. And there he stays, arrested by the sight in front of him.

The room is intended to be a guest bedroom, clearly. There is a large, plush bed, several items of furniture: a dresser, a nightstand, a desk and several chairs, bookshelves along one wall. But the desk goes unused; books and papers are scattered across the floor, apparently without order or reason to the arrangement. Tommy has situated himself on the bed, still dripping with rainwater, bouncing up and down and wildly gesticulating as he talks—he’s saying something about the god, now, and how it’s such a shame that he didn’t get to talk to it, because he would’ve gotten them to help in no time at all—and Tubbo is talking at the same time, whenever he can get words in, shoving old papers in Tommy’s face and explaining what they mean, as if Tommy will understand any of it. Fundy brought these materials with him, evidently, brought all the dreamon-hunting things that remained in his possession according to the rapid-fire words out of Tubbo’s mouth, and Fundy is there. He’s there. Sitting on the floor, three books open in front of him, watching Tommy and Tubbo with rapt attention, jumping in whenever Tubbo needs help explaining something, and asking Tommy questions in the same breath.

He stands there. Watching. They all seem so comfortable with each other. It feels wrong to disturb that.

But—

“—and his hair’s gone all weird now,” Tommy is saying, and he winces. “I’ll bet he’s not telling us everything that happened. Hair doesn’t just do that. It looks so fucking weird, but not like, bad weird, you know? I guess that’s what you get for shouting at god, am I right, fellas? Though if I were to shout at god, god simply would not be able to do anything to me, as I am too cool and powerful.”

“That—why does that sound like something he would do? Yelling at a god. Of course he did, that—” Fundy mutters, and Wilbur has no hope of interpreting his tone. “But he’s, like—he’s okay? And he’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s—” And Tommy happens to glance at the door. They lock eyes. “Um. Here. Hi, Wilbur.”

Tubbo turns to look. Fundy does as well, raising his head sharply and visibly flinching in the same motion, and Wilbur thinks that his heart flinches, too. If hearts can flinch. They can certainly stutter. Perhaps that’s close enough.

“Hello,” he says. Inadequate. Completely inadequate.

“Oh, you’re right,” Tubbo says after a second. “It does kind of look weird, but not bad weird. Just sort of interesting. Neat. Hi, Wilbur, did you have a good time yelling at god?”

Tubbo has a unique kind of frankness. It’s refreshing, and he appreciates the effort to alleviate the tension. If that’s even what he’s doing.

“I don’t know if good is the word I’d use,” he says. “It happened. It was a thing. Have you had a good time doing magic? If that’s the term?”

As he speaks, Fundy rises to his feet. Slow, cautious.

“Yeah, that’s the word,” Tubbo says. “It’s been going really well, actually. I wasn’t sure if I’d remember how to do any of this stuff, but Fundy brought all of the books with him when Puffy brought him over, so that’s been really helpful. There’s still nothing in here about killing the thing, but we’ve kept looking. There’s probably plenty of other useful stuff. Actually, that reminds me.” He turns back to Tommy. “I wanted to show you how we protected the whole castle. You probably saw some of the enchantments on your way in, but it’s really cool, come on.” He tugs on Tommy’s hand, and Tommy allows himself to be led, and before Wilbur can react, they’re brushing past him on their way out of the room. “See you in a bit, Wilbur!”

He glances after them, and then back into the room. The room where Fundy now stands, alone.

Tubbo definitely knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Hi, Fundy,” he says.

“Hey, Wil,” Fundy answers.

He looks older than Wilbur remembers, even through Ghostbur’s relatively new perception. But then, Ghostbur would not have noticed the new lines carved into his face, the bags beneath his eyes, his fidgeting, closed-off demeanor. He’s shifted into a more human form for the moment, though fox ears stick out from underneath his hat; that, at least, has not changed. He is capable of appearing fully human, but he scarcely ever does. Wilbur always thought that it was a way of staying connected to a mother that he barely got to know.

But perhaps that’s not it at all. Perhaps he shouldn’t presume anything.

“So,” Fundy says, after a long stretch of silence. “You’re, um. You’re back.”

“I’m back,” he agrees.

(the awkwardness is like a rock settled in his throat and it shouldn’t be this way shouldn’t be this way at all but they’re in too deep and it’s all gone too far and some of the last words he spoke to his son were to disown him and he still doesn’t know whether he truly meant it or not in that moment but that hardly matters when the words were said regardless of the intent)

“Right,” Fundy says. “Right. And you’ve been back for a while. Tubbo said it’d been a couple of weeks.”

Is that right? He thinks back, calculating, and decides it must be.

“I suppose it has been,” he says, and that is his cue to follow up with an apology, but the words get caught in a vice, squeezed and choked to nothingness, and silence falls between them again. Fundy shifts his weight back and forth between his feet, his eyes darting to and fro, never landing on his face for very long.

“Okay,” he says at length. “I guess—I don’t really know what else I expected.”

It’s bitter and sarcastic and resigned all at once. He winces.

“Fundy—”

“I mean, I guess I knew,” Fundy continues. “I knew that I wouldn’t—that you wouldn’t come for me if you ever came back. So it’s—I mean, it’s fine, Wil. I don’t even need you, anyway. I’ve been doing really well on my own. So it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not—”

“But it is, though, isn’t it? You could’ve—you could’ve come and found me, right? I wasn’t that far.” His voice has lowered in volume, as if he’s talking to himself more than he is to him. “I wasn’t that far, so you could’ve—but you didn’t, and that’s kind of par the course, isn’t it? For you to come back to—back to life, and not even send me a message. But I guess nobody else did, either. It’s fine.”

The vice releases, torn apart by his mounting desperation.

(too little, too late)

“I’m sorry, Fundy,” he says. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Okay then, why didn’t you?” Fundy replies, and his tone rises in pitch again, becoming high, almost frantic.

There are so many ways he could reply. He could say that it slipped his mind. That would be damaging, hurtful, would ruin any hope of fixing their relationship, but it would be at least partially the truth; he thought about it, but infrequently, and he always dismissed it as a task to be tackled later. He could say that he wanted to take it slow. That would be slightly more of a lie, though not a complete falsehood; interacting with the other people of the server, especially in the first few days, has come far less easily to him than it once did. It probably says something that he includes his own son in that assessment.

He could say that he’s a coward. That, perhaps, would be the most truthful of all.

(for in many things you are not the coward that you think you are but in this in this it is true is apt because you know you hurt him sorely did the one thing that a parent should never do to a child caused him so much pain and you knew it and you know it and you could not face him could not bring yourself to own up to it and that is cowardice to not face this fault of yours as you have faced the others that is cowardice and cowardice can be overcome and it is not the end is not a death blow but call it what it is for it is cowardice and if you are to make up for it you must face the flaw in yourself without the gilded lies)

“I wanted you to come back,” Fundy says, and he realizes he’s taken far too long to respond, and Fundy’s expression has fallen. “I wanted you back so damn badly, even if I was never really sure why. I guess maybe I hoped that if you came back you’d start to care about me again.”

“I do care about you,” he manages, his voice a weak, pathetic thing. “I do care, Fundy.”

(and he wants to say my little champion my little champion if you believe nothing else then believe this believe that I love you and I always have even in the midst of all my darkness even as I fell I could not despise you no matter what I said I have loved you always even though I failed you I love you please do not doubt)

(he doesn’t say it)

“I want to believe you,” Fundy says. “But see, the thing is, if I do, it’ll turn out that you’re lying to me. Either that, or you’ll change. You—that’s what you do. And I need you—I need you to make up your mind, whether you care about me or not, because I can’t keep doing this. And I’m so—I’m pissed, Wilbur, really, I am. You blew up my home.”

There is no excuse that will provide an escape from this.

“I did.”

(an ending a denouement a grand finale and it was your symphony forever unfinished but you forgot that others made up the orchestra and you forget it still though you are reminded sometimes in the shadows in Tommy’s eyes and the chips in Tubbo’s horns and now in the tremor in your son’s voice as he tells you what you took from him what you stole when you made an ending of it all and it was yours but it was not yours alone)

Fundy jerks back, as if he hadn’t expected him to say it so starkly.

“Just like that, huh?” he says.

“I—”

“You know what?” Fundy says, overriding him. “I don’t really want to hear it right now. I’m so done with this. I’ll see you later. I guess.”

He steps forward, and

(an image: Fundy tottering toward him on chubby, unsteady legs, toddler’s face in a wide open, gap-toothed smile, Fundy running toward him to show him his new redstone invention, child’s face beaming in pride, Fundy sprinting toward him and trailing a flag behind him, grinning and victorious, and they have done it, they have done it, the nation is theirs and all will be well, and his son will be safe, and he wraps Fundy up in his arms and hugs him, holds him safe and close, his child, his beloved child)

he is frozen as Fundy steps past him and out of the doors. And he is frozen as he listens to his footsteps retreat, at a walking pace at first and then quicker and quicker as they fade, as Fundy runs from him. He stares into an empty room, and he is

(cold)

frozen.

“So, I’m guessing that didn’t go so well.”

It’s what he needs. An out, a way to cover over the churning mess of emotions in his chest, a road past all of that and right into exasperation, irritation.

“Shut the fuck up, Schlatt,” he says, pulling together all the shreds of composure that remain to him. “Where have you been?”

“Around,” Schlatt says, and drifts into view. He has the ability to go straight through him, but Wilbur notes that he doesn’t, that he dodges around him in the space left open in the doorway to come in front of him, surveying the papers in the room apathetically. “I keep going to do stuff and forgetting that I fucking can’t. Came here after whatever the fuck that was last night. You wanna give me an explanation there? I’m not pining away so much that I’m hallucinating your face, gorgeous as it is.” He pauses. “Your hair looks fucking stupid, by the way. It’s also wet, in case you didn’t know that.”

He feels some of the tension drain from him. This, at least, is familiar ground. Barbed words and sarcastic compliments, their old song and dance. He can exist in this space for a few minutes. Wrestle his emotions back under control.

“Thanks,” he says dryly. “If you really want to know, I spoke to a god and got shown some of the secrets of the universe, so that’s probably what that was.”

Schlatt pauses. “Is that all,” he says, in a half-laughing, half-incredulous tone that indicates he has no idea what to do with that.

He tilts his head, and wonders what else he should tell him. Because he saw him, there, of that he is sure, saw him while he was caught between the starlight and the void, as the god wound him back up and returned him to his body. He saw Schlatt, and more than that, he saw

(or felt, perhaps, because he was without eyes, and felt is not the right word either but it is closer, closer)

the connection between them, binding them together like a cat’s cradle, the threads of their existence tangled up in each other, and he is certain, now, of why Schlatt is here as well, why Schlatt is here but not solid. Because the god reached and the god grabbed and the god pulled, and the god pulled more than they meant to but less than they ought to have done, and this is the result: one man resurrected and the second tugged along, unintentionally and thus set adrift, tied to the first but with no form of his own.

Schlatt is mixed up in this through no fault of his own,

(for once)

when Wilbur knows that he, like him, would rather have remained in the void. So he sighs, and reaches along the tether, reaches along the rope that connects them soul to soul, and it is easy to find now, easy to touch upon with intention now that he knows what it is, why it is there.

(now that the universe hums in the back of his mind, now that he can hear the stars’ song, just barely beyond his conscious perception)

Schlatt lets out a surprised grunt as his feet hit the floor, and he staggers, almost losing his balance. Right away, Wilbur can feel the drain on his own energy, his lifeforce, perhaps, and now he knows the reason for that, too—Schlatt has none of his own, so to be made present and real, he must share his, must send it down the line, and a few days ago, he would have struggled to figure out how to do that. But now, it feels like the simplest thing in the world. For a time, at least.

“I’m willing to chat about it for a bit,” he says, and Schlatt stares at him, flexing his fingers.

“Holy shit,” he says. “So can you just—do this now?”

He bares his teeth. Schlatt will take it for a challenge.

“Let me tell you about it,” he says, and Schlatt arches a brow. But he stays, standing amongst the papers and the mess.

This is something familiar. This is a half hour of conversation that is charged in an entirely different way. This is someone with whom he shares a bitter past, and likely a bitter future, but he doesn’t have to watch himself, doesn’t have to wonder what wounds he’s caused him, doesn’t have to confront anything within himself.

He’s self-aware enough to realize that he’s running away, a bit, with this. Seeking a distraction. Trying to banish the look on Fundy’s face from his mind. But the others will survive without him for a few more minutes, and even besides, Schlatt offers him something that he wants, that he needs. Schlatt will listen to him, and he will judge him, but he will not pity him.

So Wilbur tells Schlatt about meeting a god.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #eret #fundy #tubbo #jschlatt #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #sorry for the two-week wait here's 9k works of dialogue *jazz hands*

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xenolithium · 4 years ago

Text

America & Canada brotherly HCs

Alfred always runs up to Matt and gives him a long hug, whether he wants it or not at the time, whenever they meet up after being apart for an extended period of time. This includes meeting him at the airport, at the hotel right before a meeting and just cause he can. He's been doing this since they were small kids and he isn't stopping anytime soon. Matt just sighs and gives in eventually, anyway. Mumbling something along that lines of, "it's only been a couple days, Al." He's secretly happy though.

Al visits Matt as often as humanly possible. He practically lives with him by this point, and he's always over at Matthew's home doing something. Fixing his fence, cooking him breakfast after breaking in without letting him know first, feeding his animals, piling more of his junk around the place. Such as the sheer amount of model cars he likes to build then leave on random surfaces. Matt throws a few of them out when they become too much, but for the most part he doesn't have the heart to chuck his brother's things. Even if he gets openly salty about them being everywhere. Matt, on the other hand, visits Al occasionally but not nearly close to as often as Al does to see him. He says it's because of the heat, which is partly the reason. But he also feels kind of like a bother or burden. Plus, since Al takes the initiative, he doesn't have to worry, right? Haha...Though he will go and visit if he feels Al has been away for too long without contacting him.

They both bicker and fight a lot, about shit that really doesn't matter. It could just be some small stupid thing that got on one of their nerves which escalated into something much bigger. They will happily yell and scream at each other, even getting into full on brawls and finally then giving each other the cold shoulder for days. Their stubbornness to admit they were wrong, as well as their ego, is too much to forgive each other. Of course, when all things seem hopeless, usually Al will break the silence, go over and make Matt some food. Then they'll apologize on his couch as they eat, while Kuma sleeps at their feet.

Normally Matt is a very docile and shy personality. He doesn't cause conflict and he prefers to avoid fighting. With Al, he unleashes the salt within. This is both a sign of trust, but it also leaves Al with a Canadian who's not afraid to punch him in the gut for waking him up too early in the morning. Of course this trust also opens the door for other things, like Matthew's inner feelings and turmoil that he doesn't spill to most other people.

Matt is Al's sole confidant. He probably knows more than he should about everything going on in Al's life. From his issues with his body, to that pimple he found on his butt the other day. Though he wouldn't change it for the world. It feels good to be needed.

If you wanna find one twin, then all you need to do is spot the other. If they're not around each other, they keep tabs enough to know where the other is at any given time.

Al is overprotective as fuck. Obviously Matt can take care of himself, but if you even think about touching a hair on his head, expect a pissed off, beefy superpower on your ass. Matt obviously cares about Al, but he's not nearly as confrontational about it.

Alfred has had a panic attack when thinking about Matt potentially dying. He had to call his brother in order to calm down.

There might be a bit a lot of separation anxiety on Al's part.

They love going hiking together, or anything outdoorsy really. As long as it's not boiling hot, as Matt doesn't appreciate sweating his ass off.

They don't really have much shame around each other. Centuries of practically living together and having the exact same body, does that to a person. So it's not the end of the world if one of them decides to walk around extremely underdressed after a shower or something. Matt would have more issue with it than Al though, but only because he's a bit more modest.

They cook for each other, but not themselves.

Matt is still salty about Al leaving him during the American Revolution. That was when they officially stopped living together under one roof.

They both buy each other clothes. Matt, more so than Al. So they have a similar wardrobe. Though Al does have more tight fitted clothing, while Matt prefers baggier clothing.

Sometimes they nap together for the comfort of having the other around. Cuddles all day, every day.

Al knows exactly how Matt likes his coffee in the morning.

All the forehead and cheek kisses.

Sometimes Al does up Matt's hair for the heck of it. Matt enjoys the feeling, a lot.

They're fiercely competitive at everything they do together, it doesn't matter what it is. If there's a winner to be had, they will fight over first place.

Alfred goes all out on their birthdays, he really wants them both to feel special. Even if it embarrasses the hell out of Matt.

Every holiday is spent together. It's immediately a shitty holiday if they can't see eachother and they will get moody if kept apart.

"Matt, did I ever tell you how much I love you?!", "You're not getting out of doing the laundry."

"Matt, we should open a zoo!", "No, we shouldn't."

Matt is Al's impulse control.

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negans-savior-complex · 3 years ago

Text

@wrathfulmercy Continued from here

“Nah, I got plenty of thick skin.” It was just his pride and sense of self-worth that he'd left behind in the gutter and dark alleyways of LA. At least the snark was better than the angry resentful glares he'd been getting just moments before.

Right okay, clearly Rick was comfortable here in this little shop to know how to work the cash register, not to mention trusted enough to use it despite not being a real employee but more for a volunteer. Nodding, Negan reached into his jacket's inner pocket for his wallet when he noticed Rick glanced back towards the door and, following his gaze, found that girl as well as an old woman whom he guessed was the owner, standing there gawking at them both with eyes like saucers like they were two interesting animals in the zoo.

Immediately Negan felt his hackles rise, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he met their curious gazes with a glare of his own. Would you fucking mind?! Holy shit, this was a private goddamn conversation and those two were just fucking listening in on them like it was actually their fucking business! For fuck's sake, he knew he was hardly most pleasant person around but that... that was just fucking rude.

Narrowing his eyes at the two women, his lip curling up into a snarl Negan reluctantly turned his attention back to Rick, knowing there wasn't much he could do about it now and fished out a couple of bills out of his wallet, placing them on the counter. Deliver it with the card, huh? Rick didn't want him to run.

Unfortunately running away from my problems is something I excel at. And that included not talking to his family... so that was a promise he couldn't make. Still he nodded and tightened his grip on the pen before he bend over the card again to finish his message. Marcy neared the counter but he completely ignored her when she asked Rick if he could take the day's earnings to the bank.

As Rick put the money in a thick leather purse Negan finished, tossing the pen on the counter before he carefully tucked the little card inbetween the flowers and picked up the bouquet; Rick walked past him, leaving behind a hint of the cologne he'd used this morning and for a short second Negan's brain teetered to a halt - was it him or did he still use the same cologne he'd used when they were still dating? It was so familiar... comfortably familiar...

Clearing his throat he blinked a few times to shake off the stupor and turned on his heel to follow his ex out of the store, not bothering to bid that eavesdropping harpy a goodbye.

“Don't worry about it.” he muttered as he stepped out onto the curb, almost colliding with Rick in the process; his ex seemed to be lost in thought just like he was, unsure of how to deal with their current situation. An apology though? No... Rick had nothing to be sorry for. If anything, he should be the one saying sorry, he should get down on his knees and beg Rick's forgiveness for the way he had treated and hurt him.

Were he a better man, he would have.

Reaching his bike he chuckled softly as he opened the baggage compartment that held his helmet and gloves, “That bad huh?” glancing back over his shoulder... and nearly flinched away when he came face to face with a hand, so close it almost filled his entire vision before gentle fingers pushed through his hair to brush a few stubborn strands out of his eyes; it was that, and the warm smile that greeted him that kept him from actually acting on his impulses and training, and not drop-kick Rick to the ground in self-defense. This wasn't an attack, this wasn't someone who was after his life, but that small gesture sent his blood roaring nonetheless, adrenaline rushing through his veins in preparation for a fight that wasn't even going to happen.

Jesus... He hoped Rick hadn't picked up on it, the way he'd tensed up just for a split second before he'd caught himself and realized what he was doing – no matter what he and Rick were now, exes or estranged lovers or what have you... they weren't enemies.

“Yeah...”

Rick was talking but most of what he said rushed by him in a blur, something about... old habits, live across the street, nice seeing you; the words hooked into his brain to be remembered, but at the moment it was just static white noise. Rick's smile just now... it had been quick and fleeting, disappearing the moment he seemed to realize what he was doing too, getting too close... but for a moment Negan had seen the boy he'd fallen so hard for in college in that warm smile, the smile that made his blue eyes twinkle. As much as Rick had obviously changed, life experiences that had shaped him into the man he was today... that boy was still in there somewhere, and he'd just gotten a glimpse of it.

Rick had already moved past him by the time Negan finally snapped back to his senses and blinked, staring at the spot in front of him that his ex had occupied only seconds before. Shit, he was leaving.

Shit.

Fuck!

A wave of panic washed over him and Negan spun around on his heel, his mind frantically yelling at him to do something, to stop him - you let him go now, you know you'll never see him again! - and the words left his lips before he could stop himself. “Rick, wait!”

Time seemed to stop, slowing down to a snail's crawl but his call had the desired effect. He'd bought himself some time... and now he didn't know what to do. Why he had stopped Rick. He just knew that he didn't want to watch him leave just yet, to disappear out of his life forever, but now... now...

Negan glanced down at the bouquet in his hands, his bike with the two seats and the open baggage compartment where he kept a spare helmet, licked his lips and took a step forward, ignoring the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest as he gestured towards his ride.

“Let me drive you to the bank. I know you can look after yourself, you sure as shit look like you can, but... it's the least I can do. No strings attached, just... I have an extra helmet. I'll drive you to the bank, we'll drop this off at my aunt's and I'll bring you back here after.” It wouldn't surprise him at all if Rick refused... hell, Negan wouldn't even blame him for it, but it was worth the try, no?

“Maybe... you can hold onto these flowers for me while I drive, less chance of ruining them that way. Okay?”

#I'm actually really enjoying this more insecure Negan 😂#it's a nice change of pace from the confident and in-control Negan I usually write #he's such a mess in this one and I love it XD #Negan Smith #Rick Grimes #Regan #Lucky Shot #hitman AU #wrathfulmercy

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theonlinemuse · 4 years ago

Text

In the comics, Rick had more relatives (like his cousin Rebecca) and he probably would've been a big brother had his parents lived. Since we like to joke that he’s the ultimate big brother to the JSA, me and @freckledpianoman decided to make him a big brother in an AU where Wendi and Rex live:

His little sister’s named Rebecca, but Rick calls her Bex for short. He only calls her Rebecca if she’s annoying him and full names her (“Rebecca Gwendoline Tyler!”) when she’s in trouble. She’s seven and Rick often wonders if he has a little sister or a little monkey with how she’s forever getting into places she shouldn’t be in

“How did you even get in my room, I locked it from the inside.” “What, like it’s hard?”

She also likes perching on his shoulders because she likes seeing everything and feeling as tall as her brother

Rick didn’t know it at first, but Bex knew Beth first. Beth works in the children’s library on Saturdays where she does read alouds for kids and Bex is always talking about the smart girl who reads all sorts of fun stories to her. Bex often requests for Beth to do certain voices and accents and thinks that the voice that Beth does for grumpy characters makes her sound like her brother

He’s wondering who his sister befriended because this Beth person seems too good to be true. One day he’s running late to pick Bex up because he had engine problems and when he gets there, he sees his little sister being read to while she's sitting in the lap of a pretty girl

Bex sees him turning red and she tugs at his sleeve and goes, “Rick, don't embarrass me, she’s really nice”

Rick and Bex have a very petty rivalry over getting Beth’s attention

“Stop trying to steal my friend, Rick! I had her first!” “Kids, behave.” Wendi has to give them a look so that Beth doesn’t think they're heathens

Bex notices the look that her brother has every time he talks with Beth and she’s this close to giving him a shovel talk

“Stop trying to steal Beth!” “We go to the same school, I’d see her anyway!” “What, no fair! Do you have lunch with her? Does she share her brownies with you?” “Hmm, maybe she does, I guess you'll never know.”

And Bex chases after him while he laughs

Wendi ends up with a surprise pregnancy in her mid-forties a few months before Rick's sixteenth birthday. He’s torn between “you’re already old, stop having children” and being anxious over her pregnancy. He glares at Rex and goes, “this is what happens when you don’t keep your hands to yourself”. Rex is sitting there like “shouldn’t I be the one lecturing you on keeping your hands to yourself?” “Don’t distract me, old man, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

Everyone argues over baby names, but they eventually settle on Rowan. Her middle name is Elizabeth and yes, she was named for Beth. It was Rick and Bex’s idea since they were allowed to pick a middle name

Beth thought that she heard wrong at first, but she sees Rick smile softly and nod and it’s all happy tears for her. Later Beth buries her face in his chest and scolds him for making her cry

“You named a baby after me, how else am I supposed to react?”

It doesn’t help that Rowan’s first word is “Beff”

Rex taught his kids how to use the hourglass in case of emergencies. Rick has used the hourglass before for training. Bex got banned from using the hourglass because she somehow lifted up a corner of the house because she was trying to get her baseball back

“How?!” “Artemis taught me how to lift with my knees.”

Rick’s usually very responsible with the hourglass save for a couple of times when he impulsively stole it for “missions”, aka helping Beth or Bex. The third time was when he set the hourglass down while Rowan was using the coffee table to pull herself up and she ended up using it to lift the couch to get her pacifier from under it

“Dad, I think I broke Rowan!”

Beth often finds Rick asleep on the couch with Rowan napping on his chest. It’s as adorable as it sounds and she takes pics for the group chat. And sometimes she catches him singing softly to Rowan. Bex says that he did the same when she was little and they joke about Rick being the ultimate big brother to the JSA and to Bex and Rowan

There have been times where Rick and Bex will come out of their rooms to find Beth helping Rex with chemistry stuff, having completely forgotten they were supposed to be hanging out. While Rick’s glad that Beth gets a chance to discuss things with another chemistry nerd (even if it is his dad), the Tyler siblings are still put out by it. It was bad enough that Wendi asked her to pose for her newest painting, but now they have to worry about their dad stealing Beth

They have to sneak Beth into the house so Rex can’t grab her on her way in, Bex clinging to Beth while Rick guides her in with his hand on her back

But Rick sees how much fun Beth has posing for Wendi’s paintings and he’s just happy that Beth’s happy

Beth and Rick share custody of Hootie and after Rowan was born, Rick does not want that ‘damn feral bird’ anywhere near his baby sister, but Hootie acts like a guard owl for Rowan. He tried shooing Hootie away from her crib, but he ends up getting his head pecked while Hootie lands in the crib, nuzzling Rowan's hair much to Rick's horror. He thinks she'll get rabies

Beth scolds Rick when she hears about it from Bex. “Your mom already had Rowan get her shots and Hootie’s up to date on all of his. They’ll be fine.” And Rick comes home one day to find Hootie perched on Wendi’s shoulder while she holds Rowan

“Mom. There is an owl on your shoulder, why aren't you freaking out?” “He never does anything, he’s just curious about her.” “He’s a wild bird, not a dog.” “He’s basically a dog, Bex plays fetch with him.”

“Of course she does. Trust Beth to rescue a bird just as weird as her.” “Please, you love her weirdness.”

There’s a babysitting episode where Rick has to babysit his sisters because Wendi and Rex have date night and Rex goes, "do not call us, Rick, I just want a night out with your mother and if you even think about sending a text, I’ll call Beth and tell her how you feel about her. Do not test me, son.” Rick thinks his dad is seriously pent up but as the car pulls out of the driveway, Rick gets a text from Rex that says “you should invite Beth over for some company while you watch your sisters”

Rick is more than a little disturbed that his dad of all people is playing matchmaker

Bex perks up when she hears that Beth might be coming over and she climbs over Rick to try and get to his phone so that she can call Beth. “Bex, stop that, I’ll call her.” “But you take too long, Riri.” It’s a wonder that Beth is able to hear him over Bex constantly interjecting and saying that she wants to talk with her

Beth offers to help out with dinner, but Rick keeps shooing her out of the kitchen, saying that she should relax and hang out with the girls. “But cooking is relaxing for me.” “Go watch a stupid sitcom or something, I’ll be done in a minute.”

They take turns feeding Rowan while she's in her high chair, she’s a very messy eater and Rick always gets food on him whenever he feeds her. But it doesn't stop Rowan from trying to put her hands all over her brother's face. She thinks the faces he makes are funny and Bex just eggs her on

It's times like this where Rick is glad that Beth is here because as much as he loves his sisters, they can be a handful. “Bex, stop encouraging this.” “Aim for his eyes next time, Rowan.” “No!” He sees Rowan pouting and he has to go into stern big brother mode. “We do not poke people's eyes, young lady.”

Beth thinks it's funny when Rick gets all stern with the girls and she starts calling him “old man”. He's so affronted by it and you know he's gonna get back at her for it once the girls are put to bed. Beth knows it too and she tries to escape, but it ends up with Rick chasing her all over the house before he finally tackles her onto the couch

“Get off me, you might break your hip.” “Sorry, I think my hip is acting up. You’re stuck here now.” “You’re a jerk." “It’s fair game, sweetheart.” “Well, you really sound like an old man now.” Rick just pins her down with his hips and goes, “does this feel old to you?” “I dunno Rick, how are you feeling? Any joints out of place?” Rick smirks and the next thing Beth knows, she’s being princess carried. “You tell me.”

Rick just twirls her around just to hear her laugh more and that’s what Wendi and Rex walk in on. Rick almost drops Beth, but she clings onto him before he can. Wendi has a mischievous grin as she asks if Beth and Rick had fun. She wishes she had her phone out to take a pic of how red Rick’s face went. Beth is embarrassed, but Wendi and Rex invite her to stay the night since her parents are away and it’s too late for her to go home

“Listen, I love Beth and I want you to make a move, don't get me wrong, but I am not ready for grandkids.” “Dad, gross, mom already gave me the talk. I haven't even thought about having kids yet.” “Lies, I’ve seen the way you look at Beth whenever she holds Rowan.” “That doesn’t mean I’m imagining having kids with her!” “I’m not stupid, I’ve given that look before.”

Rick is horrified because he did not want to hear that, but it does explain Bex and Rowan. “Bottom line, you and Beth need to be responsible.” “You’re saying all this like there’s even a chance something’ll happen.” “Do I need to point out the way you look at her?” “Dad, please, can you just—stop embarrassing me in front of my friends? I’ve worked too hard to trick Beth into thinking that having me as a friend may actually not be such a bad idea for you to scare her away now.”

“You don't give Beth enough credit. She’s here to stay.”

Once there was a problem with the daycare that Rowan was supposed to be at and Rick had picked her up before lunch and now she’s hanging at the loser table with the JSA. Rick is treated like an exhibit at the zoo because of his baby sister because she’s just babbling happily in his arms and she gets away with pulling his hair

The teachers are just watching Rick come and go to classes with a baby like it’s no big deal and the students just look at him in shock because the delinquent they’ve all been told to avoid is being ordered around by an infant

And now they have a front row seat for Beth and Rick coparenting Rowan. A couple people straight up ask if they're dating because it’s such a domestic sight. Beth is startled and blurts out, “oh no, no, we’re best friends”

Rick is off to the side, quiet but heartbroken. Rowan pats his face to comfort him

One time when Rick was out of the house and Beth was hanging out with the girls, Bex randomly asks Beth if she likes Rick. “He’s my best friend, of course I like him.” “I meant do you like like him, like how mom and dad do.” “Oh, um—” "Because it’s okay if you do. Rowan and me like you and so do mom and dad.” Beth looks unsure so Bex and Rowan cuddle with her

Rick comes back to find all of them cuddling and he catches Bex giving Beth a look. He knows something is up because he knows Bex, that's her ‘I did something and I don't want Rick to know’ look. “What did you do?” “Not even a hi, Riri?” “That’s the same look you had when you let a lava cake explode in the oven and tried to hide it from mom.”

“I didn’t do anything! Maybe you’re trying to hide something so you’re deflecting onto me!” “Did Beth teach you what deflecting means?” “She’s been helping me get ready for the spelling bee, duh. And I’m not deflecting.” “Rebecca Gwendoline, what did you do?” “On second thought, I’m going to bed early tonight, byyeee!”

He just looks at Rowan, who’s gnawing on the plush owl that Beth gave her. “You’re not telling me either, are you?” She blows a raspberry at him. “Of course not. Hanging around Beth has made you and Bex too smart for your own good.”

Beth and Rick once looked after the girls for the weekend while Wendi and Rex go on vacation. The guest room is practically already Beth's room so the Tylers tell her she can just stay over, though Rex did expect them to share a bed. He and Wendi have a little bet going on about it. They end up video calling Beth on the first night

Meanwhile Beth and Rick are snuggled up against each other when Beth glances at her phone and goes “oh crap” and pushes Rick away from her as she answers, but the Tylers can still hear Rick grumbling. Beth keeps glancing towards Rick, who’s just sitting there pouting because precious time is being wasted and he knows the girls will be awake soon. “Beth, honey, are you okay? You’re looking a little distracted.” “Uh—I’m fine! Just making sure the girls aren't already awake.”

“Rick isn’t giving you trouble, is he?” Beth sneaks a look at a glowering, pouty Rick. “No?” Right after she says that, he starts sneaking his hand up her waist and she lets out a choked gasp. “Beth?” “Okay, he is a little,” she admits before swatting Rick’s hand away

“Is he awake yet? We can tell him to stop being such a demon if you need us to.” “Uh—no! He's asleep. In his room. You know how he gets, low blood pressure demon and all that.” “Oh, you have no idea. Rex says he still has phantom pains where Rick clawed him the last time he tried to wake him up.”

“You sure we had a kid and not a feral cat?” Rick forgets himself and goes, “I was seven, get over it old man.” Beth drops her phone onto her lap to panic while Rex and Wendi quietly crack up on the other end of the call

They can still hear her admonishing Rick. “Why would you say that, now your parents are gonna be wondering what I’m doing in your room and this is so embarrassing!”

Beth’s hiding her face in her hands and Rick grabs her phone off her lap and says “uh—we're gonna go, I think I just heard Rowan.” “Rowan won’t be waking up for another hour—” “Bye mom, love you.”

Rick spends the next little while coaxing Beth to stop hiding. “It’s not that bad, you know my parents love you.” He rests his head on her shoulder and goes, “c’mon, Beth”, but she jerks away and says “no, I’m never living this down”

“This isn't the first time they’ve caught us in bed together.” “Not helping, Rick!”

He hugs himself against her and feels her relax, but she’s still hiding her face. Then his phone buzzes and he holds his screen up to her to show a text from Wendi saying, “tell Beth we trust her (not you)”. Beth collapses into giggles over the text

“My own parents think I’m some kind of deviant!” “Okay, but is that such a wild assumption to make? I didn’t even say anything that bad!” “Oh? Then did I just imagine you calling me trouble, sweetheart?”

#Stargirl #The Tyler Rules #Beth Chapel #Rick Tyler #Hournite #ship it

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crystal-moon-101 · 5 years ago

Photo

My redesigns for this popular trio!

The Secret Generator 10 (Or Celebrity Trio but that doesn’t really work for me because of Zak...) I’ve been meaning to get around to doing this, since I am really fond of these three boys. With Zak and Rex both being part of my top two shows of all time. Sorry Ben....

-Zak Saturday-

He was the most fun working with. His warm colour palette isn’t something I work with often, but I think I did alright. He also as some small details you might notice, like the fangs, eyes and scales.

Notes:

14 Years Old

5′5 (Will only grow to be 5′8. Which confuses him since both sides of his family have very tall genes. Ulraj pokes fun at him, saying all that height is going towards his ‘Kur Form’)

Dead on the inside.

Aggressively Pansexual

His human side has been growing reptilian features. Noticeable fangs, scales growing around his lower neck, around his chest and upper back/shoulders, pure orange eyes with pupils that can become thin slits and a slight forked tongue.

Even also displays some reptile behaviour. E.g, soaking up sunlight on a rock, alert nature, able to stand still as a statue. (He’s done these things since he was young. His parents just thought it was something he picked up from Komodo.)

The light that forms around his eyes when using his powers have darkened the skin around his eyes. (Suggested by my friend)

He is oddly thin and lanky, but it’s often hard to see because of the baggy clothes he wears.

That being said, he’s a lot stronger than you think he is. Can easily lift people twice his size.

Constantly has to get new hair ties. They keep breaking because 1. Every time his powers cause all of his hair to flow, the tie snaps. 2. Working out in the wild, it keeps getting snagged by tree branches or slipping off when he tumbles downhills.

While quiet and casual outside of battles, he will become a lot like his mother on the field.

Has freckles from his maternal side. His mother doesn’t have them, but Doyle does.

Will casually mention his ridiculously and scary adventures like they’re nothing, not because he’s bragging, but because he truly doesn’t understand what normal really is.

So use to being grabbed by the scruff of his shirt that he will always go limp when you grab him like that, much like a baby animal.

While he can act very eerie and strange, he’s a very sweet and understanding guy.

That being said, he can be hella scary when he wants to be.

Don’t mess with his family or he will send an army of Grootslangs to your house.

Still trying to figure out his placement in life and what Kur was really meant to be.

After being taught by his family and uncle, he went to Tsul 'Kalu to be his new mentor.

-Rex Salazar-

I think I changed him the least, but I added extra details and made his shirt, pants and shoes into a one-piece suit. It always baffles me how he can pull off this colour scheme so well.

And while I didn’t draw it here. I would definitely make his pure EVO form a lot smaller. Make him come across more like a monstrous zombie robot thing. The reason why is because those EVO forms he had just felt like they belonged to different shows, like transformers. A more creature design would fit better, I feel.

Notes:

16 Years Old

6′1 (Will grow to be 6′5. Yeeeeeee, he’s a big guy.)

Lady killer~

Best wingman and even offers pretend dates to help you.

Can always hear and feel the technology around him. Strange to everyone else, but he’s learnt to live with it. Even comes in handy when trying to find a good wifi connection.

Knows when to cut the bullcrap.

He does have a bit of a science brain, but he uses it differently than his family had.

Constantly jumping between worlds. Sometimes even tossed by someone.

Talks in his sleep, mostly reciting nanite binary coding.

Lonely lad and child solider, great mix, right?...

Goes all out with holidays. He once, somehow, got real snow in Providence. No one knows how to this day.

Hates lightening.

Has nearly called Holiday and Six mum and dad multiple times.

Has a lot more abilities he has yet to discover. (Including turning people EVO.)

Never asked for any of this, but, eh, what ya gonna do

Is always overexcited when doing normal things. (Werids out Noah a lottt.)

You’re endangered if he decided to use his full raw power. (Key signs to look out for is a large amount of circuit patterns covering him, glowing eyes, tips of his hair glowing too, sharp metal growths and technology around you flashing like crazy.)

Loves Imagine Dragon.

Sharp eyelashes.

Just wants hugs, give him hugs!

Always frustrated when someone from his past tries talking to him about the past. Sometimes he wonders if people forget.

Skilled drawer and smooth singer.

Has an EVO pet (Her name is Siri, Btw)

Some have compared him to being a living, breathing nanite.

Eager to have family game nights! “Poker doesn’t count, Bobo...”

Once had a malfunction, his whole body was out of wack. (Noah laughs about it and even has some recordings, much to Rex’s dismay.)

Has a civilian outfit that Noah put together. (He refuses to take off his goggles, however.)

-Ben Tennyson-

Now, I already made a redesign for him, along with Gwen, Julie and Kevin (Both for teen and kid versions). I used the same look, just adjusted some details and colours.

Notes:

15 Years Old

5′9 (And he stays that height. He peaked in height very young, but stop growing quickly. This does annoy him.)

Dumbass with bad impulse control.

Even he’s confused by how he keeps attracting women.

Had a rather lonely childhood with many bullies. (It’s why he often seeks attention, he’s afraid of being alone and forgotten again.)

It’s also what made him jealous of Gwen when they were young. Most treated her like the better of the two.

Pretty crap at sharing his feelings. He would rather play it off as a jerk, then go and drown himself in smoothies...

A secret momma’s boy. “Benny Bear” As his mother likes to call him.

Has an interesting dynamic with Azmuth. Despite their arguments, they balance each other well. Others have even seen them taking care of each other (Almost like father and son), but the pair will always deny this and say it’s ‘strictly’ professional.

Surprisingly great with kids. (This was truly noticed when seen around his 14 baby chills.)

In the future, he will have a nasty wound on the battlefield, which will result in the Omnitrix becoming his new arm and merging with him.

When he takes thing seriously, you know shits going down!

Has a german shepherd name Boston.

Likes to call Vilgax ‘Calamari’.

Has grown to be close to most Tennyson members. (E.G Camille, who was actually his babysitter after she joined the family.)

He doesn’t like peacocks after...an incident at the zoo. His mother still apologizes to this day.

Decent singer and very skilled at the guitar.

Has picked up combat moves from Tetrax.

Has always felt like he’s nothing without the watch. Others have said otherwise.

He knows how to speak certain alien languages, Galvan being one of them.

His schedule is a nightmare, because something is always popping up that involves him. This means he sometimes forgets to eat, sleep or even wash. It’s why he’s often caught napping.

Sometimes wonders if he’s human or alien at this point, maybe something else entirely.

Very soft poofy hair.

Is hated by almost all his villains. He just loves pissing them off.

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scullysexual · 4 years ago

Text

A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted Anniversary]

If you’ve get to read the first chapter, you can read it on Tumblr. Alternatively, you can also find it on AO3 along with this chapter.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @impulsive-astrophile @enigmaticxbee

- - -

Chapter Two.

The accommodation is located on B-deck, easy enough to find. Phoebe and Mother get stopped along the way, a conversation proceeds in the middle of the hallway between the two women and some other people Mulder doesn’t care to remember the name of. His father shakes his head leading Mulder away.

“They’ll come when they’re ready,” Bill says as they continue to walk to their rooms.

And the rooms are nice enough; mahogany furniture, floral tapestries covering the couches and chairs. The bedroom is large: a walk-in wardrobe Phoebe should hopefully be happy with. He touches the pillows and his disappointment comes when he finds they are feather. He places it back down.

What’s a bit of lack of sleep for a week?

In the mirror, he catches the reflection of the safe. Spinning around on his heels, he walks over to it, pulling it open. His hand strokes the inside feeling the cold iron. It’s of decent size, enough room to place valuables. He looks to the carry-on he’d brought on with him, an idea in his head. Reaching into the bag, his fingers gripping hold of the old leather book. Pulling it out, he places it inside the safe. With a bit of manoeuvring he manages to fit it in and is still able to lock the safe afterwards.

Few people know about that book, a few more know about his talent that comes with it. Phoebe knew about the talent but not the book. His parents know briefly of his talent but again, not the book. The book is his and while he is in no way ashamed of his drawings- in fact, if one were to turn the first page they would be met with a very innocent drawing of his sister, however a bit further on and they’ll find the not-so-innocent drawings. It was those he wanted to keep secret.

“Fox!” he hears Phoebe’s clear-cut voice break through the air. Sighing, his moment of peace over, he double-checks that the safe is shut and locked and exits the bedroom to see his dearly beloved fiancé and the mutt she holds in a cage.

Mulder groans.

“Did you really have to bring that thing, Phoebe?”

Phoebe looks at him as though he’s just told her she wouldn’t be eating dinner for a month.

“Of course I had to bring her Fox,” she says in utter disgust. “Did you just expect me to leave her behind?” She takes the Maltese out of its cage, giving the cage to one of her maids before she holds the animal up.

“I know you don’t like the cage, sweetie. You can stay out of it from now on.” The dog begins fussing in her arms and Phoebe gasps. “Tuppence needs a potty break,” she hands the dog out to Mulder. “Take her.”

Mulder stares at the hairball currently in his face. “Can’t you take her?” he asks, careful to use the word ‘her’ rather than ‘it’.

“I can’t. I need to unpack.”

“I can do that.”

Phoebe looks at him like he’s grown another head.

“No, you’ll just put things in the wrong place.”

Mulder sighs and accepts his punishment.

“Alright, where’s the leash?”

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the doggy pooping area is the third class deck but it does. He had looked for an actual area originally but there didn’t seem to be one that existed, he just followed the crowd in a sense and saw another dog doing its business down there.

He lets the dog get on with it, lets it take its time too, maybe it’ll wander too far to the rail and fall off the ship, but Mulder doubts he’s that lucky.

His attention moves away from the dog to the people. A man and his daughter who sits on the rails, her back against his chest, an arm securing her so she doesn’t fall off. The father points to the islands in the distance. Mulder can’t hear the words but he imagines that she’s telling her the names of them, maybe stories about who those people were. Maybe the man knows who the people were.

A second man, older than the first, sits on a bench with his eyes shut and lets the breeze ruffle what little hair he has.

Mulder’s eyes move to another little girl who kicks a ball over to a red-headed boy. The boy picks the ball up, turning his face to the sky and Mulder watches as he balances the ball on his nose like a sealion in a zoo. The little girl laughs and as does another girl with the same red hair as the boy. Mulder finds himself drawn to it and drawn to the girl, a genuine smile breaking out across his face for what feels like the first time in a long time, his stomach twisting and heart folding in on itself all in a good way as he stares at her. Whatever this feeling is, he likes it.

“How old you do think that boy is?” a voice beside him asks. Mulder startles, never even hearing the man approach. “Fifteen? Sixteen?” Mulder moves his gaze back over to the red haired boy. “When I was fifteen, my father sent me off to boarding school.”

“You envy them?” Mulder asks. Most people he’s met in his life scorn them, question how they could live like that. A change in tune is a nice welcome.

“A little bit. Makes you wonder what experiences he’s had this far.”

The boy turns and Mulder is taken back slightly by the gash on his face.

“He’s experienced a good punch if that cut is anything to go by,” Mulder laughs. He stretches his arm out towards the man. “I’m Mulder,” he says.

The name strikes no recognition with a man for which Mulder is absolutely grateful for.

“John Byers.”

Similarly, the name does strike any recognition for Mulder either. The two shake hands just as the dogs wander over. Mulder opens the gate, attaching the leash back onto Tuppence.

“I’ll see you at dinner, then?” Byers calls as Mulder makes his way back inside.

“Yes, you will.”

Dinner turns out to be a dull affair, minus the bit of drama beforehand: Phoebe’s hissy-fit at not “having anything to wear”. Mulder had got back to the room to find that everything had been packed away. The walk-in wardrobe he thought Phoebe would be fine with only has enough room to fit half her clothes into. She’d cried that she wasn’t prepared to live out of her suitcase for a week. Mulder had compromised, given up the small area he’d reserved for his clothes to fit the rest of Phoebe’s. Now his clothes reside in his father’s room.

All in all, the whole debacle had delayed them by thirty minutes.

Other than that, the dinner itself was a dull affair. Mulder was continuingly zoning out throughout it, his thoughts entirely focused upon the girl on the deck. Who was she? Why couldn’t he think of anything else? Why did he feel what he felt? What did he even feel?

“Fox…Fox…” he swears he hears his Mother saying.

It’s Phoebe’s sigh of annoyance that forces him out of his reverie.

“He’s doing that thing again, Mother.”

“Fox!” his father barks. Mulder looks to his father, dazed for a moment and fully aware he has no idea what conversation is going on. “Mr Skinner is speaking to you.”

Mulder looks towards the bald man, only now realising that he had joined their table.

“I’m sorry, Mr Skinner,” Mulder apologises. “You were saying?”

“I was just congratulating you and Miss Green on your engagement,” Skinner tells him.

Mulder smiles and reaches for Phoebe’s hand on the table, clasping their fingers together. Not showing anything is amiss, Phoebe smiles.

“Thank you, Mr Skinner,” Mulder says. He looks to Phoebe then. “My only wish is for this week to hurry so I can soon make Phoebe my wife officially.”

He brings the hand he holds to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss to the top of it. And Phoebe sincerely smiles at him.

Mulder’s never hated himself more.

Just as they’re finishing their third course does the conversation change once more. Mulder pays no mind to it, he nods when he’s expected to and that is all.

“You’re old friend Bill,” a man from the farther end of the table shouts over. “Spender- is he on the ship, do you know?”

“I saw his son before,” says Phoebe. “He didn’t look too happy.”

“You remember Jeffrey, don’t you, son?” Bill asks Mulder.

“Yes, he was in my Psychology class at Oxford,” Mulder answers simply before going back to his soup.

The man at the end of the table pipes up again. “I never saw the point in educating yourself on those types of subjects. Seems a waste of time.”

“Fox has a special knack for reading people, don’t you?”

Mulder nods. And I can read you people better than you think.

Dessert is on its way when the conversation changes once more. The man at the end of the table telling everyone, once again, that he has an opinion to make.

“Would anyone else sleep better knowing we weren’t sharing a boat with steerage?”

Mulder’s stomach twists.

“Mother and I saw some wandering down our hallway earlier. How they managed to get up there, I have no idea.”

“Maybe they were just lost, Phoebe,” Mulder says as gently as he can, the anger seething beneath.

“Whatever they’re excuse, a crewmember soon shouted at them to leave and off they scurried off.”

“Like rats in the woodwork, back down to the basement were they belong,” the man at the end of the table gruffly laughs.

“I’m sure they won’t be an issue anymore,” says Father.

Done with the conversation and dinner all together, Mulder denies dessert as its served.

“I just feel a bit sick,” Mulder says when questioned.

“You might have caught something off the docks earlier,” says Phoebe reaching up to touch his forehead. She looks to the gathering worriedly, “He is burning up.”

Mulder brings her hand away. “I’ll see you later on,” he says and with that he leaves the table, no kiss, no hug, no form of intimacy at all, he just leaves.

The breeze is welcomed from the hot and stuffy dining room. For all their visitors at the table Mulder hoped the man he met earlier- Byers- would have joined them. It would have been nice to know someone thought the same things as him.

He makes his way to the back of the ship, away from on-lookers and those who would judge him, happy to find the stern empty.

He walks over to the rails, feeling the cold oak between his fingers as he looks out to the darkness around him. His mind drifts back to earlier, to the father and daughter and he finds himself beginning to climb the rails.

His heart is in this throat every step. Mulder never considered himself afraid of much, if he was dared to do something he’d do it but maybe it’s the fact that he’s alone that scares him. Whenever a dare in involved there’s always at least another person, someone to catch you if you fall, someone to pull you back when they get too scared but out here it’s only him- only him, the ship, and the sea and if he falls that’s it.

He thinks about how that little girl must have felt. Was she scared at first? Did she refuse to sit on the rail for fear of falling? Was it only when she felt her father behind her, arms around her chest that she felt safe, that she knew she wasn’t going to fall?

“I hope you’re not considering jumping?”

Mulder startles, almost losing his balance in the process. He grips the rails tighter, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

A nervous laugh falls from his lips.

“I wasn’t until you nearly made me.”

“Sorry,” the woman says. A woman’s voice. “I just saw you climb up there and got a wee bit nervous, that’s all.”

Mulder twists slightly so he can see the person. As he turns, he almost falls again when he realises who’s standing there.

The red-headed girl from earlier.

“Maybe you should get down,” she says, face a full display of concern. She edges closer slowly. “It’s a long way down if you fall off.”

She leans against the rails just as he’d done earlier.

“Maybe I like the risk,” Mulder says, a façade of a fearless smile appearing across his face. Really, he was shitting bricks.

“You won’t like the fall,” she says, her voice serious, no hint of the playfulness he’s trying to have. “It’ll be like hitting concrete and if you just so happened to survive that, it won’t take long for the cold to get ye.”

Mulder looks down into the water directly below him.

“How long we talking?” he asks.

Her answer is quick, ready like she’d been prepared to answer all along.

“Thirty minutes for the hypothermia to kick in, one to two hours before you die.” The facts all out, she turns sombre and concerned once more. “Not exactly a quick death if that’s what you wanted.”

Gaining her point, he begins to twist on the rails, back to the sea as he jumps down.

“There,” he says, dusting himself off. “No harm done.” He looks down at her, realising just how much he towers over her. Phoebe is tall for a woman, almost his height in heels, but this girl…Mulder estimates she not much taller than 5’4.

He stretches out his hand, curious as to why the universe has thrown her in his path for a second time that day and even more curious to know why she knows so much about cold water.

“I’m Mulder.”

She ignores his hand, an eyebrow shooting up. “Mulder? I’m not entitled to a first name?”

Mulder laughs nervously again, throwing his arm to his side. “You don’t want to know it.”

She regards him, as if wondering whether he is worth an interest in or not.

“In that case…” she draws out. “I’m Scully.”

#a jewel beneath the moonlight #chapter 1 #updated #anniversary repost #i write

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years ago

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Becoming - Part Four

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 4/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff @just-the-hiddles @wolfsmom1 @theoneanna @hiddlescastle @sabine-leo @alexakeyloveloki @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart @ladyblablabla @trippedmetaldetector

Breakfast, while more than a touch uneasy, had been nowhere near as awkward as Tom feared it would be. Not that he’d set out expecting to be invited in, especially after turning up on their doorstep at just after eight in the morning with absolutely no warning at all. It had been an impulsive, reckless decision but Tom could not find it in himself to regret it. Even as Keira glared at him coolly, her hand resting on Jaime’s shoulder as the boy bounced excitedly. They passed several moments in awkward silence before she gave a curt nod and invited Tom into the house. It was abundantly clear to Tom that while she wasn’t against him being involved in the boy’s life, dropping by as if he had the right to do so as he pleased was a step too far in her book. But she hadn’t fought him on it and for that Tom was incredibly grateful.

An extra place had been set and Tom found himself pulled to sit next to a bright eyed Jaime who was speaking a mile a minute. He smiled indulgently as he took in the food laid on the table. Eggs, toast, crispy bacon, and sausages. Tom piled a fair amount onto his own plate, watching in fascination as Jaime ate between rapidly firing questions. His sleep logged mind struggled to keep up.

The coffee Keira had set before him was a godsend in more ways than one. He nodded at her, offering what he hoped she would see was a small, grateful smile. Things were never going to be easy between them, too much bad blood lingered between them for that, but Tom hoped somehow they would be able to find middle ground. For Jaime’s sake at least.

After breakfast, Jaime had lead his newly discovered father into the back garden to run and play. The weather was thankfully warm and surprisingly dry in a way that Tom was certain was tempting the weather gods. Especially this late in the year. They ran about for what felt like ages until Keira called them back inside, sending the boy upstairs to wash up and change for the day. Tom found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, wondering if he was overstepping the unspoken lines Keira had laid at the start of this. No matter what he or Jaime felt, Keira was the boy’s legal guardian. He was bound by her rules unless he took the steps to change it and with his life as uncertain as it was, that day seemed far off indeed.

Things weren’t exactly easy after that strange morning, but they were slowly drifting in that direction. Jaime had clung to the idea of Tom as his father in a way Tom hadn’t expected. The boy was a mess of questions, curiosity, and joy. Over the years, in countless interviews, he’d been asked to describe his idea of happiness. And he’d always had the same, sweet but safely generic answers; lyrics or a quote he’d heard years ago. Things that captured the idea but not perhaps his reality of it. Never the real answer; his family or the first time he’d acted on stage, his first time on a set. Things that, looking back, were wonderful…But now, now he knew with absolute certainty that his happiness was seeing the pure unadulterated joy in the eyes of his little boy.

It amazed him at times, thinking that something so simple, so small in the scheme of things, could come to mean so very much. Things were better yes…But they still had a long way to go.

While Jaime had taken to Tom’s new role in his life like a duck to water, Keira had been wary. She didn’t hinder the relationship growing between Tom and Jaime nor did she actively encourage it. It had been a constant source of frustration for Tom. He knew why she acted the way she did, understood his behavior in regards to her daughter coloured the way she viewed him now. And he couldn’t fault her for that. Had he been in her position, Tom couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same.

But he knew, even if he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, that sooner rather than later they would need to sit and talk, properly talk, about what was happening. About the role Tom would play in Jaime’s life.

Tom had intended to find time to set aside to do just that, had even called his agent about starting to look for a good family solicitor should push indeed come to shove, but as it always did his life managed to throw itself in the way. He’d known filming for his latest project was coming up, and much sooner than he liked, but he hadn’t predicted the change in schedule which pushed up his need to be on set by a good three weeks. All the time he’d thought he’d had to prepare Jaime (and in all honesty, to prepare himself) for the looming separation his work would bring had been snatched from him. They needed him in five days’ time.

He’d cursed after his agent had broken the news (a call shortly after he’d made it in the door from his morning run) and cursed a great deal more when it hit him he’d have to explain, yet again, to Jaime why he had to leave sooner than he’d promised. It killed him to think about the disappointment he knew he’d see in his little boy’s eyes. Disappoint that he, again, would be the sole cause of.

They’d had so many things planned in those three weeks; trips to the park, the zoo, playdates and other things Tom’s agent and Luke most definitely hadn’t been thrilled with (especially without any formal public statement regarding his newly found status as a father) but begrudgingly agreed to look the other way. Things Tom himself had been looking forward to. How could he not, with the way Jaime’s face had lit up whenever he talked about it? And now he had to crush that hope, had to disappoint him yet again. The all too familiar doubts raged; would he every truly be a good father for Jaime? Didn’t Jaime deserve someone who could be there? Who could keep the promises they’d made?

His mother’s voice, who had swiftly become his voice of reason (had been for the majority of his life if he was being completely honest), scoffed at him. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think the boy deserves, you are what he has. And you will find a way to make it work, even if it’s far from ideal. You will make it work because you don’t have any other choice.’

Jaime had been understandably upset by the news, tearful and not quite understanding why the father he’d just found had to leave again and so quickly. Tom did his best, again and again, in those few days leading up to his departure to explain as best he could the whys of his leaving. To explain that it didn’t mean Tom loved him any less or that he didn’t want to be his daddy anymore (when Jaime had uttered those words Tom was sure his heart had broken into a thousand sharp and painful shards). This was a temporary thing; he would be available by phone or by video and that as soon as he could he would be home.

Keira said nothing but watched him with knowing eyes. Tom knew the picture he must be painting and hated that in her eyes he was only proving her opinion of him correct. But what could he honestly do? He was under contract and breaking it now would cause more trouble and strife than it was worth. Not that he hadn’t tried, but his agent (and his solicitors) had been firm. Walking out now would be as good as blacklisting himself. He’d already lost enough good will over the stunt he’d pulled several months back. Backing out of another project so soon after…That would certainly be the final nail in the coffin. And then what would he do? Acting was as much a part of his life as breathing. And as selfish as it was, Tom wasn’t sure he could ever fully walk away.

He let her quiet stares go, the fight that would ensue should he push the matter wasn’t one he thought himself mentally ready for. Not at this time. But he’d spoken to both Luke and his agent and started the ball rolling, he would be ready and he would fight tooth and nail if he had to. He was Jaime’s father and he owed it to not only the boy but to himself and to Eliza to be the best father he could be. To be as fully involved in his life as he was able to be.

Tom kissed and hugged Jaime goodbye on the last day before he was scheduled to fly out. They’d played in his grandmother’s back garden and Tom promised to call as soon as he had settled to show Jaime his temporary home. The drive back to London had been hellish; traffic was a nightmare and his nerves were only serving to make the already short fuse of his temper glow hotter still. He’d snapped at Luke when his friend had called reminding him of his flight details and when the car would be around to drive him to Heathrow. Tom had apologized immediately after, it wasn’t Luke’s fault and god knows he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes in this upcoming production. Didn’t want to slip back into that angry, frustrated man he’d been.

“You’re tired, mate. And you’re stressed. So I will let that slide, just work on keeping yourself in check. I like working with you Tom, but lately you’ve been making me earn my pay and I’m not entirely sure I like that.”

What was said no doubt in jest wriggled in the back Tom’s mind the rest of that evening and well into the following day. He’d managed to scrape up enough sleep to not be a complete mess when the hire car arrived in the morning. His bags had been packed and left by the door the night before and his carryon was at his side. He threw in the last of the bits and bobs he needed for the journey and headed out into the pre-dawn light.

Bags packed securely in the trunk of the car, they sped off towards Heathrow and towards months of long, hard work that normally spiked a fevered excitement in him but now left him on edge and apprehensive. Once he got settled into a routine, he knew the unease would ebb away but until then…

The flight was long and despite the perks of first class flying, the seats were never terribly comfortable and sleep was elusive. When he’d finally disembarked the only thing on Tom’s mind was the warm, comfy bed awaiting him. The drive from the airport to the hotel had been long enough that Tom found himself nodding off in the backseat. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when the driver shook his shoulder to wake him. Check in was mercifully a quiet, easy process and before he was consciously aware of it, Tom was in his room and laying face first onto the cool, white duvet. He drifted off again, only to be woken by the ringing of his mobile.

Confused and still in the clutches of sleep, it took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to recognize the sound for what it was and then to dig his mobile from his trouser pocket. He smiled, blearily as he recognized the number and slid his finger across the screen to answer.

“Jaime, lad.”

Filming had gone far better than Tom had dared hope, especially given its inauspicious start. He enjoyed his role and had developed a genuine report with his cast-mates. It was nice to be able to escape into someone else’s life for a short time. To live through someone else’s emotions. He spoke with Jaime nearly every day, enjoying the small bits of information Jaime told him of his day. He’d shared what he could as well, sending Jaime pictures of himself in make-up and costume. Taking him on a virtual tour of the set. Reading bedtime stories to him. Time did not speed by, but it passed soon enough.

When wrap was called after just over three months, Tom felt both an acute sadness that the end of filming almost always brought in him and an immense relief that he would be home soon. He’d managed to duck out of the wrap party after a few hours and was thankfully dropped off at the airport shortly thereafter (he had packed before heading to the party, checked out of his hotel, and left the baggage stored safely in the back of the hire car). He spent the entire flight back to the UK in nervous excitement.

He’d rushed home from the airport, grateful to shower and sleep in his own bed. His sister had thankfully stopped by the day before to air out the house and to make sure his fridge and pantry were stocked. He had people who could easily have done this for him, and he’d used said people in the past, but this time his sister had gotten the idea in her head and nothing could budge her from it.

Tom woke the next morning, confused but comfortable. It took him several moments to remember he was home. He blinked at the dimly lit room, getting his bearings. He’d no idea what time it was, hadn’t even remembered putting himself to bed. He glanced at the bedside table, midafternoon then. Which meant he’d slept at least ten hours. That’ll do wonders with acclimating to BST, he thought with a groan. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. He needed to get up and get back into a routine or he’d never get himself back on track.

Padding downstairs, he fixed himself a cup of coffee and set about throwing together a light breakfast. Once finished he ate it hastily, carrying the plate into the living room and settling on the sofa where he set about checking his mobile for missed calls or texts. He had a few from Luke and from his agent, which he returned. A solicitor had been arranged regarding his paternity claim should he wish to pursue custody. He also had a few interviews scheduled for later in the week regarding various projects.

There were messages from his mum and sister as well as one from Jaime. He sighed as he played the message from his son, guilt coursing through him. He’d mean to call Jaime once he’d made it home but must have passed out before he’d done so. He called him back, apologizing and explaining that he’d gotten in late and fallen asleep soon after. Jaime seemed to accept this and immediately launched into a tale about his day, asking breathlessly after when Tom was going to come by. As soon as he showered, Tom promised (Keira be damned). Excited at the prospect of seeing his daddy, Jaime ended the call with a happy laugh. Tom chuckled to himself, taking the stairs two at a time.

The conflict with Keira came to a head a few short weeks later. After a trip to the park, and while Jaime had been upstairs in his room, Keira’s quiet disapproval became too much. He hadn’t meant to call her out as he did, had intended on trying to keep the conversation civil but stress and frustration (both at her attitude and at the sneaking suspicion that he’d seen a photographer at the park watching him and Jaime) had brought his words out with far more force than he had intended. Keira had been taken aback, clearly not expecting such vehemence and had fired back with equal force. It was only after hearing Jaime’s footsteps on the landing that the two seemed to remember themselves.

They plastered smiles on their faces and put the matter aside until after the lad had been fed, washed, and sent to bed. It was clear this was a conversation neither of them were delighted about having but one they knew needed to come to pass. Keira put forth her opinion that while Tom was biologically linked to Jaime, that didn’t mean he was able to be a proper parent to the boy. Jaime needed structure, support, stability. Tom worked a great deal and often in far flung locations. With Jaime preparing to start his schooling, what would that kind of disruption do to him?

Her words stung. They were things he’d thought himself and often. But he had a right to be as involved in Jaime’s life as he could be and he’d said as much. Yes, his work meant his life was less structured or home based than most, but it wouldn’t always be. Now that this project was completed, his future work would be much more local. And save for promotional work, his schedule was clearer than it had been in years. He wanted have a tangible, legal stake in Jaime’s life. That didn’t mean he was planning to snatch him from her or that he wanted to turn the boy’s life on its head. He simply wanted to have a say in his life, to be responsible for him in more than just name.

“Jaime is my son, Keira. He is all I have left of Eliza. I messed up terribly with her and I can never, ever take that back. I won’t let that happen with Jaime, not if I can help it.” Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to do this as friendly as I possibly can but make no mistake I will take this as far as I need to. Please, please let us do this in a way that will cause the least disruption to his life.”

Tensions still running high, Tom had left and spent his entire drive home wondering what the hell he was going to do. Keira called the next morning and told him that if he was serious then maybe it was time solicitors were engaged. The words sent a shiver of real fear through his gut, though he didn’t truly think she’d meant then in any malicious way. The courts would need to be involved, in some capacity and Tom had always known that. But the irrational part of his brain worried that in doing so he would be inciting a chain of events that could bring the boy more harm than good.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Becoming #original child character #grief #guilt #Dad!Tom #winterisakiller writes

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #341

“anger, misery, you’ll suffer unto me”

Would you risk your life to save a total stranger? I don't think so. Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument? No, and I never would. Grow up. Have you ever done something because of peer pressure you are ashamed of? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever been embarrassed to introduce your parents to anyone? No. Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it? Yeah; guilt would eat me alive otherwise. Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot? Fucking ew, no. Have you ever held back a well-deserved compliment because you were jealous? No. Do you guilt people into giving you what you want? Ugh, no. Would most people consider you better than average looking? Ha, no. For yourself, would you rather have a perfect body or high IQ? Give me the perfect body, living in my horrible one has affected my mental health badly enough. I'm fine with having a moderate IQ. I just want to feel happy in my own skin. Have you ever embarrassed some intentionally in public? Wow, no. Have you ever used a false ID? Also no. Are you embarrassed to tell people your job? I'm embarrassed to tell people I don't HAVE a job. Do you remember the first conversation you had with the person you have feelings for? I don't. I'm sure it was RP-related and not friendly, but I don't remember the exact convo. Have you ever got a D or F on your report card? I want to say no; I think the lowest I ever got was a C. If you had twins, would you give them rhyming names? Ugh, no. I'm sorry if you're into it, but I'm just not. I would want to ensure they knew their uniqueness and individuality was seen. Is there anyone that you wish was IN your life who used to be? There's a large number of those kinds of people. What brings out the worst in you? Probably when I'm building up towards a PTSD meltdown. I get VERY short and snappy and am convinced everyone hates and wants to leave me. My mouth also has NO fucking leash, and I know I can say very mean things that I'll regret later. What do you prefer, Skittles or Starbursts? Skittles. Mike & Ikes or Jolly Ranchers? Jolly Ranchers for sure. What is your favorite thing to eat with peanut butter? Waffles (with syrup). Don't knock it 'til you try it, I'm telling you. What are some wild animals commonly found where you live? Besides birds obviously, there's squirrels, deer, opossums, raccoons... Have you ever had a lucid dream? I think I've had just one. What's your biggest problem at the moment? Probably my anxiety having stunted my growth in so many areas. Have you ever turned down a job offer? I don't think so, no. What's the longest hospital stay you've had? For what? I think my longest was almost two months for suicidal thoughts. Two months might sound long, but it was like... my third or so psych hospital stay for that same reason. What's something really basic that you're terrible at? Even the most simple math. I don't even know the majority of my elementary multiplication tables. Have you ever hugged someone for over a minute? Yeah. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? I have one there already, but I plan on getting it covered because it was an impulse tattoo that I feel no connection towards. Have you ever searched for your house on Google Earth? My old house, yeah. Are you a beach, country, or city person? Country. Living in the suburbs has definitely reminded me of that... Are you faster at text messaging or typing on the computer? Typing, by a long shot. I make typos texting too much. Have you ever kissed anybody who had a mustache? Yeah. Who is the last person that you said "I love you" to, besides family members? Sara. When was your first real relationship? Sophomore year of high school to early college. Have you ever cried over an ex? I've cried the entire mass of water on Earth over an ex lmao. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes. Is there something really bad that you’ve done, that only YOU know about? No. Have you ever copied someone else’s homework? I think I have once or twice, but obviously with consent. What’s a hobby you would like to try out? If my legs worked like actual legs and I didn't sweat like an absolute pig, I would like to try out herping, but without actually interacting with the animal like picking it up and scaring the daylights out of it. I'd just be happy enough looking for reptiles, amphibians, and inverts to photograph instead. Does that still even count as herping? What was the last event you attended? My youngest niece's birthday party. How about the last event you organized? I've never organized an event. What’s something you get excited about doing and want to do it right away? Whenever I take nature pictures, I'm immediately keen to get them into Lightroom and do the postproduction. Is there anything you feel you’re better at than anybody else? Definitely not. What’s the biggest insect you’ve ever seen? If you exclude places like the zoo, that would probably be a rhinoceros beetle or something. Oh no, actually some kind of local moth I don't know the name of. They're beautiful big white boiz. How about the biggest spider? I might be mis-remembering, but I believe at a reptile convention I went to with Sara, one of the vendors had a goliath bird eater tarantula in one of the cups. I do know it was some tarantula species for sure, though. Who was the first person to break your heart? My dad. Obviously not romantically, but him just splitting on the family with no proper communication absolutely broke my heart for years. First person to give you flowers or candy on Valentine’s day? I'm sure that would be my parents. If you exclude them 'cuz that's kinda obvious, I believe it was Aaron, my first boyfriend. I'm pretty sure we were together on Valentine's Day, because I remember getting him a giant Hershey's Kiss. First band you obsessed about? I wasn't truly obsessed with any band 'til Ozzy in middle school. Can you do a backflip? No; I've never tried and never will. I was and still am too afraid of breaking my neck. Like I have a MASSIVE fear of paralysis, particularly from the neck down; that fear is actually the biggest one that keeps me from driving, fun fact. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Of the two, definitely a pessimist, but I at least think I align most with being a realist. What’s the biggest lie you’ve told someone? I'm unsure. Have you ever been hit on by someone of the same sex? Yeah. How many doors are in the room you’re in? Just one. Have you ever been engaged and broke it off? No. Has anyone ever drawn a picture of you? Tyler once drew a picture of him and me. It was cute. That guy still dove in WAY too fast. Have you ever dated a redhead? I haven't, but I love redheads. Natural red hair is just gorgeous. What are your thoughts on facial hair on guys? Historically, I seem to generally like some, but it really depends on the guy's general appearance. I can like none at all or a full beard and mustache, it doesn't really matter to me. Did you go anywhere today? No; my mom is in Florida with her brothers totally cleaning out Grammy's house, so she's not here to take me anywhere. Do you have any nieces or nephews? Oh yikes, I have a lot. I honestly can't count because I've lost track of how many boys and girls Katie has. You have a choice to shoot your father or die, what would you do? Jesus. I'd rather die; some things just aren't worth living after, and I'd have no desire to keep going if I killed my father. Did you ever cry at the end of King Kong? I've never watched it, actually, but I. LOVED. The video game. I haven't played it in years and only faintly remember how it ends, but I don't remember crying. Are you in any amount of pain at the moment? Quite a lot, actually. It's kinda a TMI subject so I won't delve into it, just know I'm hurting like a bitch. What was the last sugary thing you ate? I snacked on some chocolate chips earlier today... which I really shouldn't have done, but I think I had reasonable restraint and didn't totally binge. When was the last time you did something extremely stupid? Who knows, that's not a rare occurrence, it feels like. Have you been to any parties lately? Only my niece's bday party in February. Thankfully it was kept pretty small, given Covid; not that anyone in that family besides my sister gives a flying fuck about precautions, though... Can you touch your pinky to your thumb around your wrist? Ugh, no. Close, but not enough. I still have thin wrists and hands, but yeah, yay for being overweight. If you were to start a charity, what would you call it? I'd hve to put more thought than I'm willing for one survey question. I'd have to decide what KIND of charity I want to start first, which I'm unsure of. Probably something related to animal wellfare and conservation or something similar to the Trevor Project. Maybe LBGTQ+ youth disowned by their families... I dunno. There's so much good I wish I could do. Are you comfortable with your body? Holy fuck no. It's only gotten worse since I started gaining weight again and almost entirely erased all weight loss progress I'd made. What is your recent inside joke? Most recently made? Idk, man. I don't make those often. Would you rather be a human, vampire, or a werewolf? Er, I'm good with being a human. If I was a vampire or werewolf, I wouldn't exactly be very welcomed, I'm sure, and both have seemingly painful traits to cope with. Are you good at giving directions? It is absolutely impossible for me. I have NO sense of direction, like, at all. I don't know highway names, local exits, etc. etc. etc. etc. Why did you last curse? Pain when readjusting myself due to aforementioned issue I'm having. What is your purpose in life? I hope it involves animals and spreading words of peace and an appreciation for art. What is one of your weak points? I'm very, very, very dependent on others. I'm really working on trying to correct that. I can barely do shit on my own as is. Who was the last person you heard snoring? My cat, haha. Would you rather shower by yourself or with another person? 100% by myself. Another person would just get in the way and make me VERY self-conscious of my body, even if it was my romantic partner. Just please leave me alone to hate myself for 10 minutes. :^) What was your last addiction? You could say my current one is John Wolfe, a really funny let's player I've gotten into. Been bingeing some of my favorite games he has playlists of for a few weeks now. You are in a tank full of spiders, what do you do? Well one, I'd like to know what kind they are. Venomous? Harmless? You gotta give me the details. If I don't have any, then I'm admittedly freaking the fuck out, even though I know I should stay very calm when trying to get out. Fear would win, though. If killing yourself meant saving the world, would you? Saving the world from what? But odds are, yeah. I don't cherish my pretty damn mediocre life more than I do the lives of what, 8 billion people? Have you ever stayed up all night just to talk to someone? Yeah. When was the last time you eavesdropped someone? I kinda do that sometimes when Mom's on the phone and I can hear her from my room, and if they're on speaker. Particularly if the subject is me. When was the last time you went to a club? I've never been to one. How have you been sleeping? Poorly. Are you adopted? No, I'm not. Do you like scrapbooking? Not really, no. Do you collect anything valuable? "Valuable to me." <<<< This. Nothing of great monetary worth, though. Have you ever been beaten up? No, thankfully. Do you know anyone with an eating disorder? I don't think so, in my personal life. What was the last thing you killed? An ant. Have you ever used someone for money? I never could, no. When was the last time you went to the zoo? Sigh, it's been many many years. I'm so ready to get my goddamn legs back in shape so I can go again, this time with a REAL camera, too. Last time I went was when I still only had a Kodak EasyShare; I have a professional Canon camera now with much more education on photography too, so I would be in absolute heaven with at least twenty memory cards in need, haha. Maybe next fall... Is there a teacher you hate more than anything? I actually never had a teacher I hated in my entire school career. It really, really is as simple as just being a respectful student. In most cases, I should emphasize, because I do understand some educators just suck. Now I had some teachers I wasn't very fond of, but most certainly none that I hated. Do you own colored eyeliner? No. Do you have manners? I honestly think I'm very mannerly. When was the last time that you had a pet that died? We last had to put my dog Teddy down; he had cancer and was literally withering away. I knew in my very core that even if we didn't bring him to the vet to euthanize him, he would've died naturally in a very short period of time; I doubt he would've survived another night. Now I'd like to move on. What is your favorite medication that you take, and why? The combination of Vraylar and Lamictal is the reason I'm alive. It keeps my bipolarity and depression under control. Do you decorate Mason jars? No, but those are some of my favorite crafts visually. They're very pretty and cute. Can you see the mountains from where you live? Oh hunny, I wish. Did you ever play pranks on April Fool’s Day? As a kid, yeah. I don't anymore. I'm not really even a fan of April Fool's Day as an adult because of how cruel some jokes assholes play are. Which instrument would you play if you could learn to play one? Maybe violin. Do you part your hair on the left side, right side, or in the middle? The left. What are some names you like that start with the first letter of your name? Uhhhh Bianca, Braelynn (look I know it's so stereotypically Southern but it's pretty)... and idk from there, those are the two that come to mind first.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''harvester of sorrow'' by metallica

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