#twelve hours straight

[jade-of-mourning]

they were all kinda squishy at the start

[stromer]

demmer and his two kiddos <3

[hardly-an-escape]

A Close Shave | Dream/Hob | 2150 words | Rated G

tags: retired!Dream, shaving, unmitigated yearning and longing, the pining is probably mutual but you only get Hob's POV

“Been meaning to ask," Hob says. "How are you feeling about... this?"

He gestures to his chin, the stubble there, and across the table, Dream slowly puts down his spoon. Even more slowly, he raises one hand to his own chin and runs the backs of his fingers along the newly-grown layer of hair there.

It’s been a little over a month, and by now Hob is used to the speed – or rather, lack thereof – with which Dream finds it necessary to live his freshly-human life. A month, since Dream had chosen to live, and chosen to live with Hob, taking over the spare room and filling it with books and soft cardigans and snacks as he learned his own likes and dislikes as Dream-the-human.

It still feels to Hob as though there’s a minor miracle sitting across the breakfast table, now thoughtfully fondling the brand-new beard on his chin.

“Ah,” Dream says eventually. “You mean this. The hair on my face. Yes, I have noticed it.”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before,” Hob says neutrally.

“I suppose I never felt the need to manifest one when I visited the Waking World,” Dream says. He returns most of his attention to his oatmeal. It still requires some concentration, to hold the spoon steady; to make sure it reaches his mouth without spilling. Hob watches for a moment, impressed all over again with Dream’s willingness to try.

“Does it bother you, having one now?” he asks.

“Why would it bother me? It is a part of my body, is it not?”

Hob, wisely, refrains from mentioning the other body parts and functions – the sunburn, the stubbed toe, the sensations of hunger and dizziness and nausea, the need for sleep and to relieve himself – which have bothered Dream an inordinate amount over the past four weeks.

“But do you like it?” Hob presses gently. “I mean, one of the great things about being human is that it’s pretty easy to change our looks, generally speaking. Maybe not as easy as just… manifesting. But still. You get to choose what you look like, whether it’s a beard or clean-shaven, or, or pink hair. Or anything. Infinite variety.”

Dream puts his spoon down again and brings both hands up to his face. His palms cup either side of his chin and his long, narrow fingers stroke gently, from the downy hairs peppering his cheekbones, down into the hollows of his cheeks (not quite as gaunt as they used to be, Hob notes with a swell of gratitude), and then along the line of his chin to where it ends in a devastating little point.

In the morning light, with his face framed by those artistic fingers and a look of such solemn concentration on his features, he looks like a statue; a religious icon, perhaps, contemplative and blessed. His eyes are closed and his rosebud of a mouth is very pink and very slightly open.

Hob has to dig his fingernails into his own thigh to stop himself from reaching out and running his own fingers down Dream’s cheek, or brushing his thumb along that unfairly soft-looking bottom lip.

“Hm,” Dream says finally. “I do not think I dislike the beard. But equally, I am not sure that I like it. I am not sure that my face… feels like me.”

“Well,” Hob says. “You can shave it off, if you want. See if you feel more like yourself. I can – I can help you. Obviously.”

Obviously. Obviously. He supposes it is obvious – it must be – how desperately he wants to help Dream. How abject his desire to make this fragile, human life a little more bearable, in any small way he can.

“Yes,” says Dream. “I would… like that. Thank you.”

Hob drags a kitchen chair into the bathroom. Digs out his softest hand towel and wets it with hot water before wrapping it carefully around Dream’s face and neck. He chatters idly as he gathers his supplies: random recollections about his favorite Turkish bath in London, which had gone out of business during the Great War, and the Russian steambaths and Finnish saunas he’s seen during his travels.

He doesn’t use his old straight razor much anymore, preferring a good reusable safety razor for himself when he’s going clean shaven, but he’s always found a well-honed, old-fashioned cutthroat to be more comfortable when shaving someone else. And he keeps his razors, like any tool, in good condition whether he’s using it regularly or not; the mother-of-pearl handle is clean and polished, the joint moves smoothly, and the blade gleams.

Dream watches through hooded eyes as Hob strops the razor and mixes up the suds of shaving foam. He loads up the soft bristle brush before removing the towel and making sure Dream is positioned in front of the mirror.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Hob says. “I’m going to start by just doing your neck and cheeks, clean up the edges a bit. You might like it more when it looks like an intentional beard, not just a couple weeks’ worth of shaggy growth. And if you’re still not feeling it, we’ll shave the rest. Sound okay?”

Dream nods, and Hob goes to work.

Touching Dream is – not difficult, not exactly. If anything, it’s too easy. Hob’s fingertips hunger for the soft brush of Dream’s skin, for the fluff of his dark hair, for his stubble and his slender hands and the little creases in the corners of his eyes. In those earliest mad days, when Dream hadn’t even been strong enough to walk on his own, Hob had manhandled him matter-of-factly. He’d helped him walk, and dress, and eat; taught him how the bathtub worked and washed his body, cheerfully ignoring the furious flush on Dream’s face at the indignity of needing to be cared for. They’d gotten through it.

He’s mature enough to admit to himself that he misses it, now that Dream has gained enough strength of body and mind to do it all for himself. There’s something so intimate about that contact with another person: about being needed in that particular intense way. It’s heady. The longing for it almost chokes him, sometimes, with how badly he wants it: to hoist Dream in his arms and cradle him against his chest. To wash his hair and rub him gently dry. To hold a cup of water or warm milk to those perfect lips.

But Hob, for all his faults, is trying so hard not to be an asshole these days. So he doesn’t touch Dream that way, now that it isn’t needed – now that he isn’t needed. No matter how much he might like to.

Until now.

Now, for just a moment, he lets himself indulge. Runs his hungry fingertips along the soft, vulnerable curves of Dream’s throat and the firmer lines of his jaw as he brushes on the shaving foam. Tips his head gently this way and that, revels guiltily in how biddable Dream is as he sits quietly in the chair.

Hob takes his time with the actual shaving, both out of caution (perhaps even a bit of terror, that he might inadvertently mark that precious skin) and out of a desire to linger over the experience for as long as he can get away with. Unfortunately, shaving just a person’s neck doesn’t really take that long, regardless of how carefully one does it. Within just a handful of minutes, he is carefully wiping the last spot of soap from the hollow of Dream’s throat and turning him fully toward the bathroom mirror.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He turns his head from side to side, surveying his reflection. Then he tilts his chin up and runs his fingers down the newly-soft skin of his neck. Hob’s fingertips tingle. He knows the sensation Dream is experiencing, knows it intimately: the smoothness of the hairless skin, the slight tackiness of the moisturizer. Knows it from his own face, and from the faces of lovers over the decades, and even from poor, long-dead Robyn’s face, when he’d taught his son to shave.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Dream meets his eye in the mirror.

“I think I would like to have the rest of it off,” he says. “If you would not mind…?”

“No problem,” says Hob softly.

They go through the whole ritual once more: the hot towel, mixing up the foam. Hob strops the razor again, just to be sure. This time he carefully rubs a little pre-shave oil into Dream’s beard to soften the hairs as much as possible, then covers his face with the thick foam.

“I don’t really know if the oil does much,” he admits, “but the last time I went for a proper shave at a barber’s, the bloke who did it swore by the stuff. I guess I’m a sucker for a good upsell. And it does smell nice.”

It takes much longer this time, of course. He finishes the first pass, wipes Dream’s face, lathers him again and goes for a second pass. He leaves Dream’s sideburns mostly alone, just taking them up enough to blend in with the hair falling shaggy over his ears – if Dream wants a haircut that will have to be another adventure, to a real barber or a salon, because Hob doesn’t trust himself with that kind of artistry, not where Dream is concerned.

He narrates as he goes, describing the best angle to hold the blade, how to gently pull the skin taut to avoid nicks, when to go with the grain of the hair and when to scrape against it. Reminiscing further on his favorite barbers and spas and on a broad history of facial hair and shaving. He is babbling a bit, he knows, but he tells himself it’s for educational purposes; that this kind of general knowledge could potentially serve Dream well as he navigates a new human life.

He’s certainly not talking in order to distract himself from the sensation of Dream’s skin and the soft sounds of Dream’s breath, or to stop himself from saying something much more revealing and embarrassing. Like how he wants to take care of Dream for the rest of time. Or how badly he wants to see if his skin is as soft all the way down as it is in the tender place just behind his ear. Or how fiercely grateful he is that Dream has chosen to live, to try, to be here, to sit in a kitchen chair and eat oatmeal, to sit in this bathroom and let Hob run his fingers down the line of his jaw, over and over, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of skin he’s allowed to touch as he runs the razor over the valleys of Dream’s cheeks.

He will never run out of words to say to Dream – or words he wishes he could say – but eventually he does run out of skin to shave. At his direction, Dream leans over the sink and rinses his face with cold water, then gently pats in aftershave while Hob meticulously dries his razor and clears away the shaving tackle.

Then it’s quiet in the little bathroom for a long, long moment while Dream reexamines his face in the mirror.

“Well?” Hob says eventually, so low it’s almost a whisper. He allows himself one last touch. Drops his hand onto Dream’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dream makes eye contact in the mirror, and Hob is shocked by a swift bolt of recognition. Here, in front of him, is Dream – his Stranger, his centennial mystery – so different, so human, and yet, suddenly, so familiar. It could almost be 1489 again, save the electric lighting; his hair is nearly long enough, and the imperious pout is back on his lips.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Hob, I –” he trails off. Breathes. “I am me.”

Hob squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course you are.”

“No, you misunderstand. I – I recognize myself,” Dream says, unconsciously echoing Hob’s thoughts. “I see a man, and he looks like me.” He meets Hob’s eye in the mirror once again. “I – thank you.”

Dream’s eyes are, unaccountably, welling up with tears, as beautiful and delicate as the rest of him. Hob does the only thing he can think to do, which is to drop his chin to Dream’s shoulder, lay his own hairy cheek alongside Dream’s newly-smooth, freshly-scented face, wrap his arms around Dream’s bony chest, and hold him.

One of Dream’s hands comes up and wraps itself around Hob’s wrist, and they stay that way for a long time: Dream in the kitchen chair, in front of the bathroom mirror, and Hob behind him, holding him, crouched somewhat uncomfortably, but exactly where he wants to be.

---

this has been languishing in my drafts for absolute ages and I wish it hadn't taken me so ding dang long but it is what it is || this two cakes situation is inspired by @watercubebee's art and dedicated to her and @valeriianz 🎂🎂 || art, Kris's ficlet (plus part two)

read on AO3 >>>

[genshin-impact-updates]

Scarlet Sand Sojourn — The web event for Genshin Impact's new character: Dehya is now available.

The desert is home to the sands.

>>Click to Take Part in Event<<

〓Event Duration〓

February 24, 2023 12:00 – March 2, 2023, 23:59 (UTC+8)

〓Eligibility〓

Adventure Rank 10 or above

〓Event Summary〓

During the event, complete Dehya's and Dunyarzad's desert outing and collect all the travel experiences on the way to receive in-game item rewards.

〓Gameplay Details〓

1. During the event, complete Dehya's and Dunyarzad's desert outing and collect all the travel experiences on the way to receive in-game item rewards.

2. Interact with special items in the scenery to collect travel experiences.

〓In-Game Rewards〓

Complete Dehya's and Dunyarzad's desert outing and collect all the travel experiences on the way to receive in-game rewards such as Primogems and Character Ascension Materials.

〓Event Notes〓

1. Please log in to the event using your HoYoverse Account and select your corresponding character in Genshin Impact to take part. This will ensure that your rewards can be sent and claimed correctly.

2. The event wallpaper is not available after the event ends. Please claim it in time.

3. After you've collected all travel experiences, the in-game rewards will be distributed via in-game mail. The mail will expire after 30 days, so don't forget to claim the rewards in time.

4. Please note that the web event cannot be accessed during Version Update Maintenance. After Version Update Maintenance is completed, you will be able to access the web event as normal.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Kanaya: So What Has Been Going On With You Lately

John: you know, the usual.

Kanaya:

Kanaya: What Is The Usual

John: ...

John: hm.

John: i don't know, actually.

Kanaya: Cool

Kanaya: So I Am Going To Guess You Have Not Been Doing Great

[finzphoenix]

Okay, last one for today. Sorry for the art spam!^^" This time just the boys being snuck and comfy because I craved some tenderness 🖤🤍

Thank you @stryshttu, for being the source of my inspiration for this one! ^///^

[savoureuxx]

"evil is just destructive? storms are evil, if it's that simple."

hannibal & will / this tornado loves you - neko case

[aq2003]

a criticism that i absolutely despise about thirteen is the "she's socially awkward, less confident, and more nervous about coming off as weird and this is out of character" take. because this ties into one of her defining character traits as an incarnation. yes all the doctors previous have been strange and offputting to some degree and have mainly not cared about coming off that way (save for ten, who mostly does want to come off as a friendly affable dude and asks if he's being rude sometimes but doesn't have moments where he's apologetic about his oddness in itself). but for thirteen her whole deal is that after twelve's dying wish was basically "ALWAYS BE NICE TO PEOPLE NO MATTER HOW MUCH ETERNAL RAGE AND SADNESS YOU KEEP IN YOUR SOUL" she tries to hide/repress any negative, less "presentable" sides of her from her close friends even when they can tell she's trying to hide it and are attempting to offer emotional support. she tries to be conscious of how she comes off after like, centuries of not really giving a fuck about this. and she clearly struggles with it and this is why she feels so fish-out-of-water in multiple different ways. it's not out of nowhere nor is it ooc (especially bc it was something you saw a little bit of with ten)

[staygoldsunshine]

Getting really sick from a stomach virus is the Worst, but it's also hilarious when the little writer in my brain kicks in and goes "Oh yeah, I know how to describe fever chills perfectly now. The constant waking and sleeping cycle? Nightmarish. We're using this." It did the same thing a few months ago when, whilst eating my lunch I managed to bite a chunk out of my tongue, and suddenly understood perfectly how to describe the sensation of blood filling your mouth.

Being a writer is great.

[which-star]

the bond between a girl and their favorite music artist from middle school cannot be broken forever ever and ever. btw

[fratboykate]

Just a desperate anon, politely asking if this was ever posted 👀👀👀 or if it could be added to the potential writer-strike queue if it wasn’t. I am crossing my fingers it wasn’t eaten by tumblr or notes…

https://www.tumblr.com/fratboykate/711128923636908032/papi-we-need-the-stepmom-angst-its-a-matter-of

You must've crossed those fingers really hard because you sent this two weeks ago and are now getting it three whole days before the strike lol. Here's almost 10k of...them. Mom!AU is officially back from the war too.

///

"Do NOT bring those boots into the apartment, Ri. Off by the door. I mean it. You're cleaning it if you track all that dirty slush around."

Kate abruptly halts her twelve-year-old daughter’s hasty rush toward the entrance with a firm yank on the hood of her brightly colored parka and deftly transfers the stroller she’s pushing to Ereka. In the same single, graceful, and fluid motion, Kate skillfully juggles the diaper bag, empty coffee tumbler, and cell phone freeing her dominant hand to dig through her purse for her keys. A palpable imperativeness hangs in the air as they make their way down the hallway because Russell, who currently tries to squirm his way out of the stroller straps, is on the brink of a meltdown. With each passing second, his patience wears thinner, and Kate endeavors to avoid him going nuclear in public.

"And take your brother's boots off too, please. You know where the stroller goes. Don't just leave it blocking the door. Did momma text you back about dinner?"

"No...Any day now would be great, mom."

Kate's eyes narrow with stony intensity as she shoots Ereka a dirty look.

"I’ll leave you out here. Don’t try me."

"Top-notch parenting. I'll be sure to add that to the CPS file I'm compiling."

"Mommy, druck!"

Two-and-a-half-year-old Russell unleashes a series of frustrated hollers from within his rolling prison. His annoyance is palpable.

The boy is an undeniable carbon copy of his mother, a living reflection of Yelena. Kate has never once laid eyes on her son and seen anything other than an unmistakable resemblance to her wife. This moment isn’t an exception. Kate can't help but notice the striking parallels between them. Every feature screams Yelena, from how his nose scrunches when he smiles to his green eyes to his vibrant blonde hair to his Short King status. Even his breathing issues, which lend a raspy voice and a crackling laugh, serve as a constant reminder of the deep link that those two share. Kate could complain about the fact that he also inherited her rotten temper, but instead, she finds herself captivated by this portable embodiment of her darling wife.

"Yes, baby. Riri will get you another truck as soon as we're inside."

"I WANT RED DRUCK NOW! RED DRUCK!"

"Okay, woh. Tone, sir. You're the one who threw it out the car window. You're gonna wait until we get inside and give zero attitude because this is a problem of your own doing."

Russell furrows his brow, a visible display of his discontent, followed by an exasperated huff. The air between them hangs momentarily. This could be the moment when he finally loses his cool. Then…after a beat…

"A druck is a wectangle, mommy."

"It is. What shape is this?"

Kate holds up the face powder she's holding.

"Circle! Cuz it wound. Like this..."

The little boy traces a circle in the air with his plump toddler fingers.

"Good job!"

"Oh my god. Do we live in the hallway now? Open the door."

Kate continues digging through her purse while simultaneously turning to Ereka and contorting her face into a humorous expression. Ereka quickly mirrors her mother's mischievous look, sparking a shared moment of amusement between the two. Laughter escapes their lips, affording them a moment of levity amid the chaotic scene. As their chuckles subside, a triumphant glimmer sails through Kate's eyes — she’s finally found the keys!

"There's no reason this thing should be able to swallow my keys into another dimension. It's not that big."

Kate swings the door wide open with a determined push. Without missing a beat, she dumps the bags that dangle from her shoulders onto the table by the entrance while slipping her waterproof boots off. Once her hands, arms, and feet are free, she heads to the jacket closet to begin taking layers off.

"Ri! Come on! You're smarter than that. Take your boots off first, THEN his. Moving around and look at the mess you're making."

Kate is too busy chastising her daughter to notice Yelena's coat is already hanging in the closet.

"You said to take his off too. I'm doing that and you get mad."

"I didn't think I needed to give you a detailed step-by-step on how to do it right, but I'll be sure to next time."

"Next time, I just won't do it if you're going to scream at me either way."

"There was no screaming. Just pointing out the obvious."

"...while you screamed."

Kate offers a vexed eye roll then strides into the apartment, leaving Ereka to wrestle with the challenge of removing Russell's stubborn boots in the foyer. Kate moves with purpose, her footsteps echoing as she navigates through the familiar space. Once Ereka successfully frees her brother’s tiny feet from the damp shoes, she proceeds to unstrap him from the stroller.

"Riri, druck!"

"I will get you your dumb truck, but I need to take this off you so mom doesn't flip a lid." Ereka tells her brother while deftly unzipping the small, purple coat.

"DRUCK NOW, RIRI!"

The little boy squirms as Ereka wrestles with his jacket.

"I will hide all your trucks if you scream at me again."

A deep frown creases Russell’s face, his features contorting into an expression of displeasure and frustration.

"No! Druck Wuss!"

"Yeah, they're your trucks, but I can also put them on the top shelf where you can't reach them if you don't stop being a brat." Ereka slides his gloves off, stands, and heads for the door a few feet away. Ereka opens the closet and immediately catches Yelena's coat. She hastily hangs her brother's tiny parka, throws the gloves into the corresponding cubby, and stares at Yelena's jacket once more before turning to Russell. "Don't move." Ereka darts to the back of the apartment, disappearing momentarily from Russell’s sight. She returns to the hallway that connects the foyer to the rest of the apartment a few seconds later. "Mama's home."

From her position by the kitchen island, Kate gazes at her daughter with confusion etched across her face.

"What?"

"Her coat's in here, so I went and checked and she's in the room. I think she's sleeping though, because all the lights are off."

Kate turns to glance at the clock on the microwave. 5:28 PM. Yelena is never home before them, let alone before 5:00 PM. At least not unless she's feeling unwell. Kate closes the cookbook she perused for dinner ideas and heads for the bedroom.

"Please keep an eye on him and get him one of the trucks from his chest. Thank you."

Kate tells Ereka as she kisses the top of her head in passing.

"Come on, Russellsprout. Let's get you a truck."

Kate suppresses a smile and instinctively rolls her eyes, a reflexive response to Ereka’s talent for assigning people terrible (and often food-related) nicknames. This might be one of the most annoying traits Ereka inherited from her father and Kate can’t help but find it both amusing and exasperating.

---

Kate enters the pitch-black room, stepping closer to the bed as her eyes gradually adjust to the darkness. The air is nice and toasty, meaning the older woman must be running the small space heater she’s permanently moved to her nightstand. As Kate approaches, she can see Yelena is, in fact, in bed. Her back is turned to the door and her shoulders rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm. A wave of concern washes over the brunette as she realizes that her wife must be feeling truly awful to be in bed this early.

"Baby...Yel..."

Kate whispers but gets no answer. She debates letting Yelena sleep but can't resist the urge to be close to her wife, even if it's just for a moment. Kate crawls into bed and nestles herself against Yelena’s warm form. Yelena instinctively responds, her body pushing back into Kate’s.

Kate's lips find Yelena's neck, leaving a trail of soft, affectionate kisses. Her arm delicately snakes around Yelena's overgrown midriff, cradling the ever-growing twenty-two-week pregnant belly.

"You okay?"

Kate whispers into Yelena's ear and places a gentle kiss on her earlobe. Yelena softly shakes her head, indicating her disinterest in engaging in conversation at the moment.

The most accurate way to describe Yelena's pregnancy thus far is: miserable. The first trimester was a nightmare, marked by persistent malaise and bouts of morning sickness that had her bent over a toilet for hours on end, leaving her feeling drained and weak. And those were the good days. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Yelena’s body is rebelling at every turn. Run down any list of pregnancy symptoms (and add a few more most people had never even heard of), and Yelena went through all of them. Her body seems determined to manifest every ailment imaginable and magnify its intensity. The dizziness has become a constant companion. Exhaustion has settled in her bones, claiming all of her energy. Frequent nosebleeds interrupt her daily routine, keeping her perpetually on edge. There’s also the hormonal mood swings that leave Yelena feeling like a stranger in her own body. Crippling headaches punctuate her days with throbbing pangs, constantly forcing her to seek solace in the darkness…like now.

Throughout the madness of this pregnancy, Kate has risen to the occasion, stepping up as a pillar of emotional support and embracing the role of caregiving, devoted partner with unwavering dedication. Day in and day out, Kate has done everything she can to make Yelena's life easier, including taking on the lion’s share of household chores and errands. Additionally, Kate has done everything in her power to anticipate Yelena's needs. She cooks meals to soothe Yelena's queasy stomach, researches remedies and alternative therapies to alleviate symptoms, offers calming teas and massages to ease aches, ensures Yelena stays hydrated and gets enough rest, or is simply around to provide a comforting touch along with words of consolation when Yelena is feeling down about the toll that pregnancy is taking on her body. Kate has become a constant presence by her wife’s side, ensuring Yelena feels loved and cherished throughout this challenging period. Overall, Kate has made it her mission to turn Yelena's difficult pregnancy into a somewhat manageable experience.

With tender affection, Kate runs her palm over Yelena's growing belly.

"I thought we had a deal that you were going to be nice to momma, baby girl. What's going on in there, huh?"

"Your stupid genes...trying to kill me." Kate chuckles, a jovial response to their now recurring conversation. Since Yelena is carrying a baby conceived with Kate's egg and the donor's sperm, Yelena has started to (halfway?) joke that Kate’s genes must be “toxic” to her and that they’re the root cause of Yelena's endless pregnancy woes. "You drive me crazy every day. Why did I think putting a literal piece of you inside me would go any better?"

"I'm sorry. So evil of me. Bad, BAD genes. I'll have a talk with them later." Kate's lips graze Yelena's shoulder, leaving behind a trail of soft kisses. In an instant, Yelena's body surrenders to her touch and loosens up as a result. "What are you feeling for dinner?"

"The last thing I want near me right now is food."

"You need to eat, Yel."

"I need this baby out of me. That's what I need."

Yelena lets out a discontented grumble and Kate's smile blossoms against her skin.

"Three more months. You just have to cook the nugget for three more months and you're done."

"That sounds like forever. Don't like it."

"How about some Mac and Cheese? Would that make it somewhat better?"

"Kate Bishop...are you trying to bribe me out of bed?"

"Maybe. I think there's lobster in the fridge. I think I got some when I went on Monday. If not, I can have some delivered. Lobster Mac. Super ooey and gooey and cheesy and yum."

"Why are you trying to sell it to me like I'm two?"

"It's how I convince your son to eat. Figured it might work on you since you're both grumpy little gremlins." Restless and dissatisfied, Yelena grunts in discomfort and shifts in bed, struggling to find an agreeable position to no avail. Eventually, she ends up half-facing Kate, seeking some semblance of relief in the brunette’s proximity. Kate offers her a warm smile. "That's the face of someone who could do with some ooey gooey cheesy yum in their life."

Yelena's lips curl into a merry smile and she indulges in a slight eye roll.

"I hate that it's actually working."

"My job is to sell things for a living and..." Kate plants a delicate kiss on Yelena's lips. "...I'm good at what I do."

"You..."

The door bursts open, unleashing a flood of light that fills the room. The little blonde toddler charges inside with a whirlwind of energy while proudly showcasing the truck his sister procured for him.

"MOMMA, LOOK! RIRI GOT RED DRUCK!"

Russell hops onto the bed, forcefully wedging himself with determined enthusiasm into the nonexistent space between his mothers.

"Your son...he had the genius idea to hurl his truck out the moving car window on our way here. Blue truck no more."

"Russ...that's dangerous. We don't do that."

"Blue druck went...FRUMMMMMMM"

The little boy offers Yelena an animated demonstration of the flight his toy truck embarked on with uncontainable excitement.

"RUSSPBERRY!"

"He's in here!"

Kate shouts at her daughter, who promptly appears at the door seconds later.

"Sorry. I went to the bathroom and I told him to stay."

"It's okay."

"Did he wake momma up?"

"Your mom woke me up."

"WITH KISSES. It was the most gentle wake-up ever."

"Still woke me up."

Kate shakes her head, purporting to be piqued.

"Come here. There's room."

Ereka's face lights up with a broad smile as she dashes to the bed and jumps onto it, somehow also forcing herself between Kate and Yelena.

"Easy. Momma's not feeling great."

"Sorry. Hi."

Ereka settles herself snugly, resting her chin on Yelena's hip and tenderly placing her hand on the gentle curve of her mother’s stomach.

"Hi. How was school?" Yelena asks with genuine curiosity.

Ereka shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of facetious defiance in her expression.

"Same as every other time you ask."

Kate and Yelena exchange amused glances before bursting into laughter. Yelena leans closer to Ereka, a warm grin on her face.

"Humor me."

Ereka huffs dramatically, her eyes rolling with jocose petulance. A small, roguish grin tugs at the corners of her lips, giving away her underlying amusement.

"Classes are boring. Everyone is stupid. The rules don't make sense. It's always going to be the same thing. So…fine, I guess. Tolerable.”

"Oh, you're going to be a FUN teenager." Yelena responds, her tone lighthearted and teasing.

"If I'm as precocious as everyone says I am, then technically, you could assume I've been a teenager for a while now."

"Yeah, that's it. The moment you hit thirteen, I'm packing your bags and finding you a new place to live, or I'll start graying early.” Kate playfully warns while simulating seriousness.

"Wow. Threatening to rescind my housing for exercising my right to free speech? I'm sure some case worker out there is salivating at the thought of it."

Kate rolls her eyes.

"Mommy, hungwy. I has milk?"

"Have, baby. Can I have milk?"

"Yeah. Can I haves it?” The little boy insists eagerly and with a hint of distress.

Kate chuckles.

"Close enough. But we're having dinner in a little bit, so no milk right now." Kate places a final peck on Yelena's lips and starts to stand. "Mac and cheese for dinner."  

"Yesssss. Can you put bacon in it?" Ereka inquires excitedly.

"If you guys haven't gone through it already, then sure. Last I checked, there were like two pieces left, so not making any promises."

"Tell Lila to make less bacon for breakfast then."

"OR...you could do what I ask and write it on the list when you see we're running low. She already has enough on her plate with you two. You could help out more."

A few times a week, a dedicated housekeeper arrives early in the morning to help with the kids and the upkeep of the house. She quickly becomes a lifeline for the family, offering an extra pair of capable hands and a much-needed boost of organization and support. This arrangement means Kate and Yelena have less to juggle and can focus more of their time on the children.

"You also saw we were running low and didn't put it on the list, so..."

"I did put it on the list when I realized I just haven't gone shopping again. But it wasn't on my last list because YOU, the bacon fiend in this house, didn't put it there."

"Whatever." Ereka grumbles, feigning annoyance.

"Keep her busy...but don't drive her crazy. It's a delicate balance. I'll scream when it's ready. And...I might need you at some point, so don't pretend like you don't hear me calling you when I do."

Kate punctuates her words by tapping Ereka on the shoulder as she stands and walks away.

"I have bad ears." Ereka tries to play it off, but Kate doesn't let her off the hook.

"Not according to the doctor, you don't."

Ereka has gotten so proficient at selective hearing that Kate took her to the otolaryngologist to get her checked, only to prove a point.

Ereka repositions herself to lie on Kate's pillow, her face ending next to Yelena’s. She lovingly presses her head against the blonde’s.

"I like it when you're home early."

Yelena offers a faint smile while keeping her eyes closed.

"Me too."

"WUSS LIKES, MOMMA." Russell exclaims. He has an adorable habit of referring to himself in the third person, which always makes the outlandish things he says objectively funnier.

The little boy clambers up Yelena's body, unknowingly jabbing her sides with the hard plastic of his toy truck. Yelena winces and hisses in pain, prompting her to extend her arms and lift him off.

"Why are all your toys deadly weapons?" Yelena gripes, readjusting Russell so he's lying against her chest and carefully removing the toy from his hand. He immediately snuggles his cheek against hers and allows his entire body weight rest on her. Yelena lets out a groan, a mixture of mischief and genuine fatigue. "You guys are so clingy. Where are we even going to fit a third?"

Yelena fake complains, although deep down, she loves every second of it.

"She can go right here."

Ereke facetiously places her open hand over Yelena's face, covering most of it. Yelena chuckles.

"Yeah. Perfect place to sit a dirty diaper on."

Ereka's chuckles echo around the room as Yelena tries to shake her palm off her face. With a bit of effort, Yelena succeeds in removing Ereka's hand and turns to face her, offering a weak but earnest smile.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling good."

"It's okay. I'll suck it up...but I'm going to complain the entire time."

Ereka snickers and slides impossibly closer to Yelena, their bond evident in their proximity.

"Thank you for a little sister."

Yelena presses a loving kiss to Ereka's temple.

"Are you happy about it?"

"SO MUCH!" Ereka’s genuine excitement and gratitude shine through her words. "...Unless you're lying to me again and it's actually another one of these..." Ereka pokes her fingers all around Russell's body and the toddler giggles uncontrollably. "...in there."

Yelena guffaws.

"Promise it's a girl. For real this time. And she's a very lucky girl to have you as a big sister."

"I think so too."

"We have to work on your modesty." Yelena teases her daughter with a smile.

"I'm the right amount of confident. I know I'm a good big sister. Right, Russpaghetti?"

Ereka looks at her little brother for validation. The boy eagerly nods his head as he pats his tiny hands all over Yelena's face.

"Mama, milk pwease."

"Mommy is working on dinner. No milk right now. Milk later."

"Milk pwease." Russell persists, his fussiness escalating.

"No milk right now, Russ."

The boy begins to fuss and instantly works himself up to the brink of a tantrum.

"MILK, MAMA!” Russell insists, his volume rising.

"No no. Shhhhh...let's all just...Shhh...quiet time until dinner is ready. How about that? That sounds so much more fun and better for my head."

"NO!"

Ereka rolls her eyes at his protest and rises from the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To get him milk. He's not going to stop until someone does and it'll make your headache worse if he doesn't. Just a little and he'll chill."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Ereka disappears out the door.

"Milk."

"Ri, went to get you some."

“Milk. Okay." Russell acknowledges, reassured that his request is being taken care of.

"So stubborn. Definitely get that from your other mom, not me. Definitely not me."

Yelena pulls the boy close and covers his body in kisses. His sour mood instantly shifts and he devolves into a fit of giggles.

---

An hour later, the foursome sits around the table, settled into their usual seats. Russell is perched in his high chair next to Kate, who patiently feeds him his meal. Ereka is to the other side of Kate, absentmindedly moving the food around her plate, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Yelena, determined to fend off her nausea, takes slow, deliberate bites, willing herself to keep the food down.

"Can I ask you something? And you'll promise you'll at least think about it before you say no?"

"Uh oh," Kate utters.

"I'm serious, mom."

"Me too. I can't possibly see how this is good, so I was bracing."

"Momma, promise you'll at least think about it."

Ereka turns towards Yelena, her expression brimming with seriousness and sincerity. Yelena meets her daughter's gaze, responding with a warm smile that conveys her openness to listen and engage wholeheartedly in anything Ereka is about to share.

"Whatever it is, mom and I will think about it and have a fair discussion before we get back to you.”

Following Yelena’s reassurance, a brief silence fills the room as Ereka gathers her thoughts. Kate and Yelena maintain their focus on her.

"I don't want to go stay at dad's anymore...ever."

Ereka declares confidently. Kate and Yelena instantly exchange worried glances.

"Did something happen?"

"No. Yes. No. I just...it's not that I don't want to see him. I just don't want to sleep over. Or be gone for days. Whenever I'm there, I'm missing here and Russtachio and you guys. And baby sister is coming soon and I'll miss her too. You always end up doing something fun without me and I hate it. Nothing I'm doing there is better than being here."

"Ri, we can't take days away from your dad."

"Why not?"

"It would...be a problem."

"What problem?! Just tell him I can…I don’t know…come hang out during the day for a few hours and then he has to bring me back."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?!"

"Because we have a court-ordered agreement that we need to stick by. He gets you 30% of the time. That's how it works."

"Fuck court."

"Ereka!" Kate and Yelena exclaim simultaneously.

Ereka responds with a nonchalant shrug, seemingly unfazed by their reaction.

"See? That's what happens when you send me over to dad's house. I learn curse words. Bad influence."

"Honey, your dad loves you. You're the light of his life and he loves spending time with you." Kate tells Ereka matter-of-factly, her tone filled with unwavering certainty.

"All they do over there is be angry, argue with each other, and drink until they make up more reasons to keep arguing. Then it usually goes to fighting and breaking things. I hate it."

"How long has this been going on?" Yelena inquires, her voice laced with worry.

"Since I was little. That's what grandma's house has always been like."

"Who argues and breaks things?"

"Everyone. Everyone is always over for dinner and definitely on weekends. Dad and Uncle Billy get into it every time they start drinking. Aunt Viv drinks even more now that she's getting divorced. Her and dad argue all the time too. And then Aunt...it's a lot of people and I don't want to sleep over anymore."

"Ereka, did something else happen that you're not telling us? Something bad?" Yelena doubles down on her line of questions.

"No. I just want to come back home every night. I want to sleep here. Always."

"You can tell us anything. You know that, right?"

"I'm telling you right now!"

"Okay...hey...let's take a breather." Kate interjects, attempting to calm her.

"Ri, look at me," Yelena asks firmly. "Did anything inappropriate happen over there and you're scared to go back? Because if something did, we will..."

"Oh my god! No one like...touched me or did anything weird! Ew. Don't go there. I just don't like them. That's it. Nothing illegal. I mean, I have seen illegal things, but...nothing illegal involving me. I swear. Truly...that's not it."

"Promise?"

"Promise. It's not that. Really."

Yelena nods, her gaze shifting between Kate and Ereka, silently acknowledging the weight of the situation.

"We'll talk about it and get back to you.“

"There's nothing to talk about. We can't do that."

"We'll talk." Yelena insists, her voice firm yet gentle. "Give us some time, okay?"

Ereka nods and Yelena reaches across the table, placing a heartening hand on Ereka's.

"Thank you."

The girl whispers and finally takes her first bite of food, her appetite slowly returning. The table falls into a solemn silence as they continue their meal, each of them deep in their minds.

---

Yelena lies in bed, her hands absentmindedly caressing her stomach. Her eyes remain fixed on Kate, who moves around the bathroom finishing the last few steps of her nightly routine.

"Yel, we can't take this on,” Kate asserts firmly.

"Why not?"

Kate walks to the doorway, rests her shoulder against the jamb, and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Because we went to court for almost TWO YEARS to get the agreement we have now. How do you think it's gonna go over if I call him tomorrow and tell him we're breaking it? Do you really wanna go through whatever that brings up? Now? In the middle of this?"

Kate's hand gestures to Yelena's stomach, emphasizing their current situation.

"My feelings aren't more important than hers. If she doesn't want to go back, we shouldn't force her."

"Yes. You're correct. Absolutely. We should always take her feelings into consideration. But think about it like this, what she's asking is for us to get full custody and he gets SOME visitation rights. Under nebulous circumstances. What is she actually asking for? She gets to see him for two hours every other weekend and then comes home? We don't know what she wants, but whatever it is, I know that we don't have legal grounds to take her away from him. He's gonna fight it."

"And we can fight him."

Kate lets out a tired groan as she switches off the bathroom light. She moves to the bed, slipping under the covers, sitting up, and leaning her back against the bed frame. Her eyes are glued on the darkened TV screen across from her, her mind seemingly lost in serious contemplation.

"You two would fight all day if it were up to you, but *me*...I'm over it. This isn't something that's realistic and as much as I hate making her do something she doesn't want to, no judge is going to take his partial custody away. We don't even have any reason to take him back to court. Nothing's changed."

"She said she's seen illegal things...We should ask what that is."

"Yelena..." Kate turns to face her wife, her expression showing both fatigue and vulnerability. "...I don't have another two years of court in me. I don't have even another second of his tantrums and his shit in my body. I can't do it. Especially knowing we're not going to win. He's been...better???"

"That's a stretch."

Yelena reaches out and takes Kate's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and grounding her. Grounding each other.

"It has been better. You can't deny it hasn't. Why do we want to poke the bear?"

"For her. I would poke the bear for her."

Kate's shoulders slump as she exhales a heavy sigh, the weight of their situation bearing down on her. Yelena squeezes her wife’s hand gently.

"What happens when we go through a long, miserable custody battle over this, then she's suddenly sixteen and wants to go sleep at her dad's because we did something to piss her off?”

"Nothing. She goes to sleep at her dad's. Because that's her choice. As long as it's her choice, it's fine. But we shouldn't force her into a situation that makes her clearly unhappy." Yelena takes a beat, thinking. "What if we don't have to go to court? What if we all sit down and talk about it?"

Kate lets out a bitter laugh.

"Yel, please."

"It could work."

"When have you two ever been in a room where the situation doesn't end with me stopping you from killing each other?"

"I can't exactly kick his ass right now, so...different circumstances. I mean, I probably still could, but unless I had to, I wouldn't."

"I love her and I love you, but I'm not doing it. I'm not going to detonate a bomb we don't even need to touch."

---

The next morning. Yelena finds herself perched on a booth in a bustling café, the air filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the animated chatter of the early lunchtime crowd. She grimaces and shifts restlessly, her hand instinctively soothing the spot where her daughter just delivered a formidable fighter-style kick.

"You need to cut it with that."

Yelena mutters, chastising the baby before taking a cautious sip of her decaf concoction. Her eyes remain glued on the café entrance as she anxiously awaits the arrival of the person she's meeting.

Thankfully, Yelena's anticipation is short-lived. The jingling bell above the door heralds the arrival of Tom, who enters the busy room and immediately starts scanning the patrons. Spotting Yelena, he makes his way to her booth. Their eyes meet and they exchange perfunctory nods before muffled, forced greetings escape their lips. Tom drapes his coat over the back of his chair and slides into the padded bench. Yelena's gaze remains fixed on the table, trying to conceal her agitation.

This close to him, Yelena can smell the alcohol on his breath. He doesn't appear visibly intoxicated, yet the unmistakable odor of Vodka taints the air around them, lingering like a cloud and a troubling reminder of his choices. It's barely 11:30 AM. This meeting is already off to a bad start.

"Hi. Thank you for meeting me."

"What's this about?"

"Look, I know things haven't always been easy between us." Tom remains silent and stoic, his expression guarded as he waits to see where this will go. Yelena’s attempts to conceal her unease only amplifies it. She's never been good at masking her genuine emotions or engaging in fake pleasantries, especially in situations like this. "All we've both ever wanted is the best thing for our daughter."

"MY daughter. She's nothing of yours. Ereka is MY daughter."

Yelena bites back her tongue and fights the urge to respond to Tom’s provocatory dig. If they start getting into it less than ten sentences into the conversation, this isn't going to go anywhere.

"All we want is the best for Ereka."

"I know that's what *I* want, yeah."

Yelena's phone screen illuminates, signaling an incoming text. She glances at it briefly. It's from Kate. Aware that her wife is oblivious to the current situation she finds herself in, Yelena decides to ignore the message for the time being, already anticipating Kate's displeasure when she eventually finds out.

Tom's eyes fly to the screen. His expression hardens and he locks his jaw as his eyes zero in on the background image. It's a photograph taken during the pregnancy announcement shoot Kate insisted on having. The still captures Kate, Ereka, Russell, and a pregnant Yelena standing in a vibrant field of fall-colored trees, radiating pure joy. It undoubtedly gets under Tom’s skin.

"What do you want? Why did you call me here?" Tom presses.

"We had a conversation with Ereka last night. More like she had a conversation with us where she made a request. We...I....*I* thought maybe you and I could talk like adults about it and deal with the situation. Parent to parent."

"You're not her parent, so...if there's anything going on with my kid, Kate can talk to me about it."

"Whether you like it or not, the judge granted me legal guardianship too."

"That fucking bitch judge fucked me over. I deserved full custody."

"Tom, I don't want to fight about that. That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are we here? Why is Kate not here?"

"I told you. Because I thought you and I could have a grownup chat."

"The fuck is going on with my kid?"

"I need you to listen to me. Before you respond or do anything, I need you to listen to me. That's all I'm asking for."

"If you don't tell me right now, I'm calling Kate. She'll tell me."

"Ereka wants to modify the custody agreement."

"What?"

"Ereka doesn't want to have overnight visits anymore. She doesn't feel comfortable being in your home, witnessing your family's behavior, and also just being away from us and her siblings. She made that very clear."

"My baby's twelve. She can't want or have a say in anything." Tom pounds his fist on the table violently, rocking everything and forcing all eyes in the room to turn to them for a split second. "If I find out you've been filling my kid's head with crap...I swear to fucking god I will end you."

"Ereka's happiness and well-being should be our priority."

"YOU…" Tom’s pointer finger comes within an inch of Yelena’s face. She musters every bit of self-control in order to not grab it and break it clean. "…don't get to tell me what my priority with my daughter is. She's MY kid and she comes home to me."

"That's not going to happen anymore."

“What? What’s not gonna happen?”

"I'm not forcing Ereka to do something she doesn't want to do."

"Try to take my kid away from me...see how that goes. You already stole my wife. You try to take my kid too and that's the last thing you ever do."

Yelena's demeanor takes on a sharper edge, her expression a mix of fury and defiance. Tom sneers, his eyes narrowing as he fiercely locks his eyes with Yelena.

"Are you threatening me?" Yelena asks, her tone challenging.

Tom leans forward, his voice dripping with venomous assurance.

"I'm telling you what's going to happen if Ereka isn't at my house this weekend. ALL weekend. Just a very clear warning."

"If she doesn't want to go, she's not going to go."

Yelena holds firm, unwavering. Tom's face contorts with rage, his entire body giving off menacing energy.

"If you come between me and my kid, I will fucking end you. I'll fucking kill you."

The remark hangs heavy in the air.

"That's a threat.” Yelena retorts, her voice calm and steady.

"Take that however you fucking want, but Ereka better be at my house at 10 AM on Saturday."

Tom abruptly stands, frenziedly ripping his coat off the back of the chair, and storms out of the café.

---

Kate's fingers fly across the keyboard and the rapid clacking of keys punctuate the silence of her office. She’s fully immersed, pouring her focus into crafting this proposal.

A firm knock on the door jolts Kate out of her flow. She recognizes the cadence of the thumping instantly - it’s her assistant. Annoyance flickers across her face, knowing this interruption will disrupt her momentum.

"What's up, Ash?"

Her assistant pops her head in while offering a courteous grin.

"Your wife is here."

Kate looks at her confused, with her brows furrowed in surprise.

"What?"

"Lobby just called. I told them to let her up so she's on her way. Should I let her in?"

"Yeah. Of course. Yeah. Thank you."

---

A few minutes later, a second knock reverberates through the office. Kate also recognizes this rapping without reticence - it unmistakably belongs to Yelena. The corners of Kate’s lips curl and her face lights up as she watches the door swing open, revealing her visibly pregnant wife standing there.

Their eyes meet and the mere sight of Yelena erases any trace of the stress and preoccupation Kate felt moments ago. She promptly pushes her chair back, eager to greet her wife.

"This is a nice surprise." As soon as the door closes behind her, Kate presses her lips against Yelena's in a tender, affectionate kiss while her hands instinctively come to rest on either side of Yelena's stomach. Kate steals a second kiss. "Hi."

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"I did something...and I could've waited until tonight, but I also didn't know if you were going to get a call or text before that, so I figured it might be best to talk in person."

Kate's smile fades as she reads the somber expression on Yelena's face. Concern fills her eyes as she responds.

"What happened?"

"Can we sit? My back is killing me."

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course."

Kate places an allaying hand on the small of Yelena’s back, guiding her towards the two-person couch opposite her desk. They settle on the sofa and Yelena shifts her body slightly, opening herself up to face Kate directly.

"Not going to lie, I'm kind of very nervous right now. You never just show up at my office, especially not being cryptic."

A touch of humor paints Kate’s voice as she tries to ease the tension. She surveys her wife’s face, searching for answers.

"I talked to Tom."

"You did…what?" Kate asks, aghast at the mere idea.

"I called him and asked him to meet me at a coffee shop earlier. We talked about the custody situation because I don't think..."

"Why would you do that?!"

"Because I don't think she should go back if she doesn't want to."

Kate's voice rises with frustration and disbelief.

"No, no. What you want, what you REALLY want is to 'beat' him. That's what you want...You should've stayed out of my kid's custody business."

"YOUR kid?" Yelena scoffs bitterly. "Are you taking talking points from him now?"

"It was NOT your place to do that." Kate's eyes narrow as she retorts, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"He threatened to kill me."

"Yeah, I'd do the same if someone showed up talking about taking my daughter away from me. What would you do?"

"If I were an incompetent, insane drunk, I would want what's best for my children."

Kate's vexation intensifies, and she stands up, putting distance between them. She walks to her desk and starts to pace in front of it. The room feels tense, the air heavy with unspoken indignation from both sides.

"I asked you to leave it. I told you to leave it alone."

"She shouldn't..."

"You can make unilateral decisions about what kind of jelly you pick up at the store. You don't get to make unilateral decisions about custody shit, Yelena. I can't believe I'm having to even say this to you."

"I was doing what's best for her."

"No. NO, this was your chance to have another pissing contest with him and use her as an excuse. She's not a thing you use to get back at him."

"That's not what happened."

"That's EXACTLY what happened. She's my daughter and you are WAY out of line. Neither of you has claim over her."

Yelena's expression becomes steely.

"I only wanted to fill you in before I went to the police."

Kate's eyes shoot up and widen as she stares Yelena down.

"What are you talking about?"

"He made pointed threats against our family, so I'm filing a police report and requesting an emergency restraining order against him. For all of us. I already called the school and let them know he's not allowed to see her until further notice."

"If you don't wanna be signing divorce papers too, you leave this alone. I'll talk to him and this'll be done. We'll pretend it didn't happen."

"I can't do that, Kate.” Yelena’s resolve strengthens and her voice is firm.

"Yelena, I'm being so beyond serious right now. Drop it."

"I'm sorry, Kate, but I can't in good conscience leave it open for him to harm our family."

Kate's frustration boils over, and she strikes her hand down on the desk.

"WE WOULDN'T BE HERE IF YOU HADN'T PULLED THIS SHIT! I told you...I asked you not to touch it. And what did you do? Go behind my back and blow our entire lives up. For what? FOR WHAT?!"

"For Ereka."

"Don't. Do not use her as an excuse. This is all on you."

Kate reaches for her phone, her fingers negligibly trembling as she taps on the screen. She brings the device to her ear, determined to undo whatever Yelena just set in motion.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling him. Controlling the situation before this gets out of hand."

"Kate, that's..."

Kate interrupts her curtly, her words teeming with aggravation.

"Don't talk to me right now."

The call goes to voicemail. Kate's impatience grows, but she tries once more.

"Katherine."

The utterance of her full name makes Kate glare at her wife, her eyes flashing warning signs that Yelena is willingly ignoring.

When the call goes to voicemail once more, Kate jumps into action. She reaches for her purse and heads to the door, her movements swift and purposeful.

"Where are you going?"

"To find him. And Yelena...if you file that report or a restraining order, you might as well also start looking for a divorce attorney because I'm not playing this game with you. I won’t. We are OVER if you do."

Without uttering another word, Kate stomps out of the office, leaving Yelena alone. The weight of their strained relationship hangs heavily in the air, thickening it with unresolved tension.

---

A few hours later. The front door to the apartment swings open with a burst of energy, and Kate ushers her lively children inside. Laughter and the pitter-patter of tiny feet fill the air, infusing the space with a tangible joy and warmth. Like a conductor orchestrating the symphony of their homecoming, Kate deftly navigates the chaos and issues detailed instructions, guiding Ereka and Russell through their tasks for the evening. As the children settle into their respective activities, Kate makes her way to the bedroom to change into more cozy clothes.

Kate turns the doorknob and freezes in her tracks. Not only is her wife already home, but she’s immersed in an intense flurry of activity. Once a sanctuary of peace, the room is now a battlefield of chaos. Clothes and shoes are strewn haphazardly across the floor, like casualties of a tempestuous storm. Before a symbol of order and serenity, the walk-in closet now stands open, its contents spilling out in disarray, mirroring the turmoil that has taken hold of their lives. The atmosphere crackles with an electric tension, as if the very walls hold their breath, knowing they’re about to witness the unfolding drama.

There, in the thick of the chaos she created, stands Yelena. Her movements are frenetic, driven by an urgency that cannot be ignored. She hastily stuffs clothes into a suitcase, the rustling fabric punctuating the charged silence that fills the room. As their eyes meet, a kaleidoscope of emotions dance across their faces. Upon seeing Kate, Yelena's hands momentarily freeze before she resumes her frantic packing. With firm resolve, the rhythmic zip of the luggage bag serves as an intransigent punctuation mark, echoing with profound finality that pulsates throughout the living quarters.

"What are you doing?"

"When it actually came down to me and him, you picked him." Yelena utters, cold and distant.

Kate explosively thrusts their bedroom door shut and charges over to Yelena, feeling a wave of anger detonate within her.

"I didn't pick ANYONE. I picked sanity and peace. For them. They will always be my priority." Kate crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the floor, mind racing. A long beat and a million thoughts later, she scoffs. "After everything...'you picked him.' If *this*..." Kate spiritedly points around their room. "If THIS is what 'picking him' looks like Yelena, then I'm curious what you think 'picking you' would entail. Because fuck...WOW."

Yelena crams one last pair of pants into the already overstuffed duffle bag that sits next to the hefty suitcase she just filled. Her tense body struggles to force the zipper halves to meet; its bulging shape evidence of her lack of thoughtfulness while packing. The fabric strains against the zipper, resisting her efforts to contain its contents. After a few firm yanks, the metallic teeth reluctantly interlock, sealing her belongings within. Yelena grabs the handle of the large rolling bag before slinging the strap of her duffle over her shoulder, and a sudden surge of adrenaline propels her forward in the direction of the door.

Before she can make her escape, Kate's hand shoots out as Yelena storms past her. Her fingers find their mark, latching on to Yelena's forearm, their grip like a vice, anchoring her in place. Their eyes lock in a fiery exchange, a tempest of emotions brewing within their depths and threatening to consume them both.

"Where are you going?"

Yelena points to the envelope resting atop the dresser. Kate retrieves it, her jittery fingers slowly tearing it open. Inside lies an emergency restraining order against Tom accompanied by a police report.

"I'm keeping them safe. At any cost." The women glare at each other. Kate takes a step back, willingly putting distance between them. Her heart pounds in her chest as she meets Yelena's gaze. They’re now locked in a battle of wills. "I'm taking him with me."

"You're not taking him anywhere."

"We're just going to the Ritz for a few nights. Until we can figure out what's happening next."

"Yelena, my son's not leaving this apartment."

A clash of emotions thunders through the room, their conflicting desires colliding into a torrent of raw feelings.

"If Ereka is YOUR daughter, then that's MY son. That's how it works, right?"

"You're being petty about this?"

"I'm being logical."

Yelena's words cut through the air, her tone shifting to cold and calculated. Each syllable carries a sharpness that slices through their relationship's already fraying threads, leaving an icy tension behind.

"You're not even in the same universe as logical right now."

"Must be pregnancy brain, I guess." Yelena bites back.

Kate’s patience officially reaches its breaking point. She truculently strides to where Yelena stands, her steps exuding steadfastness. In a display of unyielding and assertive belligerence, Kate snatches the duffle bag from Yelena's shoulder, ripping it away without hesitation. With a single speedy motion, Kate hurls the bag several feet away, the velocity causing the already tenuous hold the zipper had to give way. The contents spill out, scattering haphazardly across the floor.

"Sit." The word hangs in the air, pregnant with authority. What Kate uttered wasn’t a request; it was a command and one that left no room for negotiation. When Yelena doesn’t move, Kate's tone grows more forceful, compelling her to comply. "Sit down." Kate reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She dials a number with exigency. "I'm calling Landers, see if he can squeeze us in as an emergency right now."

"I don't need a therapy session. I need to go lie down."

"Bed's right there. Help yourself." Kate snaps at Yelena with a venomous undertone. "Hi Janey. This is Kate Bishop-Belova. I have a bit of a serious situation and I'm wondering if there's any way Joy can see us tonight? It's an emergency...Uhum...Uhum...Yeah. Please. That would be so helpful...Yeah. This number is fine...You're incredible. Thank you...Okay. Talk soon." Kate hangs up. "She doesn't know if tonight will be possible, but she'll talk to Landers and see if maybe tomorrow morning might work."

Yelena scoffs dismissively, her irritation evident.

"This is stupid."

"Yeah, I agree. Everything you've done today is BEYOND stupid."

"I already made a reservation."

"I couldn't give two shits about your reservation. Sit down. You are not blowing up our lives tonight. I'm not letting it happen."

"You're the one who brought up divorce."

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S BEING INSANE!" Kate screams, her voice cracking with emotion. "I can't talk to you right now, or I might say some things that I don't actually mean."

"Then let me go to the hotel."

"You're not going anywhere." Kate's words carry the significance of an ultimatum as she makes for the door. "I need to figure out dinner. What do you want?" Kate asks in an attempt to shift the focus away from their escalating argument.

"Nothing." Yelena's response is curt and indifferent.

"Pizza it is."

With that final declaration, Kate exits the room and shuts the door with a bang.

---

The sound of rushing water fills the air. Kate stands at the kitchen sink, dangling Russell in front of the open tap as she diligently works to wash away the splatters of paint that have found their way onto his tiny hands. The colorful streaks mix with the swirling water, creating a mesmerizing spectacle and carrying away the colorful remnants of his artistic escapade. Lost in her task and the words of the babbling boy, Kate momentarily forgets the apprehension that saturates the apartment.

But then she hears adult footsteps approaching from behind, disrupting the tranquil rhythm of the moment. Kate turns, her eyes widening as she sees Yelena purposefully making her way to the entrance, her duffle bag slung over her shoulder and her suitcase clutched tightly in her hand. A surge of panic courses through Kate, pushing her to act without a moment's hesitation. She swiftly shuts off the water and sets Russell down, his little feet pattering on the tiled floor as he toddles away, overjoyed that his paint-streaked hands are forgotten for the moment. Filled with a sense of impending doom, Kate compels her bare feet to glide across the kitchen tiles as she chases after Yelena.

"Hey. Hey. Was I not clear?"

"I'm not your child, Kate."

"You're acting like it." Refusing to let Yelena slip away unchallenged, Kate corners her wife in the foyer and plants herself firmly mere inches away from her. "Go back to the room. Pizza's going to be here in forty minutes."

"I'm going to the hotel."

"No, you're not."

Kate’s voice hardens, drawing a line in the sand. They glare at each other.

"Are you going to back me up on this?"

"No. You're wrong, so I'm not. I'm still not letting you leave because you're being beyond unreasonable. I'm not letting this get worse than it already is."

Yelena tries to push to the door, but Kate stands her ground, blocking her path with her body.

"Katherine..."

"I'm trying to stop you from fucking up this marriage."

"What if I don't want you to?"

They lock eyes, each searching for answers in the depths of the other’s gaze.

"Now you're just trying to piss me off. I know you too well. Go lie down. I'll send one of them to get you when food is here." Yelena doesn't move. "Who do I call to get rid of that stupid restraining order?"

"You can't end a protective order I requested."

"Then do it. Take care of it."

"No."

Yelena is resolute. Kate takes a measured, deep breath, making a concerted effort to keep herself centered.

"Yelena…”

"We've done it your way for years. It's never worked. It's about time we try it my way."

"I'm not backing you up on this. Get rid of it."

"No." Yelena repeats, somehow even more unwavering.

"You know what...fine. You want to destroy our lives this bad...be my guest." Kate finally relents. She steps back, giving Yelena all the space she needs to open the door and leave. After a beat of stillness, Yelena opens the door and walks out. Kate stands by, flummoxed, her heart heavy with incredulity and heartbreak. "I want you to be so very clear that you're the one doing this. You're the one walking away. Again. You're leaving a second time." Kate's voice quivers with a mix of anger and hurt. That stops Yelena in her tracks. "You said you'd never do that again. You promised and I believed you, so what is this? You promised."

With a heavy sigh, Kate steps away from the entrance, retreating back into the apartment but leaving the door wide open.

---

As Kate attends to the remnants of Russell's mess, the faint sound of the front door closing reaches her ears, stirring her from her thoughts. She turns her head, her attention abruptly drawn to the entrance. Her heart withers at the conclusive thud that reverberates through the air. To her amazement, seconds later, Yelena emerges from the foyer. Their eyes briefly connect in a charged moment before Yelena clenches her jaw tightly and strides deeper into the apartment, vanishing down the hallway that leads to their shared bedroom. Not long after, a resounding boom fills the air as the door is violently slammed shut, further emphasizing the growing chasm between them.

Lost in a maelstrom of emotions that threaten to engulf her whole, Kate's eyes linger on that hallway. Russell takes advantage of her distraction, seizing the opportunity to indulge himself. In a sudden burst of movement, the boy leans forward with a rascally grin and his tiny hands break the water's surface. The cold liquid splashes in all directions, showering the immediate area, including a generous dousing directly onto Kate's face. The shock of the gelid liquid snaps Kate back to reality with a gasp, her senses jolted by the sudden and unexpected intrusion. The temperature forces her breath to catch in her throat while droplets cling to her skin and drip down her face. It is a moment of undeniable clarity, a gentle reminder that life persists even in the midst of turmoil.

At least there's still a way back. It's cracked but not shattered. There's still a way to fix it.

[ashiyn]

actually before i go to bed let me just say that season 10 beginning reminded me a lot of the season 7 one with the vibes and this type of chaos. like yes every season starts chaotic but iskall, grian and keralis' videos gave me so much nostalgia despite being new videos and im SO goddamn excited for this season with joel and skizz added. its been a surreal start already it's honestly been insane

[supercantaloupe]

starting to wonder if something is actually wrong with me considering how easily ive been tired out and made sore recently

[honeylashofficial]

Happy New Years GIGS Crew, and good luck on all your future hunting endeavors!!

Quality was downright murdered. Click for a better view. 🥲

[penwrythe]

*sees fave Paintbrush's exit III interview*

That characterization was interesting to say the least. Even though I was a bit in *ahhhhhhhhhFAV* mode, I feel odd about PB's out-of-character dramatic personality.

Also, Lightbrush confirmed??????

[unsettlingcreature]

Tes oc ask game -> Casimir 13 & 28 + Asta 23 & 35 :3c

it was just now that i realised i wrote the wrong name for cesare like a FOOL (jingles sadly)

13: Can your OC ride a mount? If so, what do they ride?

Cesare was offered horse-riding lessons from a young age but he ended up abandoning them after a few months when a horse reared at him. If anyone asks, he is NOT afraid of horses but he just doesn't trust another creature to carry him when his legs will do just fine (and carriages don't count since they aren't alive, no matter how many times you remind him that they're drawn by horses).

28: Somewhere in a town your OC has frequented, another character mentions their name in conversation. What reactions do others have to your OC’s reputation? Does your OC even have a reputation, or do they fly under the radar?

Almost certainly others react with a scoff and an eyeroll - his reputation is that of a rich, noble layabout with no direction or guiding passion. However, everyone agrees that it's better that than an ill-tempered or spoilt brat. His charm and cheer lend to people viewing him at least somewhat favourably!

23: What are your OC's opinions on vampires and werewolves? Do they belong to one of those groups? If so, what is their opinion on vampire/werewolf clans?

Asta is very much torn on them. On the one hand, they're monsters who have daedric origins and have haunted scary stories since her childhood. On the other, she's aware that they must be fascinating to research if only to parse how much of the current theories/opinions on them are true. She'd probably want to give groups or clans the benefit of the doubt - but the moment there's evidence that they're causing harm to others, she'd guard herself against them.

35: After miraculously surviving a near-death experience, your OC regains consciousness. What are the first words out of their mouth, and to whom do they speak them to?

"Mum...? Dad...?"

She gets a lot of comfort from her parents, who she's really close with despite not seeing them often due to her studies and, later, her travels. In the first few moments of confusion and limited-coherence, she'd immediately be seeking that comfort. In that same vein, her parents would move heaven and earth to do what they could for their daughter and they'd be right at her side until she woke up.

If for whatever reason she ended up in that condition while adventuring or unable to get to safety, it'd probably be Cesare , Tolfdir or Delphine who would hear those first words. All three of them feel some degree of responsibility for her, for different reasons, and would wait for her to wake up (depending on if they were with her at the time, of course).