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angelasscribbles · 2 years

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Dad's on the Edge: A Bad Romance One-Shot

Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Riley x Liam, Liam x Max, Riley x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Rashad

Paring this chapter: None, this all the guys dealing with the children.

Rating: R

Warnings for this chapter: Language

Word Count: 3,784

Disclaimer: It came to my attention, after I named these kids, that both Alexander and Charlotte are names used by @debramcg1106 for the children in her Driam pairing. (If you haven't read it, you should, because it's AMAZING!) I reached out to her and offered to change my kids names but she graciously declined my offer. As always, any similarities to other people's works are unintentional and coincidental. My DM's are always open if you see something that you feel I should be made aware of. Thank you.

A/N: This is my offering for @txemrn father's day fic idea! Can you imagine all the Bad Romance guys trying to wrangle kids that have BR Riley's DNA? 🤣 You don't have to imagine it....here it is, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

A/N2: Habibti means sweetheart in Arabic

A/N3: Ellie (Eleanor) and Xander (Alexander) are Liam's. Jax (Jaxon) is Drake's, Jace (Jason) is Max's and Charli (Charlotte) paternity is unknown.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Why am I here, again?” Rashad asked with a slight frown. When Liam had asked him to attend the public celebration of the queen mother’s years of service to Cordonia as she prepared for her retirement, he had assumed it was in his capacity as Riley’s lawyer or as a member of the Cordonian court and Liam’s inner circle. Not as a babysitter.

“Because Riley is quarantined with the flu, and we needed backup. You are their godfather.” Liam stated matter of factly.

“Yes.” Rashad responded carefully, “But I’m not the only one. Leo is too, and he has more experience with-”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but Leo isn’t sleeping with my wife.”

“Touché.” Rashad held his hands up to indicate surrender, “But they have godmothers. What about Hana or Olivia?”

“Hana is also down with the flu.” Liam replied.

“And Olivia?”

Liam waved his hand dismissively in the general direction of where Oliva was seated, “Oh, feel free to tell Olivia she’s more suited for this because she’s a woman.”

Rashad’s eyes went wide as they flicked to Olivia and back, then he cleared his throat, “So, what do you need me to do, exactly?”

“You’re just going to help us corral the kids during the ceremony. Here they come now.”

Rashad watched apprehensively as Drake made his way over to them with a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, Jax and Jace in tow, both trying to wriggle free as he gripped a small hand in each of his own. Max followed carrying a squirming, two year old Charlotte. Xander and Ellie trailed behind, bringing up the rear.

“You’re going to be in charge of Charlotte.” Liam informed him.

“Me? Why me? I think I’d be better suited to watch over Ellie or Xander!” Rashad protested.

“Of course, you think that.” Drake smirked at him, “They’re the easy ones!”

At 12 and 9 Ellie and Xander had more maturity and more experience with these types of events and were, indeed, easier to contend with during one. Usually.

The younger boys, Jax 6, and Jace 4, were more rambunctious and much harder to convince to sit still for any length of time. Then there was Charlotte, who had whole heartedly embraced the entire tenor of the terrible twos. High spirited was the term Riley used for her.

“Not gonna lie, Charli scares me a little. One time I woke up and found her standing next to the bed just staring at me like she was in a trance.” Max shuddered.

Drake rolled his eyes, “You know she was sleepwalking, right Beaumont?”

Max ignored Drake and leaned closer to Rashad, “Did you know Riley originally wanted seven to nine children?”

Rashad blinked, “What?”

Max nodded somberly, “Charli is the reason she tied her tubes after five.”

Rashad’s eyes shot to the small child in Max’s arms, her angelic face arranged in the most brilliant innocent smile he’d ever seen. No, that wasn’t true. He’d seen that exact smile on Riley’s face. Innocent and brilliant was her most disingenuous and potentially dangerous smile. He swallowed, hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“We can do this, guys!” Liam asserted, he ran an entire country for God’s sakes, how hard could it be to wrangle his own children for one event? “I mean Riley does it all the time, she handles all five of them by herself at these things and they behave perfectly.”

“Yeah.” Drake responded drily, “Because they know better than to cross their mother. But they know some of us are pushovers.” He looked right at Max when he said it.

“Hey! I am not a- “

Liam gave him a look, “You let them eat flaming hot Cheetos for breakfast last week.”

Drake asked, “Why do we have a water slide in our backyard at Valtoria?”

Even Rashad joined in, “I believe I was called in last month to coordinate appraisals of a fleet of BMWs after an art project gone awry….”

Max huffed, “Ok, you know what? I believe in letting children express themselves, ok? They need to know it’s ok to be themselves-“

“Sure, Max,” Drake interrupted as he put the diaper bag down, then turned to address his question to Liam, “How are we going to divide five kids between four adults?”

“That’s easy.” Liam replied, “Ellie and Xander go together because they’re the easiest.”

“I’ll take Jace.” Max volunteered.

“No!” Liam and Drake both shouted at the same time.

Max looked at them in confusion, “Why not?”

“Because you don’t reign in his worst impulses, you tend to encourage them.” Liam said. Drake nodded in agreement.

“Jace needs a firmer touch. Here.” He pulled Jace over to Drake, “Max, you take Jax. Ellie and Xander can come with me.”

Backpacks, water bottles, jackets, toys that they had been told to leave home but had been brought anyway and various electronic devices were shuffled around so the appropriate adult had possession of the items belonging to the children in their care.

“Ahem.” Rashad interrupted the activity, directing his question to Liam, he asked again, “Why do I have to take the little one?”

“Because” Liam stepped closer, leaning in so they wouldn’t be overheard, “She might be yours. Look at it as a bonding opportunity.”

“Mine?” He asked in astonishment, “No, I mean….”

“Look at her features, Rashad. Those eyes…”

“Green, like her mother’s!”

“Hazel, there’s brown around her irises.”

“That might rule out Max, but not Drake, that’s still three potential-“

“She has Riley’s features, but our coloring, mine and yours. There’s brown in her eyes and black in her hair. Not to mention, Charli can be a very serious, calculating child. She’s extremely intelligent and studious, already at two. I love them both, but there’s no way she has Drake or Max’s DNA.”

Rashad and Liam both tilted their heads as they studied the curly headed quiet child in front of them.

She was the spitting image of Riley, but her hair had undeniably darkened as she had gotten older, trending now more toward the ebony hues of both Liam and Rashad than the russet brown of Max’s or the even lighter chestnut shade of Drake’s hair. She had Riley’s curls and the auburn was in there, streaking the black with brilliant shades of red when the sunlight hit it just right. Her nose, her lips, her chin, all her mother’s.

The seriousness and intelligence might come from one of them, but her intensity and temper was all Riley. Which was why none of the other men wanted to deal with her during a long, boring proceeding. A bored Charlotte was a dangerous Charlotte. She was Riley, with a two year old temper and lack of impulse control.

“Here.” Max thrust Charlotte into Rashad’s arms before he could protest again.

Drake tossed him the diaper bag, “Good luck.”

“Ah…..” He looked wildly around at the other three men, but they had all turned their backs to him, dealing with their own charges.

“Ok.” Liam breathed out a sigh of relief, sure that they had this under control, “Xander, Ellie, come with me.”

Rashad’s head snapped up in panic, “Wait, you’re leaving?”

Liam shrugged, “Sorry but, you know, I’m the king and this is a state event. Responsibilities and all that. I have to go give a speech. Ellie, Xander, let’s go.”

“It’ll be fine,” Max assured him, “Liam gives a speech, Leo gives a speech, a bunch of other people give speeches, we all applaud and then there’s a parade or something.”

“That sounds horribly boring for young children.” Rashad responded doubtfully.

“Oh, it is.” Drake laughed at him, “Why do you think I said good luck?”

Max and Drake situated themselves between the boys, so there were two adults between them. Drake turned his attention to opening a pack of goldfish crackers for Jace as Max pulled out his cell phone and stared trading Pokémon with Jax. Rashad turned his head to peer into Charli’s eyes. She was adorable. He decided that it couldn’t be that bad. She was only two after all.

As he stared down into her bright, sparkling eyes, he felt a twist in his chest. What if she was his? The idea of this beautiful child being part him and part Riley wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. He’d never wanted fatherhood, and his lifestyle and work schedule wouldn’t permit it even if he had. But then, no one was asking to him to fill that role. Regardless of DNA, Charlotte had a father. She had three, actually.

It wasn’t surprising to him that Max was a good father, he had a nurturing side to him that Rashad assumed was critical for parenting, as well as having managed to maintain a playfulness that endeared him to children.

And Liam, of course Liam was a good father. His love for all five of the children was evident in all his interactions with them and in the unmistakable pride in his voice when he spoke about any of them.

Most surprising, to Rashad at least, was Drake. Rashad didn’t dislike him, precisely, they’d been friends since their teenage years, but that was more a function of them both being friends with Liam rather than any real connection between them. They were too different. It was more that Rashad had never understood what Riley saw in him. He understood why she was in love with Liam. Or maybe that was a function of conceit since he considered Liam and himself to be very similar in many ways. And while Max could be exuberant and irreverent at times, those things were also true of Riley, and he could also be respectful and decorous when the situation called for it.

But Drake was pure force of will, often getting his way through brute force and intimidation. He lacked subtlety and finesse. Which is why it was so surprising to Rashad that Drake was possibly the most competent of the three when it came to parenting. Though perhaps those qualities were precisely what made him good at parenting. Rashad considered that as he watched Charlotte’s face slowly collapse into a scowl. “Oh no…. what’s wrong, Charli?” He tried for a soothing tone.

Her face reddened and her brows drew together as she leveled the full force of her two year old fury at him, “Want Mommy!”

“Mommy’s home sick, Habibti, remember?” He patted her back and rocked her gently as he’d seen Riley do many times.

Her face got even darker, “Want. Mommy! Now!”

“Listen sweet baby girl, what if I get you a snack?” He said cajolingly as he dug through the diaper bag with his free hand.

“No snack!” She started to wail.

“Ooooh, look! How about some cheerios?” He offered.

“No snack!” She struck his hand, sending cereal pieces flying everywhere, “Want mommy!”

“Charli, please, we don’t scream in public-“

“M-m-mo-moooooooommmmmiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” Big, fat tears slipped down her face as the wailing increased in volume and pitch.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” He began to jiggle her faster, “Shhh-shhh-shhh, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

“NO!” She screamed as she pulled a chubby little hand back and smacked him in the face as she kicked him then went rigid in his arms and slid right through them onto the ground.

Rashad scooped the truculent toddler into his arms, kicking and wailing and hissed at the other two men, “Let’s trade!”

“With who?” Drake demanded.

“Both! I’ll take both the boys and the two of you can take Charlotte. That’s two adults to one child, this is a deal you should take.” Both boys were sitting quietly, Jace kicking his little legs out in front of him as he consumed his weight in goldfish crackers and gummy bears, Jax completely absorbed in a video game.

Max protested, “I don’t know…Liam said-“

Drake tried to explain, “They seem easy because we have them separated; I don’t think you appreciate-“

“No, I don’t think you appreciate how little I understand toddlers! Please!” Rashad shoved Charli into Drake’s arms and motioned for Jace to follow him.

Jace shot a questioning look at Drake, who was trying to soothe Charli. When Drake shrugged, Jace followed Rashad back to his seat asking, “Do you have any snacks? What about a juice box? Are you coming to the palace later? Daddy says they’ll have baklava at the party tonight and that we have to be good because this boring speech thing is for grandma and Ellie says I talk too much, but I don’t think I do. I talk the normal amount, Jax is the one that talks a lot. How long are you staying this time? We’re not in trouble again, are we? The thing with the cars wasn’t our fault, Xander said-“

Rashad gritted his teeth and tuned out the barrage of questions as he settled back into his seat and tried to focus his attention back on the speeches. Liam was at the podium. Ellie and Xander were standing on the stage behind him with Leo, some members of the royal council, Leo’s oldest son, a few visiting dignitaries and the queen mothers long time personal assistant standing behind him. Regina was in a private box looking out over the stadium where the event was being held.

As Liam shuffled the notecards, laughter rippled through the crowd. He looked up and out over the audience in confusion. The laughter got louder. His face paled. He whipped his head around to look behind him.

“Eleanor! What are you doing?” Then cursed himself because it was caught on mic.

She froze before responding with, “Uh…dabbing.” With a tone that clearly implied he was an idiot for not knowing that.

“Well, please stop.”

“Yeah, please stop.” Xander shoved her in the side.

There was some more laughter in the crowd and a few appalled gasps.

“Hey! You little shit!” Ellie elbowed him, hard.

This time the appalled gasps and the laughter were louder. Leo moved over to place himself between the two, effectively forcing a détente. Liam gave him a grateful smile before apologizing to the crowd and continuing with his speech.

In the crowd, Rashad whispered, “I thought they were the easy ones?”

Drake gave Rashad a conspiratorial smile as he tried to snuggle a wriggling, fussing, climbing on him like he was a jungle gym Charli, “Usually. Looks like Liam’s not getting off as easy as he thought he was. Ellie is a firecracker and Xander is just usually sneakier than the other two boys. When Jax and Jace get caught doing something they’re not supposed to be doing, Xander is almost guaranteed to be the one that put them up to it, he just retreats before suffering the consequences. But if anyone can bring out his inner demon, it’s Ellie.”

Rashad marveled at the way Drake carried on a conversation as if a rabid toddler weren’t using him as an obstacle course, while continuing to keep said toddler on his person despite her obvious attempts to be put down so she could run amuck. He was so busy being intrigued by it that he completely missed what was going on with the children he was supposed to be watching, as a quiet tussle over the video game started behind him.

Max snickered as he leaned toward Drake, “Remember the time she tricked him into cussing by insisting that a cat is called a putty tat, like tweety bird says?”

They had gone back and forth with the putty tat, pussy cat argument until Ellie had finally raised her voice and yelled, “Putty”, causing Xander to shout out, “Pussy!”

“Yeah.” Drake chuckled softly, “Poor kid. The look on Riley’s face when Regina heard that!”

Drake’s focus was on Charli who had placed a foot on his shoulder and attempted to launch herself into the row behind them when Rashad’s voice pulled his attention as he whisper screamed, “Jace! Jax! Get back here right now!”

It was too late, both boys were off and running down the aisle, Jace gleefully screeching with laughter as he ran away with his brother’s Nintendo Switch, Jax in hot pursuit, murder in his eyes.

“Fuck!” Drake swore, shoving Charlotte into Max’s arms. As he passed a distraught Rashad he muttered, “You’re fucking useless.”

The boys were running up the stadium steps as Drake raced after them. He caught up just as Jax tackled Jace to the ground. A scuffle ensured as they fought for possession of the Switch. Drake picked Jax up and lifted him easily with one arm while glancing down at Jace, holding his other hand out, “You ok, kiddo?”

Jace took Drake’s hand as he scrambled up, “Jax hit me!”

“Uh huh. And what have we said about taking other people’s stuff?”

Jace crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip. Drake sat Jax on the ground and knelt down in front of him, “I know he took your game, but you know that hitting is not ok, right? Remember your conflict resolution lessons?”

The lessons had been Liam’s idea, Drake had scoffed at it, but he couldn’t deny that it had helped. Too bad it hadn’t helped today specifically. Drake presided over the exchange of the game and apologies. As they headed back down the aisle, a woman smiled at him, “Good parenting skills.”

Jax looked up at her, eyes going directly to her very pregnant belly. “You’re pregnant!” He informed her.

“Yes.” She smiled at him as she lovingly cradled her bump.

“I know how that happens. The daddy puts his peanut in the mommy’s kerchina and then-“

The lady’s face went red as Drake’s hand clamped down over his son’s mouth. “Sorry.” He muttered as he ushed the boys back to their seats. He settled them back in their original seats as he told Rashad, “I told you they have to be kept separated at these things.”

“Tata, who’s that?” Jace’s voice was unnecessarily loud.

Drake’s head spun to look in the direction Jace was pointing, and staring, mouth opened at the jumbotron. Drake answered him, “Uh….that’s the pope. He couldn’t make it in person, so they are having him video call in to give his regards to grandma.”

“No. They guy behind him!”

Drake’s brow furrowed for a moment because there was no one behind him. Then understanding dawned on him as he noticed the huge crucifix with the image of Jesus with the crown of thorns hanging on it. “Oh. That’s Jesus.”

Unfortunately, there was a pause while the pope gathered his thoughts, so Jace’s voice carried clearly over the hushed crowd as he loudly exclaimed, in horror, “JESUS IS DEAD?!”

“Uh….Max?” Drake turned to Max in panic as Jace started to cry, loudly.

“On it!” Max traded seats with Drake, passing a squirming, whining Charli back to him in the process.

Max tried to soothe him, “Hey buddy. It’s ok, that’s not real, it’s a plastic statue.”

“So they can make Jesus look fake dead?”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly.” Max nodded, feeling pleased he’d explained it so well.

Jace’s face crumbled again, “Why would they do that?”

Drake’s attention was drawn away from Max and Jace as Charli slipped from his grasp and crawled under the seats. Drake had to get on his hands and knees to reach her. He reached under the seats then cussed softly through clenched teeth as he jerked his hand back when she bit into it, her teeth digging into the tender area between his thumb and index finger.

Drake crawled around on the ground trying to reach Charli as Max continued to try calm down a very distraught Jace. When he finally managed to pull her out, he handed her back to Rashad, “Your turn.”

Rashad looked up in surprise as Charli crashed down into his lap. “Oh..uh…hello again.”

She glared at him, “Want down!”

“How about a new toy?” He asked in desperation.

She stopped fighting and cocked her head curiously, “What toy?”

He dug around in his pockets and came up a keychain made from a heavy medallion. It was silver and green with a crescent moon and star on it. Rashad did not consider himself to be a religious man, but his grandmother had given it to him as a symbol of the faith she devoutly believed in, and he had kept it because it reminded him of her. He detached the medallion and held it out to Charli.

Her eyes widened in delight as he offered it to her, “Oooh, pretty!”

Rashad sighed in relief as she took it and settled into his lap, then anxiety surged through him again as she shoved it directly into her mouth. “No, no! You can’t swallow that, you’ll choke!”

Drake was about to offer Rashad some advice when Jax tapped him on the arm. He looked down and asked, “Yeah, buddy?”

“I have to pee.”

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Mommy said you’re not supposed to say shit in front of us.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Drake mumbled.

“You’re not supposed to say fuck either.”

“Oh for the love of- You know what? Come on, all of you, it’s time for a break anyway.”

Drake stood and took Jax by the hand, Max followed behind him with Jace. “You coming?” He asked Rashad.

“No, I…I think I’m good.” Rashad replied.

Drake shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

“Grandma’s really old, isn’t she?” Jax asked as they stepped out into the aisle, “Is she going to die soon?”

Drake sighed as he guided him up the aisle, “We really need to have a talk about what is and isn’t an appropriate question.”

“He’s not wrong, Drake.”

“Really, Max?”

Rashad settled back into his seat after having shifted a little to let the others out, his arms tightening around Charli to keep from disturbing her. She had finally settled and was rubbing her eyes sleepily. She mumbled something as she rubbed her face against his chest. It sounded like shod. “What, habibti?” He asked.

She lifted her face and gazed up at him with heavy lids, her little hand coming up to pat his check softly, “You. ‘Shad.”

He jolted in surprise; she was trying to say his name. “Yes, I’m Rashad. And you’re Charli.”

She smiled at him sweetly, “Luf ou, ‘shad.” She mumbled before dropping her head back onto his shoulder and falling asleep.

He felt his heart melt into a molten puddle inside his chest as he gripped her closer. Her breathing became even and deep, her back rising and falling evenly under his hands. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet baby smell and whispered, “I love you too, habibti.”

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ark1os · 1 month

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Vent about dad/religion

I didn’t do it. I don’t want to self-negative talk because this is already so hard for me and I shouldn’t make it harder for myself but I’m a coward. Honestly. I didn’t have a reason to back down. I could’ve just simply say “I need to tell you guys something” and say it. I don’t even want to -i need to tell you guys smth- this. I want to tell them “hey! I made my decision, it’s up to you where we go from here. Decide wisely” But asking him(dad) to take accountability for his actions & decisions is like asking this a 5 y/o. He literally doesn’t understand that he is accountable for HIS actions. He’s convinced I’m at fault for whatever he is doing.

It’s a trial from Allah and I can carry the burden. Alhamdulillah. And I’m ready to “ sacrifice “ my family for this. If wearing the hijab means losing them, I accept it. I seriously cannot pretend to be someone else for them for the rest of my life just so we can play pretend-family. They’re not accepting ME - the actual me. They’re happy with a version of myself I’m not. I’m muslima and dad still doesn’t want to see it. My mum has already made peace with it but this man is in complete denial. Why am I carrying the burden for him? I’m hiding myself so he is happy and doesn’t scream, cry or break something. And I don’t want to live this way for the rest of my life. (driven by the fear of his reaction & actions when he sees me with a hijab or when I tell him I want to wear it)

And yet, despite feeling this to my core - I couldn’t tell him today. And I know this sounds silly, but I want to do it before we enter the last ten days. I don’t want to leave this Ramadan hijab-less and certainly don’t want to be without a hijab on laylatul qadr.

I’m still so afraid. I keep saying I’m afraid but it’s literally describing my constant state. I panic and cry and my heart beats fast and it’s just. It’s a lot. I accepted that I might get abandoned, but I really wish it won’t end up this way. I’m sincerely putting my trust in Allah regarding this. That my dad doesn’t lose control and does something stupid. Just the thought of it drives me crazy. That he may hurt my family members, himself or me. Though I’d be in his radar so i’ll probably carry the most damage. I still hope I won’t get abandoned. That I’ll still be a part of the family. That they don’t support it per se but let me be. “I don’t support the decision but losing you is not an option for us” wouldn’t that be nice to hear it from your parents. This is unbelievably unrealistic. The only nice thing I can imagine them say is “you’re destroying the family it’s all your fault you’re crazy you’ve lost your mind you’re brainwashed you’re arab (? Yea thats an insult for them lol.)” I’m just so afraid and sad. I love them and I want them in my life. But I don’t love them more than Allah to put them above Him. But if this is the case, why didn’t I tell them today? Why did I back down?

I want to this to be over. But I know. I know the moment I tell him everything will change.

I trust Allah. I know Allah will help me. I will have the tools to deal with it. The reward is with Allah. It’s not going to be easy. But I have to let go and just do it. The moment I’m in the situation, it won’t seem as bad as before in shaa Allah. I have no idea where any of this is going to go, how the next few months/years are going to look like but I trust Him. And I’m so so so grateful for the Qur’an. I don’t find ANY peace when it comes to this topic except for when I read the Qur’an. Alhamdulillah. I’ve talked with my therapist about this, with my coach, with a few friends - and no matter what they say it doesn’t bring me ANY peace. But it’s so different when I read Allah’s words. I’m so grateful really

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theredheaded-stuff · 2 years

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Can you make headcanons? as Colins, Billy, Chris and Damian are adopted by Dick because of a superhero emergency and have to live as his children for 6 months, but after those 6 months they don't want to leave.

(I know some people think it's disrespectful to Bruce, but I don't think Damian being adopted would erase his relationship with Bruce, it's like "oh my gosh, now I have two dads") Sorry, english is not my first language

Of course!

don't worry actually my First language is portuguese so it's the same with me

I don't think it's disrespectful and come on Dick is a father figure to a lot of people

"Strays birds"

The justice league was in a mess, they needed to withdraw indefinitely to investigate the scarecrow and his new henchmen, and the worst the new gas mainly affected children,And then Shazam/Captain marvel was taken off the mission almost immediately.

Damian,Colin and Chris are 10, Billy is 12.

As the entire league was out this meant that Clark Kent would also be out for months, after a big selection Dick took it upon himself to take care of clark's foster son Chris.

After much insistence Dick manages to convince Billy to stay in his care too, emphasizing that Billy would still be independent of him, that was just an unusual situation for his own safety.

And just when Dick thought things had calmed down, Damian, his younger brother, Suspicious and constantly self-protective, but managed to open up to the two boys and his new older brother.

Colin came months later, when Damian on one of the rare outings found Colin, an orphan boy who was used in the experiment by the scarecrow, Dick was forced by himself to take care of the redhead.

Dick took everyone to bluehaven with him, compared to Gotham bluehaven was heaven and so much more peaceful

......

Mornings start with the kitchen smelling of scrambled eggs and chocolate milk, sometimes with laughter from the boys and sometimes with Dick trying to cheer them up.

At first Damian and Chris don't understand what Colin and Billy say in slang so Dick would translate for them, but now the four of them have their own language and Dick doesn't understand anything they say

The four have already escaped from the apartment when Dick went to do the monthly shopping, Billy disguised himself as Shazam and one of Dick's coats and so they went to batburgers -bluehaven Version without adult supervision, Dick freaked out.

Damian, who still didn't know anything about the United States other than books and research, ends up spoiling his "brothers" by accident, after all, the wayne-al ghul's fortune is huge and Damian loves to give gifts

Chris speaks Kryptonian when scared, Damian speak mixes of Chinese Arabic and English when scared

Billy and Colin Don't understand an ounce of what is said when Damian and Chris do it.

The four at some point started to treat each other like brothers, Dick ended up becoming a father figure to them without even realizing it.

At some point the boys had to go back or start (in Damian's case) going to school and well it was just a big mess! Damian was suspended for having a kitten in his backpack,Colin kicked a guy, Billy argued with a teacher and Chris refused to participate in physical education classes.

Chris was bullied, Damian and Colin went to defend him, Billy went to appease everyone but they got suspended.

The boys ended up super attached to each other, this started to become clear when Colin disappeared into a crowd of people and everyone freaked out.

Billy helps Damian hide the stray kittens and puppies he catches around

Colin may not like tight spaces but he got used to it and liked getting hugs often.

Damian and Chris are the chaos duo even if the poor kryptonian doesn't realize it, On Chris' first birthday away from his parents they ended up setting the party on fire unintentionally

Six months went by like water running down the sink when Damian couldn't reach the faucet, but none of them were prepared to walk away from each other.

One of the boys ended up calling dick dad by accident, Dick cried

Damian did want to see his father, but at the same time he didn't want to.

Chris sure missed his parents, but felt guilty about leaving his new family.

Colin and Billy eventually got used to living with this messed up family and strangely didn't feel good about leaving it behind.

Now some dialogs!

Dick : What is the problem?

Damian:

Billy :

Colin :

Dick : Where's Chris?

Billy : bath.

Dick : no he doesn't

The three: so...

-----------

Billy trying to give good advice: do what your heart tells you to do

Colin : so i go slepp

Damian and Chris : fine

Minutes later

Dick : Why is the toaster on fire?!

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Dick trying to calm the boys down puts a movie from his childhood

Damian : Why doesn't the wolf enter the house?

Chris : Because the house is made of bricks, Dami

Colin : And the wolf can't break the window?

Billy : We are raising a burglar.

------------------

The tiny three : we can have more cookies?

Billy : What did Dick say?

The tiny three : he said No

Billy : so it's

The tiny three : but...he is not boss of you

Billy : okay okay this is a trap and i know that

The tiny three: You are the worst big brother in the world.

Billy : We can take it when he sleeps

---------------------

I hope you like it ✨:D

@moonderly

#chris kent #batfamily #Dick grayson #damian wayne #colin wilkes #billy batson #dick have four children #jon is with lois at FBI base #bird #robin #batman #batkids

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

Note

Do you have favorite quotes related about the importance of small details?

“The precious intimacy of little things.”

— Daphné du Maurier, I Will Never Be Young Again

“On my windowsill when I got home, there was a tumbler with pink jelly in it, and embedded in the jelly, sliced strawberries and bananas… [my neighbour] cooks at odd hours. She must have made the strawberry jelly this morning. When I buy baklava, which is not often because I eat too many, I leave a few for her on her windowsill, with a headscarf over them so the wasps don’t come. For these little gifts we don’t thank each other with words. They are commas of care.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

“I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that’s really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what’s too high, or what’s been dropped. Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it’s always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.”

“One of the woman was gently arranging an older woman’s collar beneath her sweater, freeing it from the cardigan’s neck, using both of her hands to jostle it free but also seeming to spend a little more time than necessary, creasing the fold of the collar, the other hand kind of resting on her shoulder, the two of them chatting the whole time, sitting there holding each other, nodding, my head twisting toward them like a sunflower as I finished the stairs and walked by, so in love was I with this common flourish of love, this everyday human light.”

“but her need to share the photo with me [...] smiling and looking at it, smiling and looking at me looking at it, me smiling and looking at her looking at it, which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”

— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

“He’s got a fever. He’s all alone. So I’m gonna buy him something to eat.” “The congee downstairs is quite good.” “He doesn’t want congee.” “What does he want?” “Can’t taste anything so he wants sesame syrup.” [...] “What are you cooking?” “I had a sudden craving for sesame syrup.”

“Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

— In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

— Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses”

“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”

— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise

“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world…You move out of your isolation and become universal.”

— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”

“It’s true that, in Vietnamese, we rarely say I love you, and when we do, it is almost always in English. Care and love, for us, are pronounced clearest through service: plucking white hairs, pressing yourself on your son to absorb a plane’s turbulence and, therefore, his fear. Or now—as Lan called to me, “Little Dog, get over here and help me help your mother.” And we knelt on each side of you, rolling out the hardened cords in your upper arms, then down to your wrists, your fingers. For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

— Ada Limón, from “The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road”

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled WIth Shrieks”

“One of the primary ways we connect with each other is by eating together. Some of the connection happens simply by being in the same place at the same time and sharing the same food, but we also connect through specific actions, such as serving food to one another or making toasts: ‘May I offer you some potatoes?’ ‘Here’s to your health and happiness.’ Much of our fundamental well-being comes from the basic reassurance that there is a place for us at the table. We belong here. Here we are served and we serve others. Here we give and receive sustenance.”

— Edward Espe Brown, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teaching

“Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

“Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

— Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays / from “Invitation”

— Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Gate A4″

“Then there are the things, if you are particularly lucky, that this person has done for you while you’re away: how in the pantry, in the freezer, in the refrigerator will be all the food you like to eat, the scotch you like to drink. There will be the sweater you thought you lost the previous year at the theater, clean and folded and back on its shelf. There will be the shirt with its dangling buttons, but the buttons will be sewn back in place. There will be your mail stacked on one side of his desk; there will be a contract for an advertising campaign you’re going to do in Germany for an Austrian beer, with his notes in the margin to discuss with your lawyer. And there will be no mention of it, and you will know that it was done with genuine pleasure, and you will know that part of the reason—a small part, but a part—you love being in this apartment and in this relationship is because this other person is always making a home for you, and that when you tell him this, he won’t be offended but pleased, and you’ll be glad, because you meant it with gratitude.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

#this is a mim supremacy account #w #compilation #the precious intimacy of little things #john berger #hanya yanagihara #naomi shihab nye #wendy cope #mary oliver #ada limón #ocean vuong #danusha laméris #ross gay

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weirdestbooks · 3 years

Text

Secret States Chapter 14

Figuring Out America

America POV

A faint buzzing noise began pulling my mind out of sleep. My thoughts were muddled and I couldn't recognize the noise. Sleep kept it pulling down on my brain, and for once, I let it win. I began sinking deeper into sleep before I heard a voice. I groaned and moved my face into the pillow, trying to stay asleep.

"Dad. You need to wake up." The voice pierced into my tired mind and I began pulling open my eyes and lifting up my head, seeing NATO standing in my room.

"Nate?" I questioned, eyes drooping and my head dropping back towards the pillow. This is why I hated sleeping. I always felt so tired when I woke up. I'm NATO sighed.

"As much as I like making sure you sleep, now isn't the time. UN wants you to meet them and the other organizations to talk about you being a union." NATO explained. That woke me up slightly and I began pulling my body off the bed, rubbing at my still drooping eyes.

"Why? There were, and are countries that are technically unions too. Why do they want to see me?" I said as I stood up and yawned, before remembering what I had done before I fell asleep.

"Oh no." I said. I had cried on Maman. Now she was going to worry about me. My family was already suspicious enough after I freaked out about Uncle North asking about the 1860s. Now my family was going to be concerned for me.

What if they tried to help me? They would just see how much of a weak, worthless failure I am, and realize I'm not worth their time. If they find about any of this, I won't be able to prove Dad wrong. I didn't need anyone's help. I was fine on my own.

I couldn't be seen as weak. I couldn't. Sharing my difficult history would just make me seem weak. If they saw me as weak I wouldn't be able to protect my kids. I had failed to protect them too many times before. I had to be strong. I had to be unbreakable.

I was the United States of America. I wasn't allowed to be weak.

"Dad? Are you alright?" NATO asked. I nodded. NATO didn't look convinced, but he didn't question it.

"UN also asked for me to come with you. I'll meet you in your car when you're ready. Please don't fall back asleep." NATO said, walking out of my room.

I groaned. I didn't want to do UN's interrogation, but it's not like I had a choice. ——————————————————

UN's POV

I was waiting in an empty meeting room with the other unions, waiting for America to show up. I wanted to discuss America's claims, the fact that he was a union. He had the black eyes like the rest of us unions, but so did his state, New York, which makes me think that black eyes aren't just reserved to unions.

I looked up as America opened the door, not wearing sunglasses for once. While I had seen America's eyes before, it was brief, and quick. I don't think he liked showing them. NATO followed America, his father, into the room before they both took a seat at the table.

"So you know why you're here?" African Union, or AU asked. America nodded.

"How can you be a union?" ASEAN asked, jumping right into the questions, with the question I knew we all wanted the answer too. NATO snorted.

"Britain's a union to, kinda technically. Why are you so confused by Dad being one when Britain never kept the fact that he was a political union secret?" He questioned. I paused at his question.

I had never thought about that. Britain was a political union, but that was common knowledge, or at least public knowledge, so it was never a big deal. But America being a union was a secret. Not many countries knew about it.

That's what made it strange. America said it was because the states didn't want him to, and I understood that he probably couldn't argue against it. I knew that unions, depending on how much influence the countries or states or territories or whatever made them up, were sometimes at the mercy of what their parts decided.

Their decisions were the products of decisions their parts made, even if it wasn't what they personally believed. But America hadn't let anything slip about it he wanted to tell anyone. He seemed cautious about people knowing, but it could be concern for his states, his children, that caused it. Not because he wanted people to know.

America was always a bit of a private person. I always thought it was because of his isolation that other countries had told me about. How he spend almost a century ignoring people and doing his own thing. And even after being forced into global politics by the world wars and becoming a world power, I always though his want for privacy originated from that and the Cold War.

I never imagined any if this.

"We understand how Britain is a political union. We knew about that. We didn't know about America, and the way he works is different than America." EU said. NATO nodded, and looked towards America.

"I'm a union because I cannot be a country because I violate three requirements of a country, and my government follows the definition of a union more than it does the definition of a country. My constitution even refers to me as a union." America explained.

"What requirements of a country don't you follow?" Organization of American States, or OAS asked.

"Definite territory, sovereignty over an area, and one government, although I'm not really sure if the last one is a requirement, but I have over 350 governments, and I don't think a country is supposed to have that." America said, smiling slightly.

"350?!" Caribbean Community or CC questioned. That was a high number. I thought America only had 50 states, and his territories. Were some of the governments included town governments or something? There's no way America could have that many sovereign pieces.

"There is no way you have that many governments. Not even UN has that many governments." World Health Organization, or WHO (Yes we make fun of him for that name. Why wouldn't we?) cut it. America shrugged.

"Well I do." He said, amusement glinting in his eyes as he tried to hide the smile on his face, "I have my states, and then the tribes. There are 326 Native American reservations in my country. I have no power, or little power in those reservations. They're managed by one or more tribes, like Havasupai or Miccosukee."

"Your native people's countryhumans are alive?" OAS asked. America nodded.

"Thankfully." He said, his voice quiet. NATO puts his hand on America's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. America shook his head and NATO put his hand down and gave America-his father, a sad and resigned look.

What was that about? I didn't get a chance to think much on it before BRICS spoke up.

"How are you even considered a country if you have over 350 governments. How has no one seen all of those countryhumans?" He asked. America shrugged.

"You guys are idiots. Plus my children, or most of them at least, kept themselves hidden. The tribes don't stay in this world very often either. They never did before colonization, and with their history and cultures in risk of being lost forever, they'd rather spend time with their people keeping as much of their culture alive as possible." America explained.

That made since, from what I knew at least. I didn't know much about America's history, or the history of my parts, and learning about my different pieces was always something I enjoyed, especially since it was rare. Not many countries enjoyed talking about their past.

"Why don't you get involved with the reservations? It sounds like you get involved with the states frequently, but you've neglected to mention how you run the reservations." OAS asked

"That's like asking me why I don't govern Mexico. I'm not going to govern another nation." America said. I froze up. Did America recognize the reservations as independent nations? I had always prided myself on knowing the names of every country, and every who hoped to be a country, like Kosovo, who was still bugging me about her UN membership.

How did I miss 326 countryhumans that were recognized as nation by the nation they used to be a part of?

"I'm sorry, but did you say your Native American reservations were nations?" League of Arab States said. America raised a hand and shook it in a so-so motion before sighing.

"My government recognizes them as being domestic dependent nations. Basically independent, but also not. It's a weird and complicated relationship between my government and theirs. They don't hold any strong connections to the state or federal fovernment, which is a big reason for why they're considered separate entities." America explained.

"What about the states?" Nordic Council asked.

"The states and I share sovereignty. I handle things that involve the entire country, multiple states, and international things. The states handle internal things like education and whatnot on their own. That's why I couldn't impose a federal quarantine when you were asking me to. That's not a power I have. It's one the states have. Quarantining was up to them and their governments." America explained.

Now I felt bad. I had been one of the people pressuring America the most to impose a federal quarantine. To find out that he wasn't able to do that makes me feel like an asshole. I had just been putting extra stress on America, and finding out about his children, that extra stress probably wasn't good for him.

"Seriously? What can you do then?" Union of South American Nations (USAN) asked. America laughed.

"In terms of what I control directly, not a lot. Congress, who is in charge of lawmaking, declaring war, making treaties, setting the federal budget and a whole lot more, is made up of people the the states elect. So Congress is more of the states than me. I can have some influence in Congress, but general decisions in Congress are based around what each senator and representative wants for their states." America explained.

That was common though. Decisions by unions were normally based around the countries deciding what action the union should take for its own best interests. America really did seem like a union. There where just little pieces that didn't make sense. America's states got no international relations, outside of what America chooses that is.

That wasn't something that happened in unions. While I do believe that America is a union, I also thing that he might not be a union in the same sense me and the other unions in this room where. But if that was true, what exactly was the United States of America?

I tuned back into the conversation as Arab Maghreb Union asked another question. I felt bad questioning America like this. He seemed uncomfortable with it, but that might just be because he had kept the very thing we're questioning him about secret. America was a very confusing person.

"What powers do you have, powers that are just yours and have nothing to do with your state?" Arab Maghreb Union asked.

"I don't have a lot. The executive branch is fully mine, but it's main purpose is enforcing the laws that the states decide in Congress. That branch, through the president, can veto laws, but mainly they enforce laws through the various government organizations like the FBI or the CIA. The only power that branch has that is not affected by Congress is executive orders, but those don't have the same effect as laws made by Congress do." America explained.

"Are you saying that you don't have any real power?" Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) asked leaning forwards over the table. I saw a flash of fear in America's eyes that was quickly hidden by the disinterested look he's been wearing the entire meeting.

"I do have power. I just don't have full control over it. It's the same story for all of you." He snapped, becoming defensive. CELAC looked confused at America's reaction before her eyes widened in realization.

"Lo siento. It's just weird thinking of you as a union when I've, we've always thought of you as a country. I didn't mean any offense to you. It's a just big change, thinking of you as a union." She said.

"Nothing's changed that much." America said. Maybe not for him, but for us, a lot had. We were no strangers to countries being unions, USSR taught us that much, but America being one and keeping it secret was strange. Britain had also been around when America first became a country, so it's not he was the only country that was made up of states.

So why did he hid it? I know he said it was the states choice, but I think that's answer is bullshit. Sure, it might hold some truth, but it definitely wasn't the full reason.

"Maybe not for you, but for us a lot is different. Especially because you keep acting different and mature, instead of the incompetent idiotic fool you normally act like, no offense. We're not sure what to make of all this." Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIS) said.

"And how can you be a union if your states don't act like counties?" International Organization of Turkic Culture (TÜRKSOY) said.

"Because I'm not entirely a union. I also have characteristics of a country, and I'm also an empire. So I don't really know what the hell I am. I'm considered a country by other countries, I'm considered a union by my governments and my people, and I'm considered an empire because of my overseas territories." America explained.

"I though you said you were a union?" AU asked. America shrugged.

"I am. I'm just a lot of other things as well. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be. My states and I have always considered me a union, but the countries don't and consider me a country. And since I'm not like the rest of you and do have characteristics of a country, I am a union, just not the same kind of union as the rest of you." America explained before standing up.

"Where are you going?" BRICS asked.

"I'm done with this interrogation. I'm leaving." America said before leaving, NATO watching him before pulling out his phone.

"What are you doing?" USAN asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Calling someone." NATO said, "Dad's going to need it."

What did that mean?

#secret states by weird #weird’s wattpad stories #countryhumans #statehumans #writing

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hintofcolor · 4 years

Text

Things I’ve managed to convince myself are canon:

Dick was born in Romania and spent his entire childhood traveling with the circus not once settling down therefore when his parents died in America (supposedly just another country they stopped in) he was forced to stay there. Meaning dick was an illegal immigrant for a long time while Bruce constantly was trying to use his money and power to get Dick legal without him leaving the country OR anyone finding out

This also means Dick couldn’t really speak English when he moved in with Bruce (this is backed up by him constantly dismantling the English language in the YJ cartoon)

All of the bat kids were bullied brutally in school

Bruce encouraged them to fight back just like Alfred did with him (“never throw the first punch but if get hit make sure they’re the ones that stay down”)

Dick spent a couple weeks in juvie after his parents died and it was the worst couple weeks of his life

Dick had a childhood crush on Wally (who is straight) when dick was 16 he sat Wally down and told him. He told him he expected nothing out of this confession he just hated feeling like he was lying to Wally, Wally understood and was really nonchalant about it nothing changed in their relationship

Jason grew up loving wonder woman and considered her his greatest inspiration in being a hero when he was robin

In return Diana absolutely adored Jason

When Jason got older his respect for Diana only grew and Diana constantly stood up for him, even going as far as (subtly) threatening Bruce a couple times

Jason can’t handle the smell of drugs at all, he always has to wear a filtered mask during drug busts just in case

Jason used to smoke but ever since coming back the smoke just reminds him of the explosion (I saw this somewhere I can’t remember where shout out to you tho)

Jason hates the color green

Tim was severely neglected as a child

Tim learned multiple different languages from all the nanny’s he’s had

Tim is an amazing photographer

All of Bruce’s kids are really close with Selina and go to her to talk or just if they need a break from Bruce and she absolutely adores it

This is one of the main reasons Bruce wanted to marry her

Bruce might be a little awkward and socially inept but he is a good father and loves all of his kids and even tho he might slip up sometimes he would NEVER (I’m looking at you Tim king) NEVER EVER intentionally hurt one of his kids physically or mentally BECAUSE THAT IS EXTEREMELY OUT OF CHARACTER @ ANY WRITER WHO HAS MADE BRUCE A JERK GOD LEARN YOUR CHARACTER JEEZ

Damian is a phenomenal artist and is considered a prodigy

It is something he keeps to himself however

Both Dick and Tim have gone and worked under Selina during thier robin days for a few weeks

The only person who is close to Dicks level when it comes to acrobatics is Selina

There are days where you are only allowed to speak in your native tongue to help Everyone keep up their language skills (Tim speaks Filipino dick speaks Romani Jason speaks Italian Stephanie speaks Portuguese Damian speaks Arabic bruce switches Cassie speaks Chinese) these are the days duke feels like slamming his head through a wall

All of the bat kids have green lantern shirts

Tim has a habit of stealing clothes from literally anyone

Tim prefers tea over coffee

Ace and Titus are both trained service dog however Titus is Damians specifically while Ace is trained to alert Alfred of Bruce and to alert Bruce of Dick Tim and Jason

Bruce is think about getting another dog for Cassie steph and duke because he doesn’t want to overwhelm Ace with 3 more people

Nobody in that spoiled family except for Jason and Alfred can make ANYTHING other that ramen cereal and toast

Dick is insanely healthy because that’s how he grew up in the circus AND the manor

Bruce once lit the refrigerator on fire trying to cook. No one knows how. He denies he ever did such to this day

Dick was considered a heartthrob as a teen and actually was featured on vogue in native dress and took the opportunity to talk about his culture

Vickie was fuming but so was Lois

Dick dresses like Harry styles. Convince me otherwise. I dare you.

However his go to look is a Hawaiian short tucked into black skinny jeans and black converse

Just like Selina everyone in the batfamily has a tendency to confide in Dinah

No homophobia sexism or racism is allowed in the Wayne house hold if you display any of the following you will promptly be kicked out. It has happened before

Cassie has punched lex Luther in the face at a gala

Bruce laughed

Cass has also only worn sweats and a sports bra to a gala

Cass is a ballet dancer and likes teaching her brothers the moves she has learned

When Bruce came back from the dead and found out the justice league thought Tim was going insane with grief and didn’t do anything about it he yelled and screamed for a solid hour. Then he went silent. for weeks he didn’t say a word. It was the most terrifying he had ever been

Duke hangs on to the fact that he is the only meta allowed in Gotham with absolute pride

All the robins check in on the kids from the ‘we are robin’ movement every now and again just to make sure they are okay

Adults are terrified of the bats however children love them

Every member of the batfamily has been called over by child screaming out their window only to spend the next hour helping said child with their homework

Batman makes sure he is approachable to children he wants them to feel safe enough around him to ask for his help no matter what

That has led to him: 1. Patching up stuff animals 2. Calming down imaginary friends 3. Giving opinions on important matters such as which color is the best 4. Helping with homework 5. Trying to be persuaded into convincing the parents not to make broccoli anymore. It’s his favorite part about putting on a mask

Teenagers tho a little more hesitant also approach him with a little more serious matters and more for advice. (How can I help my friend with depression? How can I help my anxiety? I think friend is doing drugs how can I help. I don’t think these are good people I’m hanging out with but now I’m too scared to stop)

However if teens catch any bat sitting on a rooftop close to their windows they ask more stupid type of questions

“Hey nightwing how do you ask out a girl?” “Red hood I’m trying to write this book so hypothetically how long does it take some one to bleed out?” “If I payed you would you take my physical for PE for me?” “How good do you think you would do on the pacer test?” “Can you tell my little sister to shut up, she’ll listen to you?” “How much do I have to pay you to scare my friend?”

Talks between people and the vigilantes from rooftop to window happen a lot and it is always the highlight of the patrol. They like that the people of Gotham trust them.

Jason was brought back via whatever that superboy reset was (I’m still a little fuzzy, sue me) clawed his way out of his grave and then found by Talia. He was then but in the pit for his head injuries. Making it easier for the shadows to manipulate and brainwash him into hating Bruce. However that’s the only thing they manipulated him into. Jason didn’t go ‘insane by the pit’ and his thoughts and stances on killing are his own. And the way Bruce handles Jason being back is what made Jason continue hating Bruce even aged the brainwashing ‘wore off’

The day his dad died was what Jason considered the best day of his life

Dick is extremely intelligent and was considered a child prodigy (this isn’t a headcanon this is actually canon some of y’all just forget and need to be reminded)

Dick loves math (also canon)

Jason can sing. Like really really well.

Theater Nerd™️ Jason Todd

Jason is scared of thunderstorms

Damian is afraid of heights

Lady shiva absolutely adores Tim

They have all been arrested a few times each for varying reasons when they were teenagers

If Alfred or Bruce yell one thier full names the other kids will cover for them but ONLY if they use the full name other wise it’s every man for himself

I know this one isn’t batfam but I think kon playes the electric guitar and has a really unique punk-ish vibe type singing voice (think hobo Johnson)

Dick has naturally curly hair

#comics #dc comics #tim drake #damain wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #bruce is a good dad #alfred pennyworth #selina kyle #wally west #birdflash #kon el

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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

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“Are you awake?” and “I... I want a hug.”

Summary: Damian has been getting bullied by his classmates for a while now. When he finally reaches a breaking point, the boy tells Dick what happened, and his older brother gets mad. He can't believe Damian, the boy he loves so much, the boy he helped raising, is going through the exact same thing he had to endure years ago, in the same school. You'd think the problem would be solved by now.

Word Count: 4951

Warning! There’s some racism expressed in this work! (I didn’t want to put it in the tags because I think it would be rude to put fanfic on a tag that is mostly used for more important things, so I thought it best to let you know here)

Notes: Hello! This work has been beta'd by @3ambird , I don't know how you make time to help me, but I'm so glad you do!! Thank you. Also, if you haven't checked out their works, please do. Their recent fanfic is Dick Grayson centric and it made me cry. One of my favorite works ever.

(Also, to the anon who requested the “I want a hug” prompt with Dick and Bruce, I’m not ignoring you! It should be the one up next, okay? I just had this one sitting on my computer for a while, so I had to post it first, hahahaha!)

Damian took a deep breath. Mathematics was always the worst class of the day. He took his seat, middle row, third chair. The classroom was filling up, and there was no one behind him yet. That gave him a couple of minutes to close his eyes and try to gather his strength.

The problem wasn’t the subject. Damian already knew all that he was being forced to re-learn, making all of his classes nothing but a nuisance. The problem had a first and a last name: Warren Pruitt.

Damian felt his desk being roughly pushed, and opened his eyes.

“What? Did I disturb your prayers?” Warren smirked.

“Fuck off.” Damian answered. He felt his stomach twist, wishing he could solve this like he solved things as Robin.

Warren took his seat behind him, purposefully shoving his desk against the back of Damian’s chair.

“Refrain from doing that, Pruitt.”

“Or what? You’ll blow up the school?” His little clique laughed loudly, making explosion sounds in the back “Allahu akbar! Ha ha ha!”

“You can’t even be racist properly.” Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m not Muslim, you idiotic naked ape.” Another shove sent his chair inches forward, pressing his stomach against his desk. He pushed back, and was shoved forward again “Stop it.” He gritted his teeth.

“Shut up, Al Ghul.” Warren sneered, a cruel smile on his lips.

Damian had never felt any embarrassment towards his heritage. He took pride in both of his last names, the signs of two powerful dynasties that had combined to create him. He was a symbol of strength because of them, and he was proud of it. But the way it was said, like it was an insult, like it was tainted, like it made him lesser, left a bitter taste in Damian’s mouth, so he corrected the boy.

“Wayne.” He growled “My last name is Wayne.”

“We’ve been over this already, Al Ghul.” One of Warren’s pack of imbeciles spat as Warren leaned forward against his desk, pushing Damian’s stomach into the wood, hurting him.

“Yeah, we have.” Another boy, Charles Du Pont encouraged, watching from the desk to Damian’s left. Damian gritted his teeth.

“You can try all you want, but you’ll never be anything more than the arab boy you are. You’re lucky your father is enough of a moron to let you in.” A fourth kid - Michael Chase, Damina’s mind supplied - leaned in, mocking him.

“Yeah. My dad said he’d throw you on the streets, let you rot in one of Gotham’s orphanages. It’s what you deserve for trying to take our places.” Warren said.

The bell signaling the classes beginning rang, right as the teacher walked in.

.................................

The words kept ringing in Damian’s ears for the rest of the day. He doesn’t know why, but he can never find the proper words to shoot back at them. And he doesn’t know why it all bothers him so much.

Going back home, Damian threw his backpack into his bedroom and walked through the halls, stopping when he saw Tim’s open door, both him and Duke reading through an essay.

“-tt-” Damian clicked his tongue from the door “Can’t do your own papers by yourself, Drake?”

“Shut up, brat.” Tim answered.

“Whatever. Where is Grayson?”

“Sleeping.” Tim answered “Why, what do you want?”

“It’s none of your business Drake.” He crossed his arms, leaving and continuing down the hall.

He rubbed away some tears forming in his eyes. Of course Dick would still be sleeping, he was on patrol until the sun had risen. Slowly, he creaked open his brother’s bedroom door.

“Are you awake?” He whispered.

“Hm...” Dick murmured “Dami?” He lifted his face from the pillow to look at the boy. Damian’s eyes landed on a noticeable bruise on his cheekbone “What’s wrong?” He slowly sat up, noticing the look on his baby brother’s face.

“Nothing.” Damian answered, swiping away more tears.

“Liar.” Dick accused, smiling “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Damian removed his school blazer, hanging it on Dick’s chair as he kicked off his shoes.

“Don’t get up. You need to sleep.” Damian said. Dick frowned, laying back down.

“Okay.” He started, carefully “But what’s going on little d? What do you need?”

“I...” He tried, but his voice cracked as he sat on the bed.

“It’s okay.” Dick whispered, stroking his back “What do you want me to do, Dami?”

“I... I want a hug.” He laid down next to his brother, who pulled him close to his body.

Dick felt him sobbing against his chest, and kissed Damian’s hair, holding him tightly.

“What happened, hm?” Dick whispered gently against his head “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I just want to sleep for a while.” The boy whispered back, placing his hand on top of his brother’s.

“Okay.” Dick answered “We can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Damian noticed how much bigger his brother’s hands were when compared to his. Part of it was due to the amount of punches he had thrown in his life, making the bones spread apart, giving it a wider aspect. Part of it was due to the fact that Damian was still a child. He noticed how both of their hands were calloused and rough, but still in infinitely different ways. His hands had been marked by the sword, while his brother’s were shaped by his escrima sticks and the bars of the circus.

Truth is, Damian focused so much on his hands because the size comparison made him feel safe. Above all, having something to focus on helped him fall asleep faster. Dick was already used to the feeling of small fingers moving his hand around, counting scars and feeling bumps, until both of them drifted off.

About an hour later, Dick woke up to the feeling of his brother moving around the bed, awake too.

“Hey.” He smiled, stretching “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” Damian answered, staring at the ceiling. His face was smashed, hair a mess, and his button up shirt had creases everywhere. Dick played with his brother’s hair as he blinked slowly “That feels nice.”

“Yeah.” Dick chuckled “Listen Dames, I need to grab some food. Come with me?” Damian nodded in response, and both of them got on their feets and walked to the kitchen.

Dick looked through the cabinets for something to eat. Damian pulled a post-it off the fridge door.

“Pennyworth left you a sandwich.” He grabbed it, handing it to his hungry brother.

“Sweet!” He exclaimed “Alfie really is a life saver. Want some?”

“No, thank you.” Damian refused. They sat across each other at a table.

“So... Want to talk now?” Dick asked. The boy remained silent “C’mon Dami. You know I’m here for you, right? You can trust me.”

Damian hid his face in his hands.

“I’m ashamed.”

“Why?”

“I... I feel like a coward.” He almost growled “It’s... As if I was weak.” Tears slid down his cheeks.

“What’s going on Damian?” Dick asked again, softly.

“Promise...” He started “Promise you won’t get mad. Please.”

“Of course I won’t Dami.” His brother had soft eyes, staring at him. Damian swallowed.

“Pruitt and his group of brain dead morons.” He wiped the tears away and punched the table “I let them get to me. I don’t know how to deal with it, and that makes me weak.”

“What are they doing to you?”

“They keep... Insinuating that I’m a terrorist. Shoving my chair and telling me that...” He frowned “Telling me that father should have left me in an orphanage. Because of… My heritage.”

Dick examined him for a moment.

“Damian.” He called “Dami, look at me.” He caught his brother’s hand “This isn’t your fault. And it doesn’t make you weak. You don’t know how to deal with this because you shouldn’t have to deal with this. I need you to understand that, okay?” Damian nodded “Listen, we need to talk to your principal about this.” Damian’s eyes widened “I know. I know how it sounds, I’ve been there. But believe me, it will get better. The first step is to let people know what’s going on.”

“What is the second step?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what will happen after the first.”

.................................

The next morning, Dick insisted on taking his brother to school. He convinced Damian to talk to Bruce about what had happened, and now both his father and brother were in the car, headed to school to talk to his principal about the bullying he had been facing.

After all the students had properly settled in their classrooms, the principal welcomed the Waynes into his office.

“Mr. Wayne! What can I do for you?” He asked, a polite smile on his face.

“Well, Mr. Jameson, I was recently made aware of some... Concerning behaviour happening on school grounds.”

“What kind of concerning behaviour, Mr. Wayne?” The principal joined his hands, portraying a curiosity Dick knew to be fake. He rolled his eyes.

“What has-”

“Racism.” Dick cut Bruce off, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair “We’ve recently found out that Damian has been dealing with racist comments and actions coming from some of his classmates.” Bruce gave him a discreet look, but didn’t say anything “What?” He whispered to his father “How long were you two planning on dancing around the topic for?”

The principal cleared his throat.

“I assure you, Mr. Grayson, I’m just as appalled by this allegation as you are.”

“Allegation my ass.” He shot back.

“Dick.” Bruce quietly warned.

“Look, the way I see this, it’s all very simple.” Dick said, palms spread on the man’s table as he spoke “I had to endure racism back in my student days, and now Damian is having to suffer through the same thing, because your administration has failed to correct this behaviour when it first happened, despite my countless cries for help during my middle and high school years.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“I can’t really argue with that, Mr. Jameson.” The man brought his hands together, resting them on his lap.

“Yes, I see.” The man answered, an uncomfortable smile on as his face took on a pale tone “Uhm, why don’t you... Give me a list with the names of the children involved so we can schedule a meeting next week with the boys parents and...” He cut himself off as he looked at Bruce’s face.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jameson, but I assume you know that I run a business? And that my time is very scarce?” Bruce started “I am here now. Doesn’t that send a clear enough message of my expectations?”

“I- Uhm, yes, of course, Mr. Wayne.” He started again “If you can give me the names of the children, I’ll call their parents in immediately.”

“That’s great.” Bruce smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes “I happen to have a list with me.”

.................................

A couple of hours later, only three of the kids had their guardians present. Both the principal and Bruce decided that the fourth one could wait a day or two and that there was no real need to keep anyone waiting any longer.

“Mr. Jameson,” Angus Pruitt, the father to the blonde Warren, leader of the group, stated, as his wife held her dear boy close “What is this all about?”

“Well, you see,” The Principle said, sweating profusely. Dick could understand the nervousness, seeing the delicate audience he was speaking to, but was too angry to even try to empathize “It has come to my attention that young Mr. Pruitt, along with Mr. Du Pont and Mr. Chase,” He gestured towards the two other boys, “Have been involved in some...” The principal eyes met Dick’s enraged stare, and the man dropped his head. Bruce felt compelled to nudge his son and get him to stop “I, uhm...” He stumbled over his words.

Dick sighed and opened his mouth, too quickly for Bruce to stop.

“Your kids have been saying some pretty racist shit to my brother.” Dick said, leaning back on the wall “Now that I know who is involved with all this, can’t say I’m all that surprised.” His eyes locked with Mr. Du Pont, the man whose first son, Lawrence, was also brought in multiple times for bullying Dick back when he was in middle school.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Well, Dick and Damian seemed to be thriving in it, but everyone else was thrown off by the latest statement.

“And what exactly are you doing here, Mr. Grayson?” Mr. Du Pont said, looking into Dick’s eyes with the same cold disgust he always had “Isn’t this meeting supposed to be only with the parents and students?”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to see you try and get me out of this room.” He shot back “And second, I’m listed as one of his legal guardians, so get-”

“That’s enough, Dick.” Bruce placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Is that so, Mr. Wayne?” Mr. Pruitt spoke up “Why?”

“Old money comes with old enemies.” Bruce said, arrogant posture matching the others “If anything were to happen to me, I’d rather be sure that Damian would be in good hands. Not that I’d expect you to understand the actions my kind of people take.” He said, softening the verbal aggression with a smile. Dick bit the insides of his lip to hold in his laugh “Now, shall we discuss what are the actions that this school will be taking to eradicate the racism your children so eagerly take part in?”

The principal swallowed as all eyes turned back to him.

“W-well,” He started “The first thing is...” He glanced up at Dick for a second “Appropriate punishment.” Dick smiled at the man “One week of after school detention for each of you.”

“What? That’s not fair!” The Chase kid, Michael, cried in complaint.

“Be quiet, dear.” His mother said, looking down at him.

“But I’m gonna miss my tennis tournament!” He wanted again.

“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you bullied your classmate, shouldn’t you?” She replied, stern, shutting the boy up.

Dick raised an eyebrow. Maybe there was some hope for these kids after all.

“Well, I also believe this punishment seems a little unfair.” Mrs. Pruitt said, still holding her boy, who now looked like a scared mouse.

“A little unfair?” Dick started.

“Dick, please...” Bruce said, putting a hand on his son’s chest. Dick looked at him for a second as he lowered his father’s arm, and that glimpse Bruce had was enough to let him know that there was no stopping him now. Trusting his son’s judgement, he backed down.

“You wanna know what’s unfair?” He leaned over one of the desks in the room, supporting his weight on both hands “Unfair is me getting tripped on hallways and being called a circus freak. Unfair is me having to hear slurs directed at me everyday while I’m trying to learn. Unfair is the word ‘gypsy’ being carved into every single one of my seats, and spray painted on my locker, twice. Unfair, is me getting beat up behind the school dumpsters because of my non-whiteness. Unfair is the death threats I was sent every other week, telling me I don’t belong here. Unfair,” Dick stared into her eyes “Is your son getting only a week of after school detention when the shit he’s said and done could very well warrant jail time if he wasn’t a minor. So shut the fuck up about “unfair”, because they are being let off easy. The shit they’ve been pulling ruin lives. If it was up to me, they’d get so much worse.”

The room went quiet once again. Dick punched the desk lightly before moving back to his previous position.

“Now, dear Principal Jameson,” He started over “Let’s talk prevention.”

“W-What?” He whispered out.

“What do you plan on doing, moving forward, so that this kind of behaviour doesn't happen again, hm?” Dick crossed his arms, scowl on his face. The man was silent, mouth open as if he wanted to speak, but had no clue on how “No? Well, let me help.” He offered them his most plastic smile “I think...” Dick paced around “The school should provide workshops; maybe even a steady course about racism, what it looks like, how it harms people, how to fight it. Make it mandatory for every little prick that decides they can use a slur or shame a peer for their heritage or culture.”

“Bu-But the money...”

“Is not a problem.” Dick interrupted. He looked at Bruce, who had a small smirk on his face “Is it?”

“No, not at all.” Bruce said “We are more than happy to provide the needed funding, if it goes into such an important project.”

“See?” Dick smiles at the man once again “But, of course, I’m not done. I think, and I’m just spitballing here, but, maybe, we should make this an expellable offense.”

“Hey now, young man,” Mr. Du Pont started “I think you may be overreacting just a bit.”

“Do you?” Dick looked at him “Well, of course you do, you thought I overreacted about everything back in middle school. Have you ever considered that maybe you’re simply underreacting?” Dick’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. He had a room full of rich adults nervous. He was enjoying this a little too much “But relax, I’m not saying your little brats should be expelled. At least not yet.” He smiled back at the principal “I think that repeat offenders should be expelled. Once? Fine, maybe an honest mistake. They’re young, give him a chance to learn. Twice? That’s definitely racist and shouldn’t be tolerated in such a fine institution.” He stared at the man, and was surprised by the amount of time the other was able to sustain the eye contact.

“I will have to bring that up in the next board meeting, and...”

“Great!” Dick interrupted, charismatic “Great, you do that, and I think we’re done here. Why don’t you send the kids back to their classes now, hm?” He grinned, fake, plastic, and just a little bit malicious.

“Good idea.” The principal retributes the smile “Run along now children. No detours of any kind on your way back to your classrooms.”

.................................

As they were making their way out, Damian pulled at Dick’s hand slightly, getting his attention.

“What’s step two now?” Damian whispers to him.

“Well, now you go back to class and tell me if this happens again.” Dick answered, and Damian kept staring at him “Hey, step one went well. You shouldn’t have to worry about this anymore.”

Damian stopped cold in the middle of the hallway. Bruce and Dick stopped too. Damian then suddenly threw his body against Dick’s, nearly tackling his brother to the ground in a quick and intense hug. He didn’t say anything before walking back to class.

“So, seeing as you’re the expert,” Bruce said, serious but with a bit of happiness in his tone “What now?”

“Now,” Dick sighed “Now I call Jason and see if he’s free to drop off and pick up Damian with me for the next couple of weeks. If Tim wants to tag along, that’d be nice too.” He shoved his hands in his pocket “If I know one thing about these guys, is that their older brothers are all still the same racist dickheads they’ve always been. But they are... Aggressive.” Bruce noticed how his son placed a protective hand over his own stomach at the thought “So I think we should probably be here for a while. Just to make sure nothing happens.”

“Okay.” Bruce nods, and solemnly he adds: “I wish you didn’t have to deal with this.”

“Yeah... But don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? It’s not your fault and you’re doing all that you can.” Dick reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly.

.................................

The rest of the day, Dick had an awful restlessness inside him, constantly bumping his legs or tapping on a surface. He had this awful gut feeling (that one might call instinct), as if he knew something bad was bound to happen today. He hoped he’d be there when it happened. That feeling made him drag Jason and Tim to the school about an hour earlier, the three of them waiting by the car silently. The only reason his brothers didn’t question his acts was because they also felt the same worry take over their bodies whenever they thought of the little brat.

When the bell rang, all of them had moved closer to the gate.

“Oh, fuck no.” Dick exclaimed, looking at three guys standing nearby. He grabbed Jason’s attention “Those are the assholes that fucked with me back then.”

“Do you think they are really here for Damian?” Jason asked, concerned.

“What else would they be here for?” He bit his lip “But yeah, I’m also concerned about a lawsuit. We can’t just beat them up for no reason.”

“What do we do?” Tim asked the older man.

“Let’s get closer. Wait. And pray to the heavens that I’m wrong.”

But Dick wasn’t wrong. And as soon as the group saw Damian approaching they started to walk towards him, trying to intimidate the kid.

“Ayo, Al Ghul, we’ve got something to say to you!” He heard one of them yell. Lawrence Du Pont, of course.

“Hey, leave him alone!” Dick yelled.

Lawrence pushed Damian, making him fall on his butt. Dick reached him just in time, throwing the man to the ground in an impressive judo move, putting as much weight as possible on his ribcage, hoping to break a bone or two.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch my brother again, you disgusting little shit.” He whispered, getting up. The man remained on the floor.

Jason punched one of them in that perfect spot by the jawline, making him pass out immediately. Dick turned his gaze to the other man.

“Wanna run, do it now, bitch.” He growled, and the guy proved that he had a little intelligence left in him, leaving quickly.

Tim had already helped Damian to his feet, but he was unusually pale. A security guard came to check on what all the fuss was about and Jason quickly filled him in, sliding the man a more than generous tip for his troubles. Tim had a protective arm around his younger brother’s shoulder, and Dick rested a hand on his back, guiding them to the car.

“Listen Dames, from here on now, you have permission to fight anyone that physically threatens you, full force.” Dick says once they are back in the car, looking at his brother on the back seat “Just pick one fighting style and try your best to stick to it. It helps to cover anything up in case the media comes in snooping.”

“I see.” Damian states as Jason starts the car “So Jason picked boxing, I can see why, and you picked judo, which is the opposite of what I thought to be closest to your actual style.”

“It was part of the choice too.” Dick sighed, looking out the window “It’s distant from Nightwing, so less of a problem there, and it’s easier to plead self-defence.”

“But...” Damian frowned “Did you ever use it for anything other than self-defence?”

“No. But getting anyone to believe it was in self-defence was damn near impossible.” Dick’s words felt bitter “So judo was my pick because it’s not as lethal as, say, jiu-jitsu can be, but also takes proximity, meaning someone put their hands on me first.”

“Hopefully you won’t need to do it.” Tim said, sitting across from him on the car “But if you do, try to get it on tape so we can put it on youtube and go viral.”

“No,” Dick protests over Jason’s snickering “No, try to stay away from cameras. We don’t need that kind of press.”

Damian smiled as he looked out the window. The peace of the rainy day outside the car was a perfect contrast to the chaotic conversations his brothers had inside of it, talking loudly, arguing and laughing.

When they got back to the manor, Cass and Duke waited for them in the kitchen, stirring a pan and quietly arguing about what to do or not do.

“No, trust me, we don’t need anything else, you just have to be patient...” Duke said “No! Put that down, I’m not adding cornstarch on this.”

“But the guy on youtube...”

“I know what the guy on youtube said, but forget about the guy on youtube for one second, I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“It’s going to work alright.” Duke frowned.

“Duke, Cass,” Dick said, his three brothers standing behind him, all of them very curious as to what was going on “What are you doing?”

“Hot chocolate.” Cass answered “But he’s making it wrong.”

“I’m not making it wrong, I’m making it better.” Duke shot back to Cass before turning to his brothers “We heard that Damian had a rough time and... We wanted to make him something nice.”

“This makes me feel happy, so it will make Damian feel happy too, I’m sure.” Cass said “If Duke gets it right.”

“Oh My God woman, will you stop questioning my skills for a second?” Duke shot back.

“It’s not getting thick.”

“It is getting thick, trust me.” Duke said “Just... Sit down on the table and let me do this, all of you.”

“You heard the boss.” Dick jokes, escorting his siblings to the kitchen table.

Damian sat down next to Dick, who was across from Jason. Sitting on Jason’s left side, facing Damian, was Cass, and on his right side, Tim. Damian looked around, taking in the sweet chocolate scent that filled the room, and felt a slight touch to his fingertips. Cass had reached out to him. None of them said anything, but she smiled at her youngest brother, and Damian understood what she meant, offering a small smile back.

They talked loudly, filling the Wayne’s huge kitchen with laughter and warmth, teasing each other, poking fun, sharing stories and memes with each other, being themselves. Damian noticed how much better everything felt now that all of them had moved back in the manor. For a period of time, when it was only him, father and Tim, everything felt a little lifeless, a little dull. When Cass came back to live with them, things started to get better.

But for Damian, the biggest turning point was Duke. His honest, sharp mind brought balance and fun into the house in a way none of the others did. Dick’s frequent visits became even more frequent, to the point where the man just decided to move in and help Bruce deal with the new hoard of teenagers he had brought in (or to help the teenagers deal with Bruce, which is decidedly harder). After that, Tim seemed healthier, happier, more light-hearted. Their heated arguments subdued a lot. And somehow, even Jason began to find the house comfortable again. He still travels back and forth, alternating between his place and the manor, but Damian was almost grateful for his presence now. His straightforward style helped cut through a lot of bullshit speeches.

The thought brought tears to Damian’s eyes. He didn’t fully understand why he cries at moments like these, but right now he couldn’t help it. The table slowly turned silent again as he hid his face in his hands.

“Dami?” Dick called, and Damian’s cry became even more compulsive and unstoppable when he heard the nickname “Dami, what’s wrong?” His brother’s voice was soft and filled with worry, and Damian felt his hand brushing against his arm.

Damian shaked his head and leaned forward, hiding his face in Dick’s shoulder. His tears left wet marks on his brother’s shirt.

“I-I don’t know.” Damian whispered.

Dick hugged him, strong hands rubbing his brother’s back.

“I-I...” Damian tried again “I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“Can’t help what, Dami?”

“Crying.”

“It’s okay.” Dick whispered “It’s okay to cry.”

“I love you.” Damian sobbed “So much. It hurts.”

“Aw, Dami...” Dick smiled, planting a kiss to his brother’s scalp “We love you too. So much that it hurts.” He squeezed his brother a little tighter, and Damian sobbed louder and louder, until he was gasping for air “Hey, calm down,” Dick whispered again “We��re not going anywhere, Dami. I’m right here. It’s okay. Breathe. Shhh...”

Damian still felt weak. He knew that it would take a while for him to feel strong again, after what happened. But he knew he had his family with him, borrowing all the strength he could need until he got his back. As he calmed down, Duke sat a huge mug, filled to the brim with the thickest, glossiest, most mouth watering hot chocolate he had ever seen.

“Be careful, it’s still super hot.” Duke warned, handing him a long spoon and ruffling his hair. He took his place on the opposite side of Dick after setting down cups for everyone else “Just for the record,” Duke smiles as he sits down “I’d like to say that this turned out great and I knew exactly what I was doing, so eat your heart out Cassandra.”

The girl stuck her tongue out as her brother’s snickered at the teasing. Soon, the table was filled with laughter again, but this time Damian didn’t cry. He was too busy being happy to do so.

#Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #batfamily #Batfam #batman bingo 2020 #batman bingo #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #Duke Thomas #Cassandra Cain #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

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captainscanadian · 4 years

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Exception | Carter Baizen x Reader (Part 6)

My Masterlist

Summary: You needed Carter. You needed BOTH of them.

Word Count: 6100+

Pairing: CEO!Carter Baizen x Lawyer!Reader, Nate Archibald x Caroline Baizen, Chuck Bass, Lily van der Woodsen, Serena van der Woodsen (mentioned).

Warnings: Swearing, Gossip Girl References, Drugs, Infidelity, Car Accident, Blood, Trauma, Hospital, Teenage Pregnancy

A/N: This is my entry for @baezen‘s writing challenge. A lot of you have been calling me out on things and I must admit that I’m impressed. I’m so glad you all seemed to figure out that there was a child involved. And for those of you who didn’t... SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS! Y’all might get Dad!Carter in this fic! I don’t own the gifs. ELIF, GO AHEAD AND YELL AT ME… SAB, I LOVE YOU. THEORY ANON, LETS SEE WHAT YOUR THEORY IS NOW. :P

It was no joke that Caroline Baizen had spent so many months planning her perfect wedding to Nate Archibald, but she had spent many more months planning her perfect honeymoon with him. It was supposed to be just the two of them in their honeymoon suite at the Burj Al Arab Jumeirah, soaking up the sun on a yacht at the Dubai Marina and making love to each other like the newlyweds they were before they both had to return to the chaos that was the Upper East Side of Manhattan. All of that planning went to shit the moment she got that phone call, saying that her brother had been hit by a car outside of the Gramercy Tavern and had been rushed to the hospital.

Though the police officer who had been kind enough to contact her did not have many details about Carter’s condition, Caroline could not help but hope for the best while expecting the worst. Her heart was beating right out of her chest as she feared for her brother’s life, her husband holding onto her as she sobbed against his chest. It was as though the limo was moving way too slow as she and Nate were on their way to the hospital. She was worried, and scared, for she did not want to lose the only family she had left. Losing their parents in a car accident had been bad enough as it was.

Carter and Caroline never shared the best of sibling relationships, not since he had first cut ties with their parents and left the Upper East Side for good. But when he had returned from being held by the Buckley’s, she had seen that he was a changed man. He had promised her that he would change his ways and do right by everything in his family; he would do right by their parents and he would do right by her. He had done just that since then. Losing their parents had been hard on the two of them, but they got through it together. They had always had each other. But now, even when she had Nate, Caroline felt alone. She did not want to lose her big brother.

To say that Nate had been worried sick about the fate of his brother-in-law would be an understatement. But he was also aware that Carter had plans with you that evening, thanks to Annalise and her commitment to updating him about what was going on between you and Carter since the wedding.

A part of him was worried about you as well. After all, he knew how much he meant to you. Even though in the exterior, you acted like you hated him, Nate knew that you would always love him. Perhaps that was why he had been calling your cell phone ever since Caroline had come crying to him about her brother. But unbeknownst to him, your phone had slipped out of your hand during your fall and shattered on the side of the road, and you had abandoned it for the man who had just saved your life in the matter of seconds.

The man who had saved your life in a matter of seconds was also the man whom you had always believed to be your apocalypse. You had always believed that he was the final destruction of your life. You had blamed him for ruining your life for years, but now he had saved it too.

The reason why you were possibly alive at this very moment was because Carter Baizen had pushed you out of the way and taken the hit from that speeding car. It should have been you and your stupidity. You took all the blame for the fact that your ex-boyfriend of fifteen years was now laying in an operating room with his skull open.

It was as though the guilt that you had been living with for the last fifteen years was not enough. It was as though you needed to be punished even more for having run away the way that you had and for keeping your secret for as long as you had. As if the fact that your whole truth had been eating you alive was not painful enough that it kept you awake at night, you had to face the worst of the consequences that had been caused by your mistakes.

How were you supposed to live with your whole truth like this, especially after Carter had now saved your life? Perhaps it was a blessing and a curse – a blessing was that you had survived the accident with a few scratches and the curse would be living in a world where Carter Baizen was dead. You did not want to live in a world without him.

He could not die, not like this. He had been alive when you had found him lying in a puddle of his own blood. He had been holding onto his dear life and then you had also been holding onto his dear life in your hands when the ambulance had driven you down to the nearest hospital. Your hands had been laced with the crimson fluid that had bled out of him. His blood in your hands, literally.

A team of doctors and nurses had rushed Carter upstairs to operate on him the moment you had arrived at the hospital. His head injury had been a priority. Meanwhile, another doctor had managed to bandage up your bruises.

You made no noise while the exhausted ER doctor worked on you. You did not yell. You did not cry. You did not expel any of the emotions that urged to spew out of you as you held a clean tissue against your nostrils, blotting the last of the blood that dripped down as you had finally stopped crying.

The doctor thought that your newfound calmness it was because you were still in shock from the accident – you were frightened by witnessing your loved one getting struck by a car. It was common for most patients to experience such trauma. But the way you had managed to respond to her queries in with the nod of your head or one word at a time made her realize that you were indeed... lucid. You were not completely traumatized, but you clearly knew how to stay in control of your emotions.

You wanted to break down. You wanted to cry. But what was the point in that? Carter Baizen, the love of your life, the father of your child, was lying lifeless in an operating room somewhere. The father of your child. He was the father of your child and he was lying lifeless in an operating room somewhere...

What kind of a mother had you been? What kind of a mother keeps the secret of becoming a mother from the whole world? What kind of a mother willingly chooses to keep the father of her child as far away from her child’s life as she possibly can? What kind of a mother puts the life of the father of her child in danger? What were you going to tell the fourteen year old you had left behind in London when you had boarded that plane back to New York City? What were you going to say when the child you had birthed and raised on your own gets here in a few days and asks you about her father?

Once the doctor had finished up with you, a handful of nurses had helped you get cleaned up. You could see the pity in their eyes as they helped you into the shower. They must have known from the lifeless look in your eyes, that the man who was being operated on was someone who meant so much to you.

Carter was not some guy you had once dated, no. He was the only man you had ever loved truly. He was the only man who made you weak and vulnerable. He was the only man who knew the real you. He was the father of your child.

Turning on the water, you watched as Carter’s blood dripped away from your skin. The scrubbing may have removed his blood from your hands now, but metaphorically his blood was still on your hands. It was your fault that he was lying lifeless in an operating room right now. He was the father of your child.

Apparently the doctor had told the police that you were in no emotional state to provide a statement, so the kind sergeant who needed to file the report had decided that it was best to give you some time to recover from the incident and return in the morning. Needless to say, you were grateful for that. While you had changed into a fresh pair of scrubs that the nurses had handed to you, you hoped and prayed that Carter would make it out alive from this.

You had always wanted the best for him, even when you had loathed him. Even when you hated him, you loved him. Even when he had ruined everything you had planned for your future, you had wanted him to have a good life.

You never wanted him to suffer for what he had done. You never wanted to punish him even more than you already had. You had convinced yourself that he not knowing that he had fathered a child was punishment enough for the way he had treated you fifteen years ago.

But now, you knew that this punishment was not for him. It was for you. You were being punished for keeping this from him for as long as you had. The possibility that Carter might even die not knowing that he had a child was weighing you down like a boulder. He might even die not ever meeting his child and it was your entire fault.

The moment you arrived in the waiting room to see a crying Caroline Baizen rushing over to you, a worried Nate following right after her and a concerned Anne Archibald grabbing onto your numbing body, that was when you had finally broke down. You knees were weak and your legs were growing numb. You felt your body losing all of its strength as you finally let out the emotions that you had kept bottled up for the last fifteen years all at once.

“Y/N!” Chuck Bass was quick to rush over to you before your knees hit the tiled floor of the waiting room, helping you up and leading you over to the nearest chair so that you could sit down. His lips curled into a frown when he saw you in this state, for he had always known you as this strong spitfire of a young woman before you had fled the Upper East Side. The Y/N he knew never broke down like this. But he also knew that you had always loved Carter and seeing him get hit by a car must have crushed you.

Lily van der Woodsen had sat down right next to you, her arm wrapped tightly around you as she let you sob against her shoulder. Perhaps her maternal instincts had kicked in when she had seen you like that. She had always seen you as another child of hers, perhaps because she had once dated your father.

While you had been against her relationship with your father as a whole and had rejected all of her attempts to be a part of your life, she still felt some kind of love for you. She had forgiven you for being that selfish seventeen year old she knew. She knew that you had grown up now and you had apologized for the way you had treated her then. That was all that mattered to her. She knew that your mother was out of town and at that moment, so she figured that you probably need that kind of support.

No one in the Upper East Side was a stranger to what you had with Carter Baizen. The two of you had been the closest friends since you were young. You had dated during your high school years and you had both fallen in love with each other. While no one knew how your relationship had ended or why you had left New York for good, they all knew that Carter being in this condition would have been hard on you. So, they were all there to offer you the support that you needed while either of your parents could be present.

“It was all... m-my fucking fault...” You whispered between the sobs, the salty tears dripping down to your burning lips as your head began to feel heavy. “I was... crossing the street and... I wasn’t paying attention, I...” You could not get yourself to replay those scenes in your head.

Seeing the way he had been thrown off into the air and the way he had looked up at you before he had fallen unconscious had been burned into your memory forever. He made you realize how wrong you had been about everything for the last fifteen years. He was no apocalypse; he was your savior. “C-Carter... saved my life... he... h-he...” As you felt another sob, Lily hugged you tightly.

You cried as much as you could, in order to be rid of your guilt. But no matter how much you cried, your tears could not make up for the time that you had lost with Carter. Your fifteen year old stupidity had now cost him his life and the woman whom you had refused to accept as your new step-mother back then was now the one who was comforting you. This was your punishment.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. He’ll be okay...” Lily rubbed your back, gently. “I just spoke to William. He’s in surgery and they’re working on him. He’s going to be okay...”

“No, he’s... he was bleeding so much. His head, he... his head was bleeding.” You looked down at your hand that had been drenched in his blood earlier. Even though it had been clean, you could not forget the image of his blood all over it. “He’s... he’s...” You pulled back from the hug to look over at Caroline, your lips curling into a frown as you realized that you had taken away from her the only family she now had left.

You felt like a monster for being the reason behind her brother’s accident. Everything that had ever happened to you had been your doing, not his. “He’s... he saved my life.” Your lips quivered as you stood up from your seat and made your way over to the younger Baizen, your heart breaking at the sight of that little girl whom you had grown to love as a sister long before she had even married into your family. “Caroline... I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. It was my fucking fault. I wasn’t looking and now he... he saved my life but it should have been me. It should have been me.” You fell down to your knees as you grabbed her hands, sobbing louder as you looked down. “It should have been me...”

Caroline shook her head at you. “Y/N, no... Don’t say that. He... he must have had a reason for doing what he did and I respect that. He’s not a selfish guy and if he thought that saving you was more important than saving himself, then I respect that.” She admitted with a nod, sobbing harder as she held onto your hand.

“He’ll be okay. He needs to be. He’s made his mistakes but so have we all. He should be able to live his life like we all do. He’ll be okay.” Even though she felt lost and confused without her brother by her side, she was hopeful. Carter had been through so much and he had turned out alright. She knew that this was just another obstacle that her brother had to cross before he got to live the life he truly deserved.

A few hours had passed as you sat in the waiting room with Nate and Caroline. Lily and Chuck had both left once you had calmed down. You knew that the only reason the two of them had even bothered to be at that hospital in the first place was for you and not for Carter.

While Lily had been a close friend of your father’s over the years, your knowledge of the feud between Carter and Chuck was also reason enough for you to believe that Chuck had no respect for Carter. But you appreciated that they cared for you, considering what you had done.

You had loathed the Upper East Side and the people in it when you had run away so abruptly. But now, not only had the Upper East Side had welcomed you home with open arms, you had also had an entire support system of people to make up for the lack of familial support. You did not deserve any of it.

It had been early morning when you had finally received news from the nurses that Carter’s surgery had come to an end. You overheard the neurosurgeon that had operated on him telling Caroline that he had suffered a traumatic brain injury – while he was alive; they could not be so sure that he would wake up from that. They had given him forty-eight to wake up, and if he did not wake up by then, Caroline had some decisions to make.

While a part of her had been glad that her brother was out of surgery, Caroline broke down once again at the revelation that Carter might not make it. You might not have been a medical expert but you had witnessed just how bad he had been injured; you knew that he was not going to make it out of it that easily.

But you did have some hope that he would make it out alive. You needed him to make it out alive, for your sake and for the sake of your child. The realization that you had indeed taken Caroline’s only family away from her had dawned on you suddenly. But Carter was not only her family. He was yours too. As she broke down in tears again, so did you. But you were quick to step out of the waiting room, away from her gaze.

You found yourself in an empty hallway by a medical supply closet and you began sobbing once again, pacing back and forth as you realized how much you had fucked up. You had fucked up. You knew you had fucked up. And now there was no going back. There was no going back in time to fix the mistakes that you had made.

Nate hugged his wife tightly as she sobbed, rubbing her back as he watched you step out of the waiting room. He turned over to look at his mother with a frown, hoping that Anne Archibald would finally come to her senses and have some empathy for her new daughter-in-law.

The woman gave him a nod as she walked up to the two of them, her hand gently placed on Caroline’s back. “Sweetheart...” She frowned, pulling her into a hug.

“Anne, I can’t lose him...” Caroline shook her head as she cried. “I can’t...”

As he let his mother calm down his wife, he made his way out of the waiting room for a moment. He looked around the hallway before he heard your soft sobs, and following the sound of your quiet cries, he found you leaning against the wall next to the medical supply room. “Y/N...” He frowned at the sight of you, immediately rushing over to your side. He pulled you into a tight hug. “Y/N... come on, you can’t break down like this.”

“Nate, I never wanted any of this to happen...” You admitted as you sobbed against his chest. “I wanted Carter to be away from... I never wanted him to... no, not like this.”

He stroked your hair as he began to tear up; remembering the last time you had been a crying mess like this. It had been fifteen years ago now, when you had called him before you had left for London.

You had confided in him your secret, which he had kept with him since then. Not even his own wife ever came to know the truth, even though she did have every right to know of your whole truth. “Y/N... you need to calm down. The doctors did say that... whether he wakes up or not... it’s not like they were sure that he won’t wake up. They just said that... all we could do right now is wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough, Nate.” You sniffled as you pulled back from his embrace, wiping away your tears as you felt a drop of blood streaming from your right nostril. “What even is the point of waiting anymore? He might not even wake up. He...”

Nate was quick to reach into his pocket and grab a handkerchief. He handed it to you as he sighed, wrapping his arm around you as he held you close. He had always been your pillar of strength when it came to Carter. He had kept your secret for fifteen years now. But he knew by now that it was about time that you told the truth to everyone. He knew that you must have been thinking about that, as he was too.

You dabbed at your nose as you fought back the tears. “I need to call Carter.” You let out a sigh as you nodded your head, trying to convince yourself that you were sure of what you were about to do. “I need to call Carter right now.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” He asked you, biting down on his bottom lip. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What even is the point anymore, Nate?” You asked him as you broke into another sob and shook your head. “He might not even wake up. He might not... he might never know and it’s all my fucking fault!” You cried. “I was such an idiot, Nate! I was such an idiot for doing what I did and... now he’s... what am I going to do? What am I going to... I have to call Carter.”

Nate gave you a nod as he agreed with your decision. He had always stood by the decisions you had made for yourself, even then and even now. Even if he did not agree with the choices that you had made, he had kept your secret for as long as he had.

He often wondered why you had chosen to call him that night and tell him the truth. Perhaps, it had been for an unforeseeable reason. It was because he was the only one who could give you the support at this very moment.

“Nathaniel... it’s me.”

“Y/N?!”

“Nate.”

“Y/N, what the fuck?! Where are you?! We’ll all been worried about you!”

“Nate, calm down... I’m okay. I’m fine, I... I hopped on a boat from Santorini and got back to Athens. I’m taking the train in a bit... going up to... T-Thessaloniki in the northern part of Greece. I’m going to be on the move for a while so I wanted to speak to you before I left on this journey. I had to speak to you, you know, in case I never get to speak to you again. I wanted to say goodbye.”

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on?! What? Are you running away?!?!”

“This guy... Spiros... he told me that I could get to Romania from Thessaloniki in like a day... and then I’ll be in Bucharest for another day and then I’m taking another train to... Budapest and then another day to Munich. Paris, I can get there in like ten hours...”

“Y/N, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you taking a train trip around Europe like this? What’s going on? Your dad’s worried. The cops found blood in your hotel room and Carter was questioned.”

“I... I know that there’s a lot going on right now and I hate to do this to you. Don’t tell him... either of them... but uh... I’m going to London. I’m going to see my mom.”

“Y/N, you’re... couldn’t you at least call your dad and tell him that you’re okay before you leave?! He’s been worried sick!”

“Nate, listen to me... I can’t talk to my Pop about anything right now. He... He’s in love and it’s blinded him. If I told him what happened, I know he’s not going to take my side in this. I need to get to London. I need my mom, okay? I really need my mom right now!”

“What’s going on?! Carter’s been asking about you... what happened between the two of you? He said he’s worried sick! What happened?!”

“Nate...”

“Y/N, please tell me the truth. What happened that night? Why did you leave Santorini?”

“Nate, I... I can’t tell you.”

“Y/N, please... we’re family. You called me for a reason. You have to tell me the truth.”

“Promise me... that you won’t tell anyone. No one can know, not my Pop and not Carter. Not your mom or dad. Not even Chuck.”

“Y/N...”

“Promise me, Nate!”

“Fine... I promise. I won’t tell anyone. You have my word, Y/N. Now tell me what’s going on... please?”

“... I’m pregnant.”

“What?!”

“Nate, I’m pregnant... I’m pregnant and it’s Carter’s. And I can’t do anything about it... because he... he cheated on me, Nate! He cheated on me with Serena. He went to a party and she got him high and they... he told me that he loved me and he went off and slept with Serena. He told me that I was his one exception and he knocked me up. He slept with me and now he slept with Serena. I... he cheated on me with Serena and I’m fucking pregnant with his child!”

“Y/N, what- that son of a bitch! Why haven’t you told your dad? Why haven’t you called him?! Please, just fucking call him! He’s worried sick!”

“Because... he loves Lily and... if I told him the truth, I’m scared that he’s going to take the van der Woodsen’s side over mine. Believe me, Nate. He’s done it before and... He treats Serena like this perfect princess and I can’t live through that. He’s never treated me like his daughter ever since she came into the picture and... it’s only going to get worse now. I know I disappointed him. I know that he had all these plans for me and... I went off and got pregnant. I can’t go off to Yale now and take over the company like he’s always wanted me to. He’s going to hate me.”

“Y/N, you can’t leave... you can at least talk to him about it. You can try to figure things out. Come back to New York and figure it out.”

“I can’t go back to New York, Nate. I can’t... Carter is no fit to be a father. He’d rather go off and party and get high than... he’s not going to change his ways. I know him. I thought he had changed and that he loved me but... he went off and cheated on me. I’m not going to bring his child into the world thinking that he’d want a part in that. I’m done putting my faith in him.”

“Y/N, come on... you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to. You don’t owe him shit! But you can’t leave New York over this! You have your dad, you have... all of us. We’re not going to let you do this alone.”

“I’m... leaving, Nate. I’m leaving and I’m never going to come back. I know that... New York is home but... the Upper East Side is not a paradise like I always thought it was, Nate. I’ve had some time to think about this. Our parents gave us a shit tonne of money since we were kids... credit cards with no limits and trust funds... we were spoiled rotten. I was spoiled rotten. I was so caught up with spending my dad’s money and having the time of my life that I never thought about the consequences of any of this... I was an idiot. I was a spoiled, irresponsible... stupid little shit and I ruined my own god damn life. It was all my doing, Nate. I don’t know... what any of our parents were thinking when they raised us the way they did. But... I’m going to be a mom now and there’s a child that’s growing inside of me... a child that’s going to come into this world because I was stupid enough to fall in love with the wrong person. Now I’m seventeen and I’m pregnant, all because of the way I was raised. I don’t want my kid to grow up the way I did... I don’t want my kid to... have a credit card at thirteen or... weekly shopping trips to Saks. I don’t want my kid to... be exposed to alcohol and drugs at a young age. I don’t want my kid to... get drunk at prom and get knocked up in the back of a limo or... get high after a party and cheat on anyone. I don’t want my kid to be any of what I’ve become, Nate... that’s why I’m leaving. I’m not going to let the Upper East Side ruin my child’s life like it ruined me. It’s for the best.”

“Y/N...”

“I love you, Nate. I love you so fucking much, don’t ever forget that. I’ll always be the big sister you never had but... I might not see you again for a while.”

“Y/N, don’t leave... Y/N, please don’t do this.”

“I’m going to miss you, Archibald.”

“Y/N... please...”

“You’ll come visit me in London, right? You won’t forget about me... right? Come see me when you can, okay? I don’t want you to... I love you so much, little bro. But this is for the best. It’s best that I stay away from all of this, for the sake of... your niece or nephew.”

“I love you so much... and please stay safe. Please... don’t leave me hanging. Call me when you get to London and... Call me? Talk to me every now and then... just so that I know... that you’re okay. Y/N... please... don’t let me go like you’re letting go of the Upper East Side.”

“I... should get going, Nate. My train’s about to leave soon and... be careful out there. Tell Chuck not to get in too much trouble and... Don’t let him get you in too much trouble either. I know that Blair Waldorf has a thing for you but... don’t sleep in your feelings for Caroline. Get your shit together, Archibald... because your big sister’s not going to be there to give you any relationship advice. You’re on your own now and you’re going to have to figure shit out yourself.”

“Y/N...”

“You’re going to grow up without me... but I know that... you’re going to make me and all the van der Bilt’s so fucking proud. I’m sure of it, Nate. I love you so much and I’m going to miss you so fucking much!”

“Y/N, don’t go- Y/N!”

Nate Archibald pulled out his phone as he looked over at you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You nodded, wiping away your tears and holding the handkerchief against your nostril. “I should have done this fifteen years ago, Nate.” You admitted.

You should have done this long before. Even though it was probably too late now, it was better late than never.

Nodding his head, he dialed the number that he had saved in his phone for years now and put his phone on speaker. He had not called this number in a while, probably ever since you and he had a brief fall out regarding his mayoral race.

But the moment he heard the call go through, his heart began to race. He knew that the moment this call had been picked up, every single one of your lives would change in an instant.

“Hello? Uncle Nate? Uncle Nate, is that you?”

“C-Carter...” You breathed out a sigh of relief, hearing you daughter’s voice at a time like this. At least you could say that one of them was alive and well.

A part of you was worried about how to break the news to her. Your relationship with your daughter had already been rocky in the last few days, ever since you had left her in London and moved right back to New York.

She had not been happy about you choosing to stay in New York for your father’s sake. After all, London had been where she had been living since she had been born, not to mention the fact that you had sent your mother to bring her to New York instead of being the one to do that. She had been pissed at you for days.

“Mom? Mom, why are you calling me from Uncle Nate’s phone? I told you, I don’t want to hear it! I’m getting tired of telling you and Nan over and over again. I’m not leaving London!” Your fourteen year old daughter groaned into the phone.

“Carter, sweetheart... just listen to me for a sec...” You bit down on your bottom lip as you fought back the tears.

Nate rubbed your back gently as he held you close. “Come on...” He mouthed, knowing that you have to be the only one who should be informing this to his beloved goddaughter.

Carter Eleanor Lydia Y/L/N, even though she was now his niece by marriage, is his goddaughter and that was never going to change. As the only one who had kept in touch with you since you had left New York for good, Nate had been the only one other than your parents and Annalise who knew of her existence. He had been honored to have been asked to be your child’s godfather. After all, he knew that you had trusted him with your child’s life even though you had not even trusted her own father with that.

Not even her own father knew that he had a child and if he does not wake up now, he might as well die not even knowing that he ever had a child. You had told yourself that you were punishing him by keeping your little Carter away from him, but you knew that the only ones who had been punished by this were you and your daughter.

You had always told her that Carter Baizen was her father and you had told her why you had purposefully kept her away from him. While she did not agree with your decisions at first, as she grew older, she began to understand why you had made the decision to raise her on your own. As much as she missed having a dad growing up, she knew that her mother was strong and resilient. She respected that.

But that did not mean that she did not ever want to have some kind of relationship with her father. She wanted to know him as much as she wanted him to know her. But you know that the chances of that happening now were slim. You needed her to come to New York now more than ever!

“Mom... is everything okay?” She asked you, worried about the tone of your voice. Your daughter knew you well enough to know that your voice was trembling. She wondered if something must have happened to your father and not hers, for your father’s health had been the reason why you had returned to New York in the first place and insisted that she move here for the time being as well. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is it Pop? Is he okay?”

“Carter... i-it’s... Pop’s fine, he’s fine... But... C-Carter, it’s your dad. He was in an accident last night and... it’s not looking good.”

“What?! Mom, no... no no no, mom...” She broke down. “Mom... he can’t... no... he doesn’t even know me! He can’t... mom, don’t lie to me!”

“Carter, I’m not... why would I lie to you about this? I’ve always told you the truth when it comes to your dad. I never lied to you about who he was. You knew everything about him... since you were ten. I’m... I’m sorry, baby. This is all my fault, I know... but I need you right now and so does he. C-Can you... can you... your Nan has the private jet on stand-by and she’s packed up most of your things already. Can you... I need you to come to New York as fast as you can, baby.”

“... I’ll be there.”

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littlemeowyoons · 5 years

Text

Bonded

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff(lots of them), a drop of angst, Single Dad! AU, College! AU, Introvert! Yoongi, Tutor! Y/n

Word Count:1.8k

Synopsis: Yoongi found a basket left in front of his dorm room one day, and turns out it was his daughter, left alone crying. Puzzled and scared was an understatement. When his 4 semesters roommate Jimin left for his hometown, he was left with the last straw of help, turning to his physics tutor a.k.a friend-that-I-only-know-name-but-have-no-interest-in-knowing-more; you.

Series: Masterlist l Part 1 I Part 3

Pt.2-It’s a girl, dumbass

°•. ✿ .•°

It took a while for you to realize but as soon as the bottle ran out of milk, you were taken aback by the sleeping figure in your arm. You smiled softly as you take in the infant’s features, starting from its’s soft baby hairs to those closed eyes and lastly to the little pair of soft faint pink lips. Even in sleep, the peaceful feature of the infant enhanced the mint polka dot clothes she wears.

“Your back must’ve hurt, I’ll help put her back into her basket.”, Yoongi reached out his hands but you take a small step backwards.

“Ah no no it’s okay, I wanna hold her a little bit longer.”

Yoongi nod, turning his head away and scratched the back of his neck. Now what?

“I don’t want to put her down, but that doesn’t mean I want to stand all day.”, you laughed softly.

“Oh right, come sit at the sofa.”

As both of you sit down, the room fell into a deep silence again, only accompanied by soft breathings and Yoongi’s thumping heartbeat (he wish you didn’t inch closer, you’ll hear it for sure). Why is he so nervous again? Yeah yeah, his physics tutor is here, coming back after what Yoongi assumed wouldn’t and she’s holding his child. His!

“Are you gonna keep her?”

“Firstly I dunno it’s even a girl”

“Seriously Yoongi? Her clothes say it all.”

“Okay okay I don’t major in children like you.”

“It’s actually early childhood education you moron. But knowing her gender by her clothes is actually basic in life!”

“There’s unisex clothing”, Yoongi defended.

“She’s wearing a dress!”, You half yelled half-whispered and glanced downward to make sure the infant in your hand didn’t wake up from the commotion, but soon you heaved a sigh as the baby snuggled close to you, seeking warmth. That’s when it hits you that the room temperature could still be cold to the baby as their skin is still too thin.

“Hey, hand me a blanket or something. I think I saw one in the bag, the green one.”

Yoongi stand up and reached for the bag, which you left on the kitchen counter. He rummaged through it while walking back to you.

“And second, I actually don’t know if I could keep her”

He didn’t get a response, so he lifts up his head, to see you frowning on the sofa, face edged with worries while staring at his daughter. A sudden wave of warmth wash over him, but he quickly refocus on the task beforehand, his hand still rummage through the bag.

“It’s actually a towel.”

Yoongi showed you the green material in his hand, which truly, is a towel.

“It’s too small, won’t cover her feet though.”, your eyes travel upward to Yoongi’s body and stare maybe a bit too long for Yoongi’s liking.

He cleared his throat and speaks again, “Now what?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?!”

The baby in your hand stirred a little, whining before falling back to sleep. Once you were sure she was in dreamland again, you shoot a death glare to Yoongi.

“Sorry, but you, you want me to, take, take off my clothes?”

“The first layer, Yoongi. Your shirt is big enough to wrap her wholly.”

“O-oh”, Yoongi quickly wiggled himself out of his grey checkered print button-up shirt leaving him in his black plain shirt, and hands it to you.

“Spread it open, then put it here”, you patted a spot beside you on the sofa and Yoongi complied.

Once the shirt is layed on the sofa, you carefully put down the baby in the middle of the material, careful not to wake her up from her deep slumber. Suddenly, you froze midway and turn to him, wide eyes.

“Please say this is clean.”

Yoongi scoffed, “I just did laundry. If you come here two days ago I would've a different answer.”

“Sorry, its just...baby are sensitives to this kind of thing, we should be careful.” You then take the right side of the shirt before pulling it to the left side, slipping it under the baby’s small figure, working the same on the left side. Yoongi watched in silence as her daughter soon turned into a small bundle of burrito in his shirt, he nearly teared off, his eyes are watery just by the sight of it.

“You order a 32 weeks old smol size of burrito, sir?”, you reached out Yoongi’s daughter to him, hoping that he take it but Yoongi didn’t get the message though.

“How do you know she’s 32 weeks?”

“I assumed, infant isn’t supposed to open their eyes before reaching 26 weeks old. Since she did, that means her eyes are fully developed so she must be older. Judging from her cry, her voice is clear so that means older than 28 weeks. So yeah, 32 weeks.”

“Wow… you aren’t lying when you said kids are your passion.”, Yoongi comment quietly.

“I learnt about this Yoongi, even if you ask other students in my course, they’ll have the same answer as mine”, you retracted your hand, keeping the baby close to you.

“I’m gonna try you know”

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t know if I could keep her, I have, dare I say negative experience in this child-raising thing. But that doesn’t stop me from trying, she’s my child, by blood and I’ll keep her for my whole life.”

“Okay, sounds good enough to me”, you smiled, “Now come sit, or are you planning on standing forever?”

Yoongi slowly stride over, sitting beside you and smiled at his daughter. That’s when a question spring into your mind.

“What’s her name?”

“I dunno? It doesn’t say in the card.”

“Well, what do you want to name her then?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you, she’s your child, by blood and all”

Yoongi pondered on it for a moment before breaking out a small smile, eyes on his daughter.

“Inara…Min Inara”

“What does that mean? That doesn’t sound korean”

“It’s Arabic which means Light, the light of my life.”

“That’s…awfully sweet, I need to do a health checkup to find out if I got a diabetes hearing that.”

“What?”

“You know diabetes, the excessive glucose in blood? Cause your words just now is extremely sweet and sweetness could be associated with glucose which could cause diabetes so…”

“You know, when you explain it, you sound so much dumber than you already are.”

“Excuse me, I didn’t get a freaking five for my physics test like seriously…five? The hell did you do?”

“I wrote my name, stand up and submit the test.”

Your mouth dropped open, it was your first time asking the reason how he got a freaking five, and to be honest, you did not expect this level of unbothered. But at the same time, you shouldn’t be, he’s the great so talked Min Yoongi. Heart of stone, unemotional, hard to crack, but as someone who had been tutoring him for less than a year now, you could prove none of those gossips were true. Yoongi is…well, Yoongi. He’s unique in his own way, emits his own vibe and talk what he wants to say, not what people wants to hear. That was what you secretly admire about Min Yoongi, he shines in his own galaxy and one time, you wanted to be in his orbit though if you told him you were sure he’s gonna judge you silently, like all those sharp comeback and dagger stares.

“If I knew you were that helpless I would’ve said no.”

“Would you?”

Right, would you? You even goes all the way from the other side of the campus to the boys dormitories, almost trip at the stairs, run to girls dormitories to meet Kim Woyeon to ask her for some formulae powder because she once got pregnant and have a son for a while, you figured she would still have some left, then run back to Yoongi’s dorm to feed his daughter. You did so much already in the span of two hours, would you reject his offer way back in the past? You weren’t sure but sudden fear filled your thoughts. Why did you become so selfless when it comes to Yoongi? Why were you so submissive? No, it was an act of kindness to a friend. Min Yoongi is a friend. You were sure of it, but it scares you that you need to chant it over and over in your head as if you were convincing the fact to yourself.

“You could’ve save all the hustle and ask Namjoon instead. He’s one of the alphas too”

Yoongi snorted and lean back on the sofa, shaking his head in strong disagreement.

“You think I don’t? But I quit after like, two weeks or something.”

“Why?”

“Imagine going out to hang with your friends only to be held from sitting until you explain the definition of Newton’s first law, or solve a physics pop quiz right on the spot”, Yoongi grunt and closed his eyes. He seems traumatized by it.

“That hard?”

“You don’t know Kim Namjoon well enough, you think you do, but the truth is you don’t. You never been his student and I swear I hated going out more than before. I’m even scared to cross path with him during class hour. He’s a good guy, but without all his books and papers, yeah.”

You need to agree to the last part, that one is true.

“Different from you, you were hard, but not that extreme, I could tolerate you enough.”

“Oh really? I’m grateful to he-“

Yoongi cut in your words, “But I do consider cutting ties on the first day after your said gel pen is better than ball pen.”

You take advantage of his lack of self guard to hit him square on his upper arm, to which he grunted in response.

“How can you hold a baby and still hit me that hard?”

“I have two hands Yoongi.”

“Oh Y/n look”

You hold back whatever comeback you wanted to throw straight to his face about how gel pen is better, you almost pull out a 50 slides of presentation to support your words, but all of that was held back when you were met with a pair of the most beautiful eyes you ever seen. Those wide eyes shows that she had been listening to both you and Yoongi’s conversation for a long time. Meh, not that she’ll remember anyway, her memory storage part in her brain isn’t fully developed yet. Oh, you remembered that she’s staring at a stranger so you, for real this time hold out Inara to Yoongi, if he still didn’t take her, you swear you’ll throw the baby right at his face. Okay, no that was an extreme hyperbole.

“I…don’t know if I can hold her. I, I don’t know how.”

“It’s okay, I’ll guide. Right, so hold out your hand like this”

You tried to transfer the baby in your arms into Yoongi’s but she cried as soon as she’s halfway there. Yoongi retracted away, you could see how stress he look.

“Hey relax, okay? Baby can sense when you’re uncomfortable. Just take a deep breath”

Yoongi look deeply at you and inhale.

“And out. In, and out”

After seeing Yoongi calmed down a bit, you step closer, you socks covered feet meet his bare one.

“Okay so, an infant’s head is the heaviest part of their body because the head developed first in the womb other than other organs which develops at a slower rate, so support her head.”

Inara is safely transferred to Yoongi, his hand is under her head.

“Good, now this hand-“, you take Yoongi’s other hand that is supporting Inara’s waist awkwardly, “-hold here”, you drag it to hold Inara’s bottom as you speak.

“Bring her close to your chest, baby feels calm when they hear your heartbeat. Try it.”

Yoongi pull Inara closer to him, her head rested sideways on his chest and as that, Inara who had been wiggling around stopped.

“Is she dead? I killed her!”

“No Yoongi”, you let out a scoff along with a small laugh, “She’s relaxed. Look, you’re bonding. How does it feel?”

“It feels…calming”, you could swear you catch a faint smile appeared on Yoongi’s lips.

“Yeah, holding your child is a healing process, and actually a chance to get closer.”

“You must have got an ‘A+’ for this in your class.”

“Actually,”, you tucked in a stray strand of hair to the back of your ears, “I only learn this theoretically. I practice this umm, out of class hour.”

“Where?”

“At umm, at my place.”, you nervously fidget with your fingers.

“Your neighbourhood got a lot of kids?”

“You bet, tons of them, variety of age even.”

“Wow, I think you’re, you’re an incredible person, Y/n, just wanna put it out there.”

“Thanks Yoongi, and I think you need a tissue now.”

“Huh why-“

“Inara just barfed on your shirt.”, you giggled.

“Awh Inara! It was a black shirt!”

“Hold up, I’ll help.”

Yoongi watched you rushed into the kitchen to grab some paper towel in pure awe. Maybe, just maybe, receiving Inara out of nowhere is a blessing in disguise.

#bts yoongi #bts #bts imagines #singledad! au #yoongi imagine #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts x y/n

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 4 years

Text

I’m Sorry (Part 3)

Summary- You are Michael’s vessel as you are dean’s kid and letting him use you instead of your dad

Dean x daughter!reader

Word count-2,374

A man sits in a small motel room getting ready to pray. “Glorified be you, all praise is yours, perfect is your name, most high is your majesty and greatness. None has the right to be worshipped but you, the only one God.” he speaks in Arabic placing his knees and hands on the floor, “Glorified be my God, the highest. Glorified be my God, the highest. Glorified be my God, the highest.”

He looks up. In front of him, Michael is sitting on a chair and staring down at him, wearing Y/n’s vessel. He falls back, scared. “Hello, Jamil.” Michael greets “Who are you?” the man quivers “Oh, we’ve never met. But you’ve read all about me. How does it go?” “Whoever is an enemy to Allah, and His angels, and His messengers, and Gabriel and Michael then indeed, Allah is an enemy to the disbelievers.” He declares resting his hands on his knees as his eyes glow blue.

“You’re… God?” Jamil wavers

“Close, but… not quite.” Michael sighs “Gabriel?” he questions “The other one. The better one.” Jamil replied“Michael.” “There we go.” Michael clasps his hands “No, no, no, no. Why are you here?” He asks Michael stands up brushing the invisible dirt off him “Well, that is the question, isn’t it? Why are we here? I know why I’m here to ask you a question.” Jamil wonders “What question? Michael leans in closer “The same question I’ve spent weeks traveling around this world asking all sorts of people. Holy men, leaders, killers. And now I come to you, Jamil Hamed...What do you want?” Jamil stutters “What? “Do you want? Exactly. If you could have anything, name it.” the archangel pressed “Peace. And love.” Jamil answers Michael hums “If you cared about peace, you never would have left Syria. You never would have ran and abandoned your friends to die – and they did die.” “No.” “And if you cared about love, you never would have gone into that broom closet with – What was her name?” Michael continues “No.” Jamil breathes shakily “Darlene? Your wife would have never left and you wouldn’t be living in this... rat hole.” Jamil tries to attack Michael, who throws him on the floor without even moving. “And that’s the problem with you. You’re lost... And not worth saving.” Michael sighs “Wha—what—what do you want?” Jamil cries

“What I always wanted... a better world.”

Survivors from the Apocolypse are preparing their weapons. Mary approaches one of them. “Hi.”

“You got silver. Devil’s trap. Holy Oil.” Russel lists pointing at various bullets as he grabs a gun “And these here, they’re dipped in Dean Man’s blood.” Mary takes the gun and loads it. he continues “Basically, you need some freak dead? I got you.” Mary checks the gun. In front of her, Maggie is helping another survivor with his wounds. “A rawhead did this?” she asks “Yeah. Outside Phoenix. They’re faster than they look,” Howard winces as Maggie extracts a fang from the wound, “Meaner, too.” he said “So, so gross.” Maggie gags

The door creaks open. Trevor walks in. “Soup’s on. Who’s eating?” “Right here.” Howard lifts his good arm up “Yeah, I’ll –” another began just as Sam enters the bunker making his way down the stairs. “Yeah, right here. How about you guys?” Trevor asks Mary looks up to her youngest “Sam.” she smiles pulling him into a hug “Hey, Mom.” “How was Atlanta?” she asks walking with him “It was, uh... It was a bust. The woman who claims she saw an “angel”... was,” he laughs, “Let’s just say I think she had one too many hits of the brown acid, you know?” Mary frowns“Sam, we’re gonna find her. Ketch is working that thing in London. Castiel is in Detroit. I know it’s been three weeks since Y/n...Something will break. It has to.” Sam nods yawning “Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that.” Mary sighs “Have you slept? At all. Sam, you need to rest. Go and lay down.” trying to convince her son “Mom –” Sam sighs “Chief.” Someone cuts into their conversation “Hey.” Sam gives a weak smile “Good to have you back.” he says handing a bowl of soup. “Thanks.” Sam nods

“Don’t thank me yet. Word is we got some vamps heading East on I-90. Gipsy types. Pickin’ off truckers mostly. Last body got drained and dropped just outside La Crosse six hours ago.” he explains Sam sighs before talking

“Okay. Um... All right. Get me teams of two. I want watchpoints every 50 miles. If you see something, say something. Maggie, can you hack the traffic cams on the freeway?” he questions

“Um... no,” Maggie says sheepishly

“Right. Right. Of course. Sorry. Um, I got it. Thank you,” Sam says passing the untouched food to Mary “Uh, please. Would you call in Sharon and her crew? We’re gonna need all hands on deck here.” the man nods walking out the war room Sam sits down, starts typing on his laptop. Mary approaches him again.

“Sam..” Mary starts “I’m good,” Sam replies Mary puts a hand on his. Sam looks at her. “I’m good. I am you should be asking Dean that he’s the one with the missing daughter.”Sam says giving her a sad smile “Hey, how’s Jack?” As devotees are leaving the Church. A couple stops to talk to sister Jo. “You saved me, Sister.” The man thanks “Thank you.” Sister Jo smiles “God bless you.” the woman states “He does, every day.” Sister Jo walking down a dimly light alley, counting the money she made. Suddenly, a flutter of wings “Hey, Jo.” The feminine voice stops her in her tracks. She turns Y/n Winchester but not her. “Who are you?” Jo queried “You don't recognize me with this pretty face?” stated Michael Jo frowned “You're not -- You're not Y/n Winchester. You're,” she trailed off seeing his true form, “oh god.” she inhales sharply

“People keep calling me that.” Jo turned to walk away. “Ah, ah. We need to talk.” Michael tsked “You're the Archangel Michael, from another world, and you're possessing Y/n Winchester.” Jo confirmed

“Sounds more complicated than it is.” Michael shrugged “Why would she ever say “yes” to you?

“Love.” Michael spat walking towards Sister Jo. “Really? That's very Hallmark Channel. So, I'm just gonna go now.” Jo chuckled “No, you're not. Not until I ask you... what do you want?” He remarked

“I don't know. Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton.” Jo joked “You think this is a joke?” Jo shook her head “I don't know what this is. You asked I answered. We done?” Michael scoffed “No. I asked, and you lied.” “I didn't.” Jo crossed her arms Michael walks closer to her placing a hand on her cheek. “I know about you, Jo. Because he knew about you. You're the rebel, the angel who doesn't like playing by Heaven's rules or whatever. You pretend to care about these things -- pretty things. But that's all it is -- pretending. These trinkets, they don't make you happy. They just pass the time. They're not what you really want.”

“And if you're so smart, what do I really want?” Jo sassed

“Love,” Michael stated, “To belong, to have a place -- a home, a family. It's very very human of you. And so, so disappointing,” he smirked, “I can sense how many angels are in this world. There aren't many left. I thought... maybe I could help. But if they're all these sad, lost, fallen things -- things like you -- maybe they're not worth saving, either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam walked out of Nick’s room sighing running a hand down his forehead. his phone goes off seeing it’s Cas he picks up “Hey, Cas.” He greets “Hello, Sam.” A voice answers Sam straighten up at the unfamiliar voice “Who is this?” he demands the voice laughs “Oh. I'm the boy who's got your angel. And if you want to see him again, you know, alive, we should probably chat.”

Sam begins to pack some weapons to rescue Castiel, along with Bobby, Jack, Maggie, and Mary. “It's a trap.” Mary sighed closing up her bag “Yep.” Sam nodded continuing packing

“This guy's a-” bobby asked “Demon.”Sam cut him off as he closed up his bag “He just told you he was a demon?” Jack questioned

Sam nodded “Yeah. He seemed pretty proud of it, too.” Bobby grumbled, “Yeah, they ain't a real humble bunch.” Maggie looked at the group of people “So, what do we do?” Sam loads his gun speaking “We get Cas back. All right, grab holy water, Devil's Trap bullets, angel blades, because whatever we're walking into-”

“It's gonna suck.” Bobby groaned “Exactly. Maggie, you're with Bobby. Mom, you're with me.” Sam continued Jack stood up looking at Sam “I'm coming, too. I know I'm not as strong as I used to be, but... I can help...I have to.” bobby placed a hand on jack’s shoulder “Listen, kid..” “Okay. Grab your gear.” Sam interrupts him Jack smiles at him and hurriedly leaves to prepare. Bobby looks over at Sam shocked “Sam, I mean -- Jack's a worker, but he ain't ready for a full-on demon smackdown.” Sam sighed “So... we keep an eye on him. He needs this, Bobby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kipling grabs a cup of coffee from the bar. Castiel is still chained to the chair, bloody from his previous fight with the demons. “And danke, sweetie.” The demon raises his glass towards the bartender as he sits next to Castiel. “Castiel, you sure I can't get you anything hot and black?” Cas replied, “Coffee has no effect on me.” Kipling shrugged “Hm. Me either.” he takes a sip “You know, not anymore, but it's like saltwater taffy or infants -- you know, I just like the taste.” “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm just trying to be a good host like Mother would have wanted,” Kipling answered

Castiel sighed “No, Why are you using me as bait?” He said shaking the chains around him Kipling looked over at him “I mean, it's kind of what you're for, isn't it? And I need something... from Sam Winchester.”Castiel laughed “You really think that he's gonna make a deal with you?”

“Oh, he's dealt with worse. You see, recently, I had a revelation. You know, somebody asked me what it was that I wanted, and I realized that after 600 years as a demon walking the planet, destroying, drinking, defiling -- you know, the Three D's -- I didn't know. So, I sat back, and I gave it a good think, and I realized exactly what I wanted.” Kipling continued now standing above Cas

“And what is it?”

“Everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Impala speed down the road, followed by another car Sam focuses on the road as Mary is sitting shotgun “Sam, it's gonna be fine.” she tries to reassure him. Sam scoffs “Stop saying that, please.”

“What?”

“It's gonna be fine,” that everything's gonna be fine, we're gonna find y/n, and..” Sam started thinking about his niece out there with Michael having no clue what he could be doing to her. Mary placed a hand on his shoulder “We are.”

“You don't know that....Y/n's gone, and we have no idea where she is or-or if she's even still alive. You know, Michael could have... burned her out or... worse, and...” He sighed

Mary frowned ”I know. I know she's out there, scared and alone. I know. I know she might never come back. Never think I don't know that. But -- I can't -- I have to think about the good, Sam, because, if I don't, I will drown in the bad. For Dean's sake for his kid, I can't do that. We can't do that.” She answers for the sake of Dean Sam and the rest had left after killing Kipling and most of the demons before heading back. Sam sits at the table, pressing a cold beer to his forehead as he talks on the phone “Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I -- No, I don't care. I -- just keep looking. Yeah. Thanks.” he hangs up sighing another dead end.

“Who was that?” Cas said entering sitting next to Sam “Uh, Ketch. He's in London searching for the Newton-Dee Hyperbolic Pulse Generator.” Sam answers

“The what?” Cas tilts his head in confusion

“It's the -- It's the magic egg that kicked Lucifer out of the President. I thought we could use it on Michael, but -- Ketch can't find it. So, that's another dead end, which is just awesome.” Sam explained sighing

Cas glanced over to his friend “Sam, are you all right?

“Yeah, I've been better. I've been worse. You?” Castiel looked down ashamed “I'm-I'm just sorry. I should never have gone to those demons.” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder “Cass, I -- No, I-I-I don't blame you. I... Honestly, I-I wish I'd have thought of it first. If it meant finding Y/n, I-I'd work with -- I'd do anything. Dean hasn’t been himself since.”

After Cas left Sam headed to his room he turns the light on and leaves his phone on the table. The phone starts vibrating Sam grabs it answering “Hello?”

“Sam?” The voice of Sister Jo calls through

“Jo?” Sam handed heard from her since Lucifer

“Yeah. We have a problem.” Jo answered

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now, you -- you know exactly what you want. You don't pretend to want to help people or save the world. Your want is pure and simple and clean. And that's why you are worth saving. That's why we are going to work so well together. Because you -- you just want to eat.” Michael smiles looking over at the pack of hungry werewolves and vampires.

Dean sits in his room staring at an old photo of him and Y/n it was her 17th birthday they were sitting on impala talking about life when Sam took a photo of them together so happy and pure. A tear lands on the glass as Dean realizes he’s crying, wiping the tears from his face he stares at her face in mid-laugh. The door opening tears Dean from his thoughts.

Sam looks at him with a small smile “Dean we found her.”

#dean winchester #michael!reader #daughter!reader masterlist spn #dean x daughter!reader #Sam x niece!reader #castiel x reader platonic #jack x reader platonic #SPN #supernatural #x daughter!reader

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hold-on-a-little-longer-whump · 4 years

Note

Tell me about your OC's! — @i-kill-my-darlings

@i-kill-my-darlings Ohhhh boy you know exactly how to get me talking. I’ll be doing official introduction posts in the future, but this will work for now *cracks knuckles*

First and foremost, I have so many AUs that I can’t even choose what is canon anymore. Bear with me. Now, on to my first brainchild Charlie.

Full name: Charleston Grant Darling, prefers to be called Charles or Charlie

Height: 5’10”

Ethnicity: Austrian, Russian, Arabic

Gender ID: Male, He/Him

Appearance: Wide, strong shoulders; oak brown hair; widow’s peak hairline; medium-small roman nose; intense, darkest blue eyes (often mistaken for black); average cheekbones; strong jaw; thick eyebrows; close-shaven beard; DIY star tattoo on wrist from teen years, scar on collarbone; muscly boi™

Role: Everyone’s impulse control, sharpshooter, tank, human shield & wounded transport

Traits at first glance: terse, observant, standoff-ish, skeptical, talks to get the point across

Traits after earning his trust: curious, devoted, mildly humorous, values his personal space, bad with words, hard-working

Likes: jokes, thunderstorms, reading, traveling, camping, music, and foggy mornings

Dislikes: wet socks, flowers indoors, excessive heat, gambling, doctors, sitting still, coffee, and kids he says

Fears: Who says you get to know?

Weaknesses: deep water, he sinks very easily; ankles - they snag on things when he’s not paying attention; authoritative figures, climbing, when friends or significant other is threatened, flirting? flirting.

Listen, this boy just wants to be left alone with his hunting gear. All he desires is the hermit life. Trophy hunter? Check. Hired help for animals that are getting out of hand? Check. Unexpectedly and unofficially adopted as team sharpshooter? He’s convinced this is because they all suck at target practice.

He’s a horrible conversationalist unless drunk - then you can never get him to shut up.

He really wants to publish a book some day, but he’s too harsh of a judge and scraps almost everything he writes. Nobody knows he writes.

DAD FRIEND

If you ever get close enough, he smells like honey, cinnamon, and leather

*slaps roof* this bad boy can fit so much self-doubt and angst

He either overthinks to the last detail or jumps on something without considering anything - and there is no in between.

He’s the best out of the team at that soft “Hey...” when reassuring or comforting.

He does not do doctors. Bad experience with them as a kid. He will do every herbal remedy possible before being dragged to a hospital bc he put it off for so long.

“For my next trick I will disappear without an explanation”

After a scare or a fright, he sneezes.

In some AUs, an ex-soldier.

Next up: Beatrice!

Full name: Beatrice Anne Vitale, nicknames include Bea, Bess, & Bumble-Bee

Height: 5’4”

Ethnicity: Swedish, Native American, other ethnicities unknown

Gender ID: Female, She/Her

Appearance: pear-shaped, plump but strong; small shoulders; wispy, curly/wavy chestnut brown hair that’s cut to just above her shoulders; beauty marks (notably, one below her left eye & one on her neck); her eyes are bright, hazel with flecks of gray; dark-but-neat eyebrows; slightly prominent cheekbones; small chin; button nose; heart-shaped lips that are naturally pink; burn scar on right wrist and large birthmark covering her left thigh.

Role: Healer, slaps others when they need a slapping and apologizes directly afterwards, sneak/stealth ninja

Traits at first glance: quiet, painfully polite, passive, timid

Traits after getting to know her: cheery, energetic, relatively talkative, stubborn af

Likes: lilies, lavender, quiet, strawberries, pumpkin-flavored foods, making her own decisions, snow, autumn, she loves cows, chilly weather, dancing

Dislikes: being told what to do, drunk people, strange bugs, sweating, being rude, being underestimated, talking to others in front of her family, being laughed at, small talk, when people cry, unnecessary drama, obligations, and being called “cute”

Fears: not fulfilling her goals, loud noises, crowded places, frogs, having children/being pregnant, and being rejected

Weaknesses: cannot flirt to save her life, terrible liar, combat, public speaking, confrontation, gullible

Her parents are ridiculously overbearing. She just wants to make her own decisions - routine is nice, but not for your entire life.

When she’s nervous she fidgets with her hair or tugs on her earlobes

She smells of lavender and ink

When she’s excited about something, her words tend to run together and gradually increase in volume.

Even though she’s terrible in combat and fights in general, she keeps a surprisingly level head and doesn’t panic.

If you make her angry enough she’ll give you the silent treatment - usually after a good shouting row first

Just like Charlie, she’s clueless with flirting. If you’re nice to her, she assumes that you want to be friends and goes along with it. She’ll only get the hint if you actually kiss her or tell her outright. Too bad Gideon can’t work up the balls.

Speaking of which: Gideon!

Full name: Gideon Faye Miles

Height: 6’2”

Ethnicity: Scottish, Spanish, & Portuguese

Gender ID: Male, He/Him

Appearance: Average build; ashen blond/red hair tied back in a pony tail; hazy brown eyes w/ a patch of sky blue under his left iris; freckles all over; his face is narrow but attractive; average cheekbones; sharp chin; a soul patch

Role: the one that plows in headfirst and does rash things without consulting everyone else first - wannabe leader, but let’s be real here this team is a collective effort

Traits at first glance: annoying, full of himself, lucky, debonair, airy, stuck up

Traits after you get to know him: inventive, fair, lively, organized, committed

Likes: finding ways to make others smile, babies!!!, cherries, meteorology, sailing, messes (so he can clean them), cleaning, braiding everyones’ hair

Dislikes: harsh winds, unloyal spouses/dating partners, bad/cheap shoes that make his feet ache, hammocks, wind chimes, tedious tasks (Beatrice gets him to detangle her yarn as punishment), mushrooms

Fears: tiny spaces/crawlspaces, skunks, getting sick, making a decision/mistake that wrecks everything/puts his team in danger, freezing to death

Weaknesses: randomly zones out when being spoken to/doesn’t listen, the team is positive that his cause of death will be competitiveness, he’s horrible at adapting to last minute changes

He smells clean. Like freshly watered plants and sudsy soap.

He has the unfortunate habit of forgetting his drink is full and ends up soaking himself. The team buys him a sippy cup as a joke but he secretly loves it and uses it all the time.

He is the epitome of a guy being perfectly at peace with his feminine side and still feeling masculine/comfortable af.

Shaming? What’s that?

He’s always wearing his brown leather coat (appearance varies in AUs, but he always has it regardless)

He takes it as a personal challenge to sit in chairs in any way but the normal way. His favorite pose is the lounging monarch.

He cannot write well in print, but his cursive is lovely.

Loves being lazy and brags about his inability to get fat.

This boy will puppy-eye beg any girl he meets to give him the same killer manicure they have.

“Look! Twinsies!”

He would absolutely jump on the latest tiktok trend of swapping clothes with the girls and so help him he will summon a demon to get Charlie to do it with him

#ask #oc info #Charlie #Beatrice #Gideon #This is just the main trio #I still have Milo and Lottie to add but I want to flesh them out a bit more #ocs

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fictionalboysarejustbetter · 4 years

Text

Friendships from Afar

Distance creates a barrier of trust. There are no worries. There is always a safety net to fall back on that protects from hurt or pain. Beginning in second grade, my personal goal had always been to find a singular, perfect friend who lives far away. We could talk openly with each other, and I would have the ability to be myself. The plan is that years later, I would meet this person in the weirdest of circumstances, and we would be best friends forever. It’s even better if this friend is a guy, so then we can both fall in love and get married to live happily ever after.

In second grade, the entire class received school pen pals, and while my fourth-grade pen pal was not ideal, I knew I loved this “secret” letter writing system where I am just Rebecca, nothing more or less. Moving into fifth grade, Mrs. Smith found me a pen pal from China. Through our teachers, we would send each other letters back and forth until the school year was over. From this moment onward, I was hooked; pen pals didn’t care what I looked like or how shy I was or how involved my mother was with the school, I could just be me, and they only knew the information I told them. Without asking for help, I scavenged through the internet, trying to collect pen pals as if they were Webkinz. I was convinced this perfect friend could only be found on pen pal websites that look like they were made by my fellow fifth graders.

Starting in sixth grade, I would spend night after night stalking the profiles of random teenagers on Students of the World, a supposedly “safe” pen pal website for kids. Gender? Who cares. Age? About 10-16. Likes? Reading, of course. Language? English please. I would then press search and sift through hundreds of profiles, finding the perfect candidates to be my best friend. This process was extremely predictable, including:

The teenage boys “looking” for a relationship:

Nathaniel, Age 14, UK

HOBBIES:

Photo

Trips

Cinema, Television

Sports

Reading

Painting, Drawing, Art

Hi! Are you looking for a cool guy to write to? Send me a nice message otherwise you’ll miss something priceless.

I can speak:

English, French

The liars that claimed they like everything and speak every language:

Janhvi, Age 16, USA

HOBBIES:

Photo

Trips

Clothes

Cinema, Television

Sports

Sciences

Music

Reading

Animals, Nature

Cooking

Collections

Painting, Drawing, Art

Hello !!👩I'm Janhvi .I like to travel.I have traveled in to many countries .Such as india , sri lanka, china, france and more.I like make new friends.message me soon guys.👭👫OUR LIFE IS CHANGE , BUT FRIENDSHIP NEVER BE CHANGE.

I can speak:

English French German Italian Spanish Arabic Chinese Japanese Korean

The students making a profile for class:

Chaya, Age 13, USA

HOBBIES:

Clothes

Cinema, Television

Music

Reading

Animals, Nature

I am looking for a penpal for our school project. I would like to find some in Atlanta, Georgia.

I can speak:

English

I would scroll through these profiles so constantly that I rarely found new profiles. I was judging every profile based off of the person’s name, biography, age, likes, languages, everything. Most people without a profile picture wouldn’t receive an email from me. I tried to avoid messaging anyone from the United States unless they sounded like a major fangirl or fanboy over the books I liked. I automatically favored anyone from Europe, especially if they had an interesting name. But regardless if anyone from anywhere sent me a message first, I would respond back at least once.

Shortly after the search began, I received a message from a girl named Julia from Australia. She and I were the same age, we both needed a friend, and we both liked reading, animals, music, and clothes. Quickly, my life began to revolve around the fourteen hours that always stood between Australia and the United States. Throughout sixth and seventh grade, we would be constantly messaging on the messaging app “kik,” confiding everything deep and useless to each other like best friends do:

Becca says:

Hey, how are you?

Julia says:

Everyones well... Mum and dad start the long drive to melbourne this weekend so everythings kinda topsy turvy :p

How is your family and pets? Im sorry for my rudeness that i didnt ask earlier

Nearlytime for school?

Becca says:

Lol that is fine! I get to school around 8, so normally ill drop off right before, lol i try to remember to tell you but i tend to forget. Theyre good though. Willie and Apricot are happy my grandma left :-P mom and dad are helping me with my ancestry project and exploding of happiness because I got a position in that volleyball club and my sister has been working and spending money :-P her favorite thing to do

Julia says:

Ahh the christmas spirit... Lol is there anyone in the house who loves your grandmother?

Becca says:

Lol we love her because shes family, but no one loves her when shes here if you know what i mean.

What’s up?

For two years, the conversations would continue for hours, as we both wait anxiously for the “ding” on our tablets, indicating a new message. Julia’s father was a firefighter who fought the nasty bushfires that haunted their country. I interviewed him as my hero for my final paper and presentation in my eighth grade English class. I interviewed him through email after our initial plans to Skype were sidetracked by the active wildfires, and I so proudly presented the information about him that you would have thought he was my father.

One day, Julia told me about her divorced parents. Then, she told me about the twins her mom just gave birth to. Then, she explained that she actually has a twin brother and no younger siblings at all. Then, she became an aunt to twin nephews. Then, her house burned down, and she had to move across the country. Then, her parents just moved across town. The stories continued and continued only within months of each other, not adding up in any way, shape, or form. With hope still in my heart, I sent her all three books of The Hunger Games trilogy since she really wanted to read them, but two months later, the books came back in the mail as undeliverable. The address did not exist.

Unable to admit defeat or accept the idea that my best friend might not be real despite all of the evidence, I started to panic. What if she is catfishing me? I’ve seen that show before, and I even gave “her” my address. Whoever this person is could easily come to my house and kidnap me...maybe I should tell my mom and warn the police. But maybe, she just has a really hard life, and she compulsively lies to make herself feel better? Maybe, she just really wants attention, and that’s why none of her stories are adding up. Besides it could still be her, she may just be scared. She could have just lied and is younger than she said and is trying to sound cool to impress me.

With these panicked thoughts raging through my body like wildfire, I blocked her from kik and began to ignore her emails. I forced myself to just disappear, so then I would have nothing to worry about. I cannot trust that Julia is really Julia, so I will just watch “her” occasional emails come in, analyzing from afar who “she” may be. I’ll search for her on Google and Facebook and Instagram and Students of the World and anywhere else I can look. The emails would keep coming for years and years, but they never held much content to them, and I’m still left to question who “Julia” is.

My Julia investigation was stalled for now, and the void of not having a constant penpal to talk to quickly came back. Therefore, my search to find the perfect best friend needed to be expedited since Julia was certainly not cut out for the position. I continued to search Students of the World with my new smartphone every chance I had. In between games at volleyball competitions, Hope and I could be found by the nearest outlet on my phone, scouring the website for the perfect answers within someone’s profile. We would send out messages together to the nerdy fangirls and fanboys around our age. Every day during the bus ride home from school, Jenna and I looked through the website on our phones, judging everyone’s biographies and pictures. Jenna created a profile too, and we would have three-way Skype sessions with Sylvia from France until the two of them became too close and stopped inviting me to Skype with them.

Finally in April of ninth grade, I received a promising email from a 16-year-old boy from France:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

My name is Kristopher and Im from France !

I watched a few days ago Divergent and it made me want to read the books !

I see you like tv shows and video games as I do !

I am not fluent in English but I can talk to you !

If you want I can learn you French ! :)

Typically, I would spend about twenty minutes every day responding to emails from random penpals on my way home from school, but within the first three or so emails to a person, one of us would just stop responding. In regard to Kris, I generally liked video games, but I wasn’t obsessed with them, and I had a weird taste in TV, so we probably couldn’t talk about that much. But Divergent by Veronica Roth was my all-time favorite book. As soon as I read that word in the email, I knew I would be responding until he stopped responding to me. It had always been my goal to fall in love with a fanboy, especially one with the same taste in books and movies as me, so I immediately responded with:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Kristopher!

What part of France are you from? I live near Pittsburgh, PA, USA.

Yes, definitely read the books! They are amazing! I find myself gravitating towards video games and shows more than sports! :P

I don't know much of French as I take Spanish in school, but I'd love to learn some and help you with English as well!

Rebecca

He emailed me back within minutes, and we emailed for most of the evening, talking about books and food and the differences between the United States and France. That night though, my phone battery had died, and it was only for a few hours. After plugging it in, I found five unread messages from him, making sure I was okay.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Lol it works ! :) Good courage to go back to school ! :)

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hey sweetie 😆

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

How are you Miss ?

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Do You use words like ain't or gonna ? 😆

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Are you OK ?

As soon as I read these messages, my heart fluttered a little. This was just the beginning of our constant messaging and talking. I happily responded to him, and within days, Kris was my perfect, new best friend. The random space he left between the last word and the punctuation of a sentence would drive me insane, but I didn’t have the heart to explain the process to him. We talked so consistently that it would probably be considered unhealthy, discussing pets, family, being the youngest child, aspirations, atheism, languages, food, books, video games, and everything else under the sun. I was stuck to my phone all day, and every time I picked it up, I waited in anticipation for a notification with his name and the random spaces between his words and the punctuation.

The six-hour time difference between the two of us meant nothing, with him staying up late and me getting up early. Between classes, we would sneak each other messages about how our days were going. My week-long field trip to San Antonio, Texas was spent either messaging him or scouting out an outlet to plug my phone into so that I could talk to him. The more access I had to Kris, the further I distanced myself from my friends and family. When my phone would die or I wouldn’t have reception, I would look around, annoyed by whoever the people around me were. Kris was the perfect friend I always wanted; he was my best friend, and I was his. Neither of us needed anyone else, and hopefully, all of our talking and flirting would lead to love which would lead to marriage.

The summer before tenth grade came, and Kris seemed to be growing distant. Supposedly, he was travelling all summer, and he would rarely have access to wifi. I counted down the days until he would be back home, and after one measly conversation, he disappeared again. I sent message after message, finally receiving a response about his brother pushing him in the pool and his phone being in his pocket at the time, so it was destroyed. The summer seemed to be surrounded by disappointment, but hopefully when we went back to school, our relationship would continue to be as strong as it was before.

Tenth grade began, and Kris was still busy all the time. Apparently if he kept up his hard work, he would be valedictorian. Since I couldn’t spend lunch chatting with him anymore, I bragged that I was basically dating this amazing French guy who is valedictorian at his school. Until October hit, and then I would receive the dreadful message that he has a girlfriend. Ironically, this only made our conversation stronger than it had ever been, and he even picked out my new haircut, sending me endless compliments on it. The next day, he sent another message, explaining that his girlfriend didn’t want us talking anymore so it would probably be best if we just stopped. I was bad at listening to these directions, following this conversation up with many, many new messages in attempts to strike a conversation with him again. These messages earned me a nice block from Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat.

My only method of contact would now be email, so night after night instead of stalking Students of the World for new pen pals, I would send Kris emails. I now began to understand that feeling that I caused upon Julia, who may or may not have been Julia. Throughout October and November, I received a few responses that sounded like an automatic email reply, but one email in mid-November stood out, as it was one of the last ones I would receive from him.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hello Becca,

I did act stupid and didn’t answer your messages at all. When I emailed you first, I never thought our friendship would get that strong !

Guess what, there used to be a time I was really in love with you, but I haven’t dared say so … The one biggest reason was the 6000 km that stand between us ! You were the one I loved talking to ! So I talked to you and you never waited to answer and neither did I.

I don’t know, something went wrong, time changed, I’m sorry I haven’t answered you for long, this is all my bad. I wish I could go back to past to fix this.

This message will never ever be able to patch things up, but it (I hope ) will tell you that I never forgot you .

My mother would tell me time and time again that any type of relationship separated by physical distance would never work. I had never believed her, but after receiving this email, I understood. Why had I ever believed that the perfect friendship would be through time differences of at least five hours? These relationships do not automatically create a barrier of trust, often making it even harder to trust. There are always going to be worries about who that person is and what their intentions are. There is no safety net to keep you from being hurt or feeling pain. Once there is a roadblock within your barrier of communication, you cannot simply get it back after running into each other at Walmart or flashing them a fake smile as you pass them in the hallway at school. As soon as one person blocks the other or the number of unread emails increases substantially over months, that person is gone forever.

#penpals #love #lost love #memoir #longdistance #oops I fell in love with my penpal #those French boys

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alphawave-writes · 5 years

Text

Evil actions and good intentions chapter 8: ‘Dark side of the moon’

Synopsis: On Harold's final days on Oasis, he finally reunites with Winston. But their reunion is cut short when a dark force finally makes their move.

You guys can read here or find it on AO3. If you want more Sigma, check out my series, ‘The universe sings’. If you wanna chat with me about space dads, check out my Sigrold discord server.

It’s like a switch has been flipped. That’s the best way to describe it, Harold thought. As his friend, Siebren kept mostly to himself, smiling his half-smiles, making his light touches. But as his lover, he is a beast. When they're in public, nothing has changed. It’s only when they're alone does Siebren go on the attack. In the lab, they kiss until their lips are bruised and swollen. When they're eating together, they hold hands and smile warmly at each other, occasionally brushing their a hand on an arm or a thigh. In the sanctuary that is their bed, they touch and kiss until the morning light like they are young men, full of energy and love to give.

It's in these moments of emotional vulnerability that Siebren’s powers reach their peak, cutting the strands of gravity that connected them to Earth, making their bodies dance in the air or on the walls and ceiling. It’s exhilarating and it’s terrifying, but Siebren holds Harold tightly throughout the night, coaxing gravity with a wave of his hand. He tells Harold that he will keep him safe, and Harold believes him, if the warmth of Siebren's arms is anything to go by.

Siebren was never this affectionate before. Even when they were dating, it was Harold who usually made the first move. He knows the reason for this sudden change in Siebren’s behavior. Siebren is making up for lost time, gathering enough passionate kisses and tender touches to last him a lifetime. He’s savouring every moment until the day Harold leaves and they say their final goodbyes.

Harold’s long given up convincing Siebren to join him. Siebren is a proud, stubborn man, preferring to maintain the status quo if it means his goals are unhindered. He wants to stay in Oasis and continue his research. There are times when Siebren’s stoic mask cracks and Harold catches a glimpse at Siebren’s true feelings. But they’re lightning strikes, flashing brightly before fading away into the night. There are times where Harold thinks he should push a little harder, be a bit more demanding, but he doesn’t dare do anything if it means ruining the magic they share.

He’d rather just enjoy this moment of bliss, however long it lasts.

Sombra is only too eager to help Harold reconnect with Winston, telling them both to wait exactly one week while she gets everything set up. The timing is important, she claims, but Harold does not know how or why timing needs to be considered. A part of him wants to see Winston now, just as desperately as the other part of him wishes time will stop so he can be with Siebren a little bit longer. The back of his brain itches insistently, wondering what Sombra’s motives are for helping him, but he cannot come up with any answers. Time marches onward, and soon the day arrives.

Harold is antsy as he awaits Siebren’s response. Siebren is the only one with any contact with Sombra, but he is off continuing his research in his shiny new lab. All Harold can do is stare at his phone and wait for the message. He paces the bedroom, his mind going over every possible interaction, every possible thing Winston can say to him and he can say back. Will he have changed with the passage of time, or will he be like Harold himself, stubbornly defiant, changed and unchanged at the same time?

The still air gives him no answer. He hopes perhaps the city might have something to say.

Oasis is a grand city, but there are few places meant for relaxing. There are restaurants and cafes, parks and playgrounds, but they are crowded, filled with young couples with children by their ankles. Not for the first time, Harold reminisces about his days on Horizon One, playing with the animals, chatting with his colleagues. He remembers the nights when he’d sneak Hammond and Winston into his room, and read them stories from the books he smuggled onto the lunar base. Hammond, being a hamster, was far more interested in his tiny little cage, but he remembered how Winston looked, utterly enraptured in the fantasy, the Earth glittering in his large eyes.

He remembers the picture of Winston he saw on the internet and his chest constricts, his lips dipping into a frown. He tries to remind himself of the absurdity of his emotions. Here he is, getting overly sentimental because he is going to reunite with the gorilla he raised in space.

The son you raised in space, his mind corrected.

He doesn’t attempt to convince himself otherwise. It's the truth and he knows it.

He’s strolling through market stalls when he sees a familiar face in the crowd. Satya Vaswani is alone, staring intently at the signs. Their eyes meet, and she cautiously makes her way towards him, avoiding the throngs of people marching up and down the street. Harold’s seen her a few times on the University campus but this is the first time she’s approached him since their tour on the first day. It’s also the first time he’s found her alone. Her bodyguards are nowhere to be seen today.

“I didn’t take you as someone who goes to markets, Dr. Winston,” she states.

“It’s Harold, and yeah, I love them. No better place to meet new people. Or acquaintances, for that matter.”

Satya nods shallowly, clutching her arms tightly over her body. “It is too crowded here. These streets are cluttered with people. I must mention this to Vishkar, so we might find a solution to this.”

He recognizes that look on Satya’s face. She masks it well, but he can see the anxiety leap out of her. His sister was also prone to anxiety attacks in crowds, back when she was younger. His parents would often take breaks in local restaurants or sit on nearby benches, places small enough for his sister to relax and catch her breath. Perhaps it might help Satya too.

His eyes scan the horizon, a gentle smile caresses his face. “There’s a small café just over there. Perhaps you’d like to join me for tea?”

She doesn’t respond with words, but her lips pull up into a tight smile that he thinks is gratitude, and slowly they head inside.

The café in question is moderately packed but there is little chatter. Iraqi music flows through speakers as diners sat on cheap wooden tables. Portraits of celebrities line one of the walls, many of them including the previous ministers from the Ministries. Funnily enough, he does not see Moira’s picture amongst them. Perhaps even the locals think she is controversial.

They take a seat in the corner, right next to the open windows.. A young waitress hands them their menus and waits patiently as they look through. Harold likes to think his mixed heritage gave him an advantage when it comes to food and languages, but even he is inept when it comes to Arabic. He eventually concedes defeat and copies Satya’s order for a chai.

Satya doesn’t talk, just drums her metallic fingers rhythmically into her right bicep as she stares outside to the streets. There’s a wistful expression on her face, memories of a distant youth dancing before her eyes. Harold doesn’t attempt to start conversation. There’s no need to. He lets his own mind drift away, recalling his Soon, they’re both given bright orange chai in tinted glass. Satya sips hers first. Her shoulders slowly relax.

“Why did you bring me here?” She asks.

“No reason,” Harold says. “Just know that it can be overstimulating in crowds for some. Humans aren’t designed to be so densely packed into one space.”

“So you do not have any ulterior motives.” Her eyes pierce through him.

Harold chuckles quietly. “I’m flattered you think I’m the type to go after a woman that’s old enough to be my kid, but I’m already in a relationship.”

“With Dr. de Kuiper, I assume?”

“That obvious?”

“Even I can see that the two of you are close. How close, I didn’t dare ask.” Her eyes stare at Harold’s ring finger. Her lips pull tight over her face. “Is there a stigma against marriage in your country or…?”

A bit difficult to get married when I’m legally dead, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Siebren and I are only dating. The relationship is…relatively new.”

“O-Oh. I see.” Her eyes flicker between his hands and his face, almost like she’s seeing him in a completely different light. A dark blush creeps up her cheeks. “Forgive me. It’s not my place to pry.”

Harold chuckles awkwardly. “It sounds a bit weird, but we’re happy.”

Satya stares at him for a few seconds. “But you don’t look happy.”

He glances down at the cup of chai in his hands and sighs quietly. “I know.”

Satya drinks her chai slowly, careful not to smudge her lipstick. When she sets her cup down, it is exactly on the center on the saucer. “I shall be leaving soon,” she says. "My work here in Oasis is finished."

“But Vishkar won the appeal. They are staying, aren’t they?”

“I must return to Vishkar’s HQ and prepare blueprints for the hardlight buildings that shall come. Any future correspondences between Vishkar and the Ministires will be through Sanjay Korpal, not I.”

Harold nods vacantly. “You must be happy Vishkar got the deal with Oasis.”

Satya hides a grimace. “I should be."

“Is the deal bad?"

“That is not it. It is the unrest as of late. The people have been disturbed ever since the attack on the university. This city, once orderly and peaceful, is now on the brink of chaos.” Satya takes a sip of her chai before adding, “I do not like chaos.”

Harold shrugs. “That’s why Vishkar is here, isn’t it? To promote peace and order?”

“It is, but the timing of the attacks. Just when we were at risk of losing the contract, the attacks occur, and suddenly our competitors seem insignificant. The timing is all too perfect.” Satya violently shakes her head. “But Vishkar would never do such a thing. The accusations against us are baseless.”

Harold studies Satya’s harrowed expression. He’s aware of Vishkar’s reputation. He’s aware of the things they have done in the past, of the things they will do to maintain the status quo and gain access to an untapped market. Corporations are ruthless, shedding employees off its back if it means it shall live. Harold has learnt this the hard way with Lucheng.

“Sometimes, chaos is necessary to cause change,” he says diplomatically. “With change comes peace.”

“How can anything be both chaos and order?” Satya accuses.

“Everything dissolves into entropy,” Harold says. “There is the people, and there is the corporation. Two sides of different views. No matter what happens, they are going to clash, and when they do, the world will be behind the people. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again.”

“You sound like that ruffian,” Satya comments. Her eyes search his once again, just like that time when she first learned of his identity. Only this time there’s something else in her gaze. He doesn't know what it is, but it's sharp as a blade and dark as the night. “Why are you here?”

“There is no reason,” Harold says. “What about you?”

“I am here to preserve order.”

“The order that was already here for a long time? The order that was only disrupted when Vishkar arrived and decided to make this city their own?”

Satya stands up suddenly and slaps a bill on the table. “You do not know true order,” she says before stomping off, out of the café and out of sight.

Harold stays at his table and drinks his chai. He wonders what will happen to this city when he leaves. He hopes it's nothing too bad, if only to give him the small reassurance that Siebren shall be safe. That's all he can count on.

It’s just past 10pm when Sombra finally contacts them. On her orders, they blindly obey, heading inside of Oasis’s music library. It’s normally closed at this time of night, but the doors open for them anyway, closing with a swish as soon as they step inside. There is no light, and they’re specifically told not to turn on any lights or touch any electronics. They have to rely on their senses.

The music library is smaller, and much less kept compared to the other libraries, nestled in a deep labyrinth of underground tunnels underneath the smaller Biology laboratories. The disarray is probably a result of the internal feud within the Ministries over whether ‘music’ counts as a science. The feud apparently still exists today.

“She must be feeling nice,” Siebren says suddenly. “Sombra, that is. She’s not usually so kind.”

Harold can’t help but wonder once again what Sombra gets out of this. He heard from the Talon grapevine that she never does anything for free. But what could she possibly get out of reuniting him with Winston? Why does she have a link to Overwatch? How does she know Winston? What does she want?

As they get deeper and deeper into the library, the darkness becomes almost overwhelming, to the point where they can’t see their hands in front of their own faces. The back of Siebren’s head is the only light source, but even that is faint, casting just enough light to cast Siebren's backside a brilliant blue. Apart from that, it’s pitch black.

Siebren stops suddenly, as he almost collides with a desk. He hisses in annoyance. “I cannot see anything in this darkness.”

Harold suppresses a smirk as he takes Siebren’s hand. “Come on, tiger. I’ll lead the way.”

Siebren’s mouth open, as if to question how Harold can guide him, but stops when he sees Harold’s eyes glow, the tubes sticking out of his skin filling with golden liquid. Harold blinks, and it’s like everything he sees is brighter. He can make out the outlines of the desks, the rows upon rows of bookshelves full of old cassettes and CDs and DVDs.

It's a bit of a waste of his powers, but it's all worth it for that look in Siebren's eyes. "Come on," he says. He tugs Siebren forward, avoiding all the obstacles in their path.

“How can you do that?” Siebren asks, amazed.

“I have my ways,” Harold laughs.

“You don’t know," Siebren smirks knowingly.

Harold rolls his eyes. "Everybody knows there are off-target effects for genetic therapy. Mine just happen to be very good for finding the bathroom in the middle of the night."

On the last row of computers, they see their target. A lone computer sits beside a row of identical models. It’s the only one on, Sombra’s sugar skull icon glowing against the black backdrop. Siebren takes his seat, and with practiced ease, begins to type something. It doesn’t seem to register for a while, but then the skull icon is gone, and for a second the screen is black.

A single pop-up suddenly appears.

Are you sure?

>Yes No

Siebren turns to Harold. “No turning back, Harold. You want to do this?”

He nervously runs a hand through his hair. His nerves are on fire, and his mind is going through the worst case scenarios one by one. It’s not often that Harold feels afraid. The last time he felt anything remotely like this, it was during that Talon mission with Siebren, in the final few seconds before the bombs exploded where he thought that he might lose him forever. Though this fear is different, it still holds him by the throat, taunting him with all the ways he could fail and lose Winston's trust forever.

He’s afraid, and he’s worried, but despite all this there is conviction in his tone. He needs safety, but more than that, he wants to see Winston. He has to see him.

“D-do it,” Harold whispers.

Siebren clicks ‘yes’ and the screen is blanketed in white. An innocuous looking streaming site appears. A large black window sits in the middle, a small video of their own faces near the bottom right. There’s the beeping sounds of a call being made. Harold leans forward peeking over Siebren's shoulder, his face just out of view. His eyes are flickering between the monitor and Siebren’s carefully blank face. His heart feels like it’ll leap out of his chest any second now.

The screen fills up as Winston stares angrily into the camera. A quiet gasp escapes Harold’s lips. He hasn’t changed one bit since he last saw him. He’s just as Harold remembered him.

“Who is this? How did you get—” Winston trails off. His eyes widen in shock. “It can’t be…Dr. de Kuiper? But…but how did you get this line?” Quieter, he adds, “How are you alive?”

“A bit of outside help told me how to get to this line,” Siebren smiles politely. “You’ve grown so much.”

“I…I can’t believe it. They said you went missing after your accident all those years ago.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been taking care of my mental health recently.” Siebren’s lips dip microscopically for a second before springing back up. “But I am better now. I trust you can make this our little secret.”

Winston quickly salutes. “N-not a problem, Dr. de Kuiper.”

Siebren chuckles politely. “Just call me Siebren.”

Winston smiles in embarrassment. “S-sure, Dr—I mean, Siebren. Heh. Force of habit.”

It’s the first time Harold remembers him calling himself Siebren since Harold was brought to Talon. He gazes at Siebren, wondering if perhaps Siebren is aware of the significance. The smiles he shares with Winston are awkward, but they are meaningful, filled with unspoken affection.

Harold watches as the two chat so easily, talking about their lives. Siebren is vague, talking about his current research and his stay in Oasis as a researcher in the Ministry of Physics, but Winston is far more open about his past, regaling the adventures he’s had and the friends he’s made, and of course the story of how he joined Overwatch. He tells Siebren that he’s currently living in an old Overwatch watchpoint in the south of Spain, and has been living by himself for some time. A part of Harold aches when he hears Winston call Overwatch his family. Harold remembered the day when baby Winston spoke his first word. Papa, he gurgled excitedly. Family. How he clutched his chest in love, dreaming of the day the experiment can be over so he can finally take Winston down to Earth and show him his roots and finally be the father they both wanted him to be.

“I had a wonderful Christmas with Lena and her girlfriend,” Winston continued. “If I knew you were around, I would have invited you.”

“Perhaps the next time then. You have not tried my family’s secret gourmetten recipe,” Siebren laughed. “We encountered your friend, actually, right here in Oasis. She seemed to recognize one of us.”

“We?” Winston questions.

Siebren turns his head to Harold and smirks. “You know him quite well. He’s right here with me.”

Siebren gestures Harold to come forward and let his presence be known. Harold takes a deep shuddery breath in and nods faintly. This is it. The moment of truth. Siebren steps away from the chair, letting Harold sit in it. He sees a miniature of his own face in a corner of the screen, washed in blue light, making him look pale.

Winston is staring at him in horror, like a ghost has resurrected from the grave. Tears begin to form in his eyes, but he turns his head away and pretends to clean his glasses. They’re an exact replica of his old glasses, Harold realizes, only bigger, created to fit a gorilla’s head. A replica of the glasses he left behind on Horizon One, when the gorillas forced him into the airlock.

“I-It can’t be,” Winston whispers.

Harold smiles tightly, his own tears streaming down his face. “It’s been so long, champ.”

“Dr. Winston?”

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve become Winston now." In a whisper, he adds, “I’m so proud of you.”

Winston looks like he’s ready to cry then and there, but he violently shakes his head, his lips twisted in all manners of direction to stop his tears. “You can’t be real. You’re imposters. Dr. de Kuiper was declared missing. D-Dr. Winston died over a decade ago.”

“But I’m alive. Have been for a long time.” Harold gazes down at his shaking hands. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you. If I could, I would have tried to find you, tried to tell you. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

“Y-you’re not him.”

“Xīngānbǎobèi,” Harold sighed.

Winston chokes on his breath, his throat constricting tightly. Harold smiles sadly as his eyes go cloudy.

“Remember when I used to call you that? Back on Horizon One? The first time I called you that, I was tucking you into bed one night, and you didn’t want me to go. I read you a bedtime story from my homeland, the very one my own mother told me to go to sleep when I was a kid.”

“Hou Yi and Chang’e,” Winston breathes. His lips suddenly springs into a bittersweet smile. “I asked you what that word meant, when I first learned how to talk. You got so embarrassed, and I didn’t know why. It was only years later when my friend Mei told me.”

“Only parents say that to their children,” Harold replies.

Winston nods. “She told me it’s rather old-fashioned.”

“Yes, well, mama never told me it was old-fashioned,” Harold chuckles.

Awkward smiles are shared amidst the two, a cover for them to wipe the tears from their eyes. Harold wonders if this is what it feels like to be a parent, to see the child Winston used to be whenever he gazes into Winston’s eyes. His heart swells with pride and happiness.

“It is you,” Winston says finally, a whisper that can barely be heard over the cheap speakers. “I…I knew you were alive. When they didn’t recover your body, I hoped you would be alive. They said to expect the worst, but I didn’t want to give up hope. A-and now you’re here.”

Harold suddenly wishes he is by Winston’s side so he can embrace him in his arms and finally let the tears spill down both their cheeks. But they are worlds apart, and he needs to fulfill the purpose of this call. He can’t let this opportunity go to waste. “I’d love to tell you more, but I need your help.”

“My help?”

Harold nods. “Very few people know I’m alive, and a lot of people want me dead. The attack in Oasis University? That was Lucheng Interstellar's job, and they are after me.”

Winston’s eyes widen in horror. “Y-you? Why are they after you?”

“My research. My secrets.” After a pause, Harold adds, “I know the real reason they’re putting resources into re-establishing contact with Horizon One. They want the research I left behind there.”

“B-but why would they want your research?”

“Why do you think I’m still alive?”

Harold sees Winston’s gaze lower on his screen, away from Harold’s face to the tubes sticking out of his neck. Winston lets his fingers trace over the metal plate on his forehead, nodding in grim understanding. He would know exactly what the genetic treatment can do.

“I heard you’re rebuilding Overwatch,” Harold continues. “I don’t know if this is anything like the old Overwatch. I don’t know if you will even want an old scientist like me, but people want me dead, and I need a place to hide.”

Winston’s lips purse. “D-Dr. Winston…”

“I-I don’t expect you to help me if you don’t want to,” Harold adds quickly. His hands are trembling on his lap. “I understand if you…don’t want to see me again.”

“N-no, wait. Y-you can come here."

Harold stares at Winston’s image for a few seconds. It takes a few seconds for the words to register. He was prepared to plead, to beg for help. “W-what?”

Winston pushes the glasses higher up his face with a trembling hand. “L-Lena is going to leave Oasis in a few days time and come here to Gibraltar. I’ll notify her what’s happening. She can take you here on her airship. There’s no place safer.”

“But…but is that OK?”

“If what you’re saying is true, then there is something nefarious at work here.” Quieter, Winston adds, “I want to see you again.”

Harold stares into Winston’s eyes and sees the memories of his childhood flicker behind sunflower irises. He sees the moon and he sees the Earth, and they’re beautiful, but it’s nothing compared to the golden halo that surrounds Harold’s past self, smiling with the warm intensity of the sun. An image of a loving father.

“I’d love to see you too, champ. You’re my kid.”

Harold can feel the tears stain his cheeks, a thin smile spread across his face. There’s a slight pressure on his shoulder, a hand rubbing gently. He looks up to see Siebren, his expression soft and sad at the same time. Harold places his hand over Siebren’s, patting softly.

“I suppose you will be going soon,” Siebren utters.

“Yeah,” Harold whispers. “I’ll have to tell Talon I’m leaving.”

“Moira will not be happy to hear this.”

Winston’s face falls. “T-Talon?”

Harold tilts his head. “What’s wrong with Talon?”

There’s the briefest flicker in Winston’s eyes, and suddenly he’s typing away madly on his keyboard. In the reflection of Winston’s glasses, Harold sees article upon article fly across the screen, too fast for the human brain to process. He can only catch glimpses of words: ‘terrorist’ and ‘classified archives’ and ‘Doomfist’ and ‘Omnic Crisis’. Eventually Winston stops typing. A single article is beamed up on the screen. It’s an Overwatch classified document, detailing the rise of Talon, its shady dealings, the genocides they have committed, the destruction they brought to countless countries. Suspected members include Akande Ogundimu and Dr. Moira O’Deorain.

More articles pop up on their screen, showing more crimes. Kidnappings and assassinations and extortion, among others. Harold stares at them all, taking as much of it in. The hand on his shoulder tightens so much it hurts. The furniture rattles.

“No…” Siebren gasps.

“Talon is an organization of terrorists hellbent on bringing the next evolution of humanity by chaos," Winston growls. "They want to bring about hard times to create strong men, and they will use whatever methods they have in their books to do it.”

“This cannot be real, this cannot be real," Siebren moans.

Winston’s typing furiously. “I’m contacting Lena now. You have to get out of Oasis. Get to Gibral—”

The screen glitches heavily before suddenly turning off. Harold frantically taps at the computer, pressing every button he can think of to turn it back on.

“Winston? Winston!”

The lights in the room flicker on. Thunderous footsteps echo throughout the library, coming from all directions. Harold rises from his seat, gaping at the battalion of armoured troops pointing their weapons at him and Sigma. The room trembles as Sigma flies up into the air, his hands outstretched as he shoots the hyperspheres from his palm, his skull glowing blue. A squad of troops are shoved to the wall, weapons clacking harmlessly onto the ground. He pins another wave to the wall, then another, but they continue to approach. The hyperspheres does little to deter them.

There’s the whirr of a gun as a blue ball of energy hits Sigma square in the chest. He falls to the ground, taking in a raspy breath. The furniture drops to the floor with a thud. The light at the back of his skull fades.

The wielder of the weapon is wearing a blue dress and visor, but it does little to disguise her identity. Satya frowns deeply, her brows furrowed in conflict as she points her weapon at Siebren. Behind her stands Moira and Dr. Tempest Williams, flanked on all sides by numerous guards.

“He’s not down yet. Again,” Moira orders.

Satya grimaces as she squeezes the trigger. Another energy ball hits Siebren, making him howl in pain. He convulses madly, spasming on the floor before his eyelids finally flutter closed, limbs hanging limply on the ground.

The soldiers close in on Harold. Satya stares forlornly while Moira is emotionless but all Harold can see is Siebren’s body on the floor. Burn marks have ripped through his clothes, crackling his stomach, making him look fragile and old and broken.

Harold doesn’t feel fear. He doesn’t feel sorrow. As the golden light in his veins consumes him, all he sees is Siebren's unconscious body and his lips twist into a vicious snarl. The blinding rage threatens to consume him, burning him from the inside out.

The only thing he hears is the blood filling his ears, and then a single gunshot aimed for his chest. His wild eyes stare at the guards as the bullet gets absorbed by the nanobots. His eyes are aglow as lightning fills his body, a guttural, visceral growl escaping his throat.

He charges at the guards, punching and kicking and screaming, faster than lightning, stronger than gravity, utterly invincible. The guards desperately spray him with bullets but the nanobots absorb them all. They cannot touch him. No one will ever touch him and Siebren again.

One of the guards tackles him to the ground from behind, and Harold struggles. He turns around and reaches for the gun, ripping it out of his grasp before kicking him away.

He stands up and backs away, wincing as his back hits a bookshelf. His eyes are wild as he tries to find a place to go, a place to escape, but there's nothing. He's surrounded by all sides. He's trapped.

Moira approaches him slowly, her expression carefully neutral. “Put the gun down, Dr. Winston.”

Harold fumbles with the safety. He’s not used to this gun at all, or any gun for that matter, but he can handle the weight of the weapon in his hands. For Siebren and Winston, he will risk his life, he knows that. But does that mean he can take someone else's life? Is he really that selfish?

Moira smiles sinisterly. “You don’t want to kill,” she says. She stretches her hand towards him, coaxing him to give her the gun. “You don’t want to dirty your hands, do you?”

Harold hesitates, his breath catching in his throat. He stares at the cruel grimace on Tempest's face and is brutally reminded of his decision to save her. His friends would argue it was courage to keep her alive, but he knows what his actions truly meant. Stupid coward, he scolds himself. You stupid, stupid coward.

On the dark computer screens, he sees the glint of a knife inches from his back. Before Harold is aware of what he's doing, his body has already turned around and pulled the trigger. Tempest stands there, the knife falling from her hands, mouth agape and filled with blood as she crumbles to the floor in a pool of her own blood. The scent of death fills the room quickly.

It doesn’t compute in his mind what he just did. At this betrayal, he fires the weapon blindly, killing more of the guards. When it runs out of ammo, he charges like a berserker, smashing skulls together and throwing people to the ground. There's no restraint or control in his actions, no remorse or hesitation. Bloodlust has consumed him, and it won't go away until he avenges Siebren and kills everyone in this room.

Suddenly there’s a cold chill in his body and his actions slow. Moira stretches out her right hand, dark tendrils sapping the energy away from his body, making his skin shrivel and shrink like a corpse. The golden light dissipates, his strength leaving him. Everything seems to be fading away. The guards take their chance, tackling him to the ground, securing all of his limbs so that he may not move again.

The dark tendrils continue their assault, taking away his life essence. He thrashes and he struggles, but it's no use. Moira stands above him, a wicked smile spreading across her face.

"Your power. It's so much better than Sigma's. The things I can do with your powers. It must be studied." Her lips curl up into a smirk. "Perhaps you can be of some use after all."

Satya approaches him, her lips pursed tight. “I am sorry,” she mouths.

He can't open his mouth to respond. The light threatens to blind him and his breaths are weak. The last thing he sees before he goes under is a hollow emptiness, an unwelcome reminder that he has failed Siebren.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #THIS chapter is a very emotional one #Like the first half is basically a metaphor for the Blizzard Hong Kong controversy #But the SECOND HALF #Oh god you guys have no idea what I have planned for the next chapter #Or maybe you do #But if you like this chapter you're gonna love the next one because THAT ONE will be even more exciting

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years

Text

Winner’s Curse Ch. 12

It’s been a full week since they teamed up and nothing had been remotely accomplished. On the bright side, nothing remotely evil or world destroying had happened yet too. So they still had some time. Who knew how much though.

Their mission into the castle last night yielded no new results. It seemed whenever they went to investigate the castle, it was empty. They had spent days scouring the dark, gloomy halls, occasionally bumping into one of Maleficent’s mindless goons but it seeme uninhabited. Uma’s best guess was that the Coven had a secret lair within the castle or they were investigating the wrong wing of the castle. Either way, nothing informative or helpful had come to light to the Coven’s weakness.

Aziz and Lala had found Abis Mal three nights ago and interrogated him for any clues about the Coven but he was of no use. Similarly when they tried to recruit him to join their cause to take down the Coven, the small man said `No” and he’d rather dance on thir graves than help anyone from Auradon. Then after that grand speech, he threw up his spoiled dinner.

That brought them here and now. Strategizing in the office of Captain Hook’s ship since her own boat had been unfortunately dismantled and had parts stolen off it since she left.

“Well we could ask some of the kids around here. After all, no one cares about the kids here or thinks they’re capable of anything. I mean Mal, Evie, Carlos and I were still teenagers when we defeated Maleficent.” Jay puffed up his chest with pride.

Uma thought about Celia. Though she would be more than willing to fight against the Coven, Uma knew she didn’t have the strength to go against them. It wasn’t right to have the younger children help to fight their battles when they were already enduring abuse and neglect from their parents much less their new overlords.

“No” Uma said definately, “The kids may be sneaky but they will just slow us down or become targets. As I’ve been saying, we need the mercenaries on our side.” “And that will take a lot of money. Remember, Uma, Sinclair said we have to pay her just to get her to go into Maleficent’s castle.” Gil said.

“I remember.” Uma snarled at the unneeded interruption. “Great, we can probably bribe them all to help us. I mean we do have phenomenal cosmic power at our fingertips and that means so much gold.” Jay slapped Jordan on the back. Jordan and Aziz both glared at him like they wished to rip his fingers off.

“That boy” Uma internally mused, “He really knows how to irritate anyone. VK or Ak.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Aziz inserted, “We can’t offer gold to everyone here or any more promises that we are not going to keep. It is probably best to stick with Uma’s idea to start a revolution with the people by using their hatred against the hatred.”

“I could convince my dad, I’m sure he would love to overthrow my mom.” Lala added, “And then he can threaten other people to back us up.”

“I’m sure we can convince people to help us without resorting to threats.” Calix interjected.

With that statement, Jay, Uma, Harry and Gil scoffed at his pathetic naivete.

“No can do. Ben may want us to do things peacefully, but our mission is to save the world and if we have to force the villains here to fight the Coven, we force them. Heh, guess they’ll see what it’s like to be forced against their will to do something.” Jordan said with a surprisingly intimidating growl.

The face of the Smee twins popped into her head once more. Along with those of Dizzy, and Celia, and Hadie and so many others. Walking in chains to sure bloodshed. And all because this girl was too blind by prejudice to see that she was punishing children who did nothing wrong.

“That’s not your call! You’re going to force the people to fight your battle. As if Auradon hasn’t done enough, forcing us to live here and eat your scraps.” Uma banged her fist, sending the few papers and trinkets Hook had on the desk to fail to the floor. Jordan seemed to grow taller for she had to bend her head downward to glare at her, nose to nose. Uma squelched the urge to step backward, away from the invasion of personal space, but she would not admit such weakness.

“You’re fighting our battle? Don’t sound like such a matyr. We’re all on the same side. We’re all doing the same damn battle. And you just said it’s ridiculous to get people to help us voluntarily. We have to threaten them or bribe them.” “But you can’t..”

“Only you can threaten them? That’s what you’re saying is it? That’s not your call. I’m not here to act like a friend you never had. I’m here as the leader.” Jordan took another step forward but Uma didn’t back away, she stood her ground. She could sense more than see the others in the room, staring and holding their breath for the next move or in Harry’s case, attack when she needed it. But no one made a move. It felt like it was just the two of them trapped in this power struggle that spiraled too quickly.

She had underestimated this girl. It was clear that she was improvising her plan as she went along and unsure of making decisions. But instead of latching on to her superior expertise as she expected, Jordan was lashing out at her and trying to keep all the control to herself even if it meant threatening them all. “I’m the captain.” Uma retorted, straightening her posture and walking forward into Jordan’s personal space. And victory for her, the genie took a step back. “One with experience. Connections. I actually know the Isle and people here. They will trust me more than you. You’re just some Auradon snob who never had to make a decision in her life and thinks we’re less than you because we come from the Isle. You only see us as copies of our parents.”

“You only see us as copies of our parents. You think we’re fools with idealism and stupidity that are only good to use for our riches and our wishes.” Jordan stopped backing away, standing like a statue with an unnervingly calm voice full of malice as she stated her opinion.

They stood glaring at which point Uma noticed sweat trickling down the back of her neck and that it was starting to feel unnaturally hot in the room that usually was damp and smelling of kelp. Now it smelled like fried kelp.

Jordan clearly saw that Uma had caught on with the change in temperature. She cocked her head with an unruffled poker face, “What? Are you feeling like a boiled shrimp?”

“Bitch!” Harry lunged forward, hook outstretched to spear her throat but Aziz got there first, marking his back with a ferocious gnash on his back. Uma had to give him a tiny amount of respect for not flinching but instead giving Jordan a quick much-needed slap.

“Aziz! Your back! Stop slapping my cheek. You-”

“Aram shu. Haltan khob ast?” Aziz commanded and the two devolved into a rapid conversation in Arabic that she couldn’t understand. Not that it mattered when all the sweltering heat and the tension in the room whooshed out and Uma allowed herself to exhale.

Harry was at her side but before he could ask. Uma nodded. She was fine. They both could see that though she was a little rattled by the turn of events. The Aks weren’t going to be as easily manipulated as she thought but she could work with that. She’ll just have to change her tactics.

Jordan’s voice cut through their silent conversation as she slumped into Captain Hook’s chair, “Fine. We’ll do whatever Uma says for now.”

Uma could do without the amount of petty sarcasm Jordan used when saying her name, but was glad for whatever it was Aziz said that made her see reason.

“Then I suppose I’ll start strategizing. Go eat.” Uma gestured for all of them to go which they followed except the genie girl who was staring numbly at the wall.

Calix ducked back in and urged Jordan off the chair and out the door, “Come on, time to eat.”

“I’m a genie, I don’t need to eat.”

“Well if you want to talk about genies, Desiree...”

“I’m not in the mood for banter.”

Uma looked out of the office door one more time to see Calix drag Jordan to the far side of the ship for privacy. Where she expected Jay to be skulking around like the snake he was, he was actually in the middle of the action wrestling with Gil while the rest of the crew cheered Gil on.

She scoured to make sure that Aziz and Lala weren’t hanging around close enough to eavesdrop, but fortunately Aziz was also distractedly watching the impromptu wrestlin match, looking back at Jordan and nodding as Lala talked in his ear, “When you were interrogating Abis Mal, how were you able to tell that-“

Uma closed the door and turned to her first mate.

Uma wasted no time for pleasentries, “You’ve been a bit more unhinged than usual lately since I’ve returned. What is it?”

She had first noticed the change when they went to Sinclair. Harry’s type of intimdation was unnerving the opposition with his invasions of personal space and gliding his hook on their skin but he didn’t usually lunge or attack unless it was with her. Not for her. He trusted her instincts too much to go on the defensive for her without permission. This was the second time he striked so aggresively without a warning.

“Nothing is-” Harry paused, and looked at the wall, “CJ’s back.”

Uma’s eyes widened. CJ and Harry always had a complicated relationship. Well all the Hook siblings had a contentious relationship with each other. But Harry and CJ moreso because of how close they were in age and how their personalities clashed.

It all traced back to Captain Hook himself as most of the kids’ issues could be traced to their parents’ treatment. Harry always looked up to his father, wanting to be just like him leading to his obsessive devotion to his fake hook. But Hook never gave him time of day, in fact, he treated him less than compared to his sisters. Especially since Harry had joined her crew. By then, Hook had completely disregarded Harry as one of his own because he was content to be her first mate and not seize the captainship for his own.

CJ, on the other hand, was undoubtedly Hook’s favorite. She was the youngest child, ambitious and also wanted to be just like her father. But while Hook cared for her more than Harry, he had no belief in her to become a captain of great esteem like himself so Uma personally thought CJ overcompensates with her flashy bucuneer act.

The two used to be close when they were younger, Harriet acting as their mother and above their sibling rivalry. The two would fight and get under each other’s skin but she knew Harry had a special protective spot whereas CJ was concerned though the blonde often chafted under his watchful eye and often almost got herself killed trying to do things on her own.

But then they grew up and CJ became more capable, running around the Isle with Freddie and following Captain Hook’s lead in dismissing Harry as lesser. It got worse after CJ made it to Auradon and unlike Harry, she had no loyalty to those she left behind. All she did was send condescending messages about the high time she was having sailing the Seven Seas, making it to Neverland to get Captain Hook’s compass, and raiding villages in Auradon.

That was the last straw for Harry. He could stand the taunts and condescension and the little girl pretending she was greater than she was. But the disloyalty earned his ire and CJ became subject non grata.

“Her mom contacted her. It’s Lady Caine.” Harry turned his gaze away from the wall to her again. Then punched the wall.

Lady Caine was CJ’s mom? Well that explained the disloyalty gene. Her mother was Captain Hook’s, and to the extent the rest of the Hook family’s, greatest nemesis on the Isle.

Well exempting a one night fling apparently.

“And she’s what? She’s following her now?” Uma eyed Harry’s bloody knuckles as he picked splinters away from his skin.

“I don’t know. Just.. she wants to get the Jolly Roger for herself. “Her birthright.” Harry shook his head and looked like he was about to punch something again but Uma grabbed his hook before he could do anything else. “She’s not going to get it. If anything, the Jolly Roger belongs to us. We run this town. She can go back to Auradon. We’ll drag her there by her hair when we win over the Coven.”

“I don’t care about that. She won’t get near the Jolly Roger with Da in charge of it.” Harry said. Uma was about to mention that Captain Hook was usually out of comission but knew that Harry was about to get to what was really bothering him.

“I can’t believe her mother is Caine. I can’t believe she has a mother.” Harry sat down in Hook’s chair. “Are you wondering about your mother?” Uma asked

“No I mean yes. I mean. It’s not like I care about my mother. Even if she showed up now, she’s not going to do anything for me I guess. Harriet took care of all that stuff. I just don’t get why Caine is coming back. Or why CJ is teaming up with her. After all she has done to Dad. Trying to take his ships, and steal his crew and say she’s the pirate queen of the Isle.”

“CJ has no loyalty. Even to your dad. It figures she would do whatever suits herself.” Uma said.

“But even after all the stories we know about Caine.” Harry protested.

“She’s her mother.” Uma surprised herself when the statement slipped out but it did. She thought she understood it to an extent. Ursula was no treat to be with.

But Uma still… she hated to admit it. She cared for her. She hated how Ursula lost of her power and glory since being stabbed with a sea mast and how she had no faith in her. The Isle had sucked all the life and ambition out of her. It made her even more cruel and harsh which Uma was thankful for because that’s how she knew life worked. She wasn’t encouraging, she wasn’t loving but Ursula made sure she survived.

She suppose maybe CJ felt a similar tug. Not that Lady Caine did much to make sure CJ lived but she did give her, her survival instincts. They were similar and unlike Captain Hook, Caine was giving her attention.

“I don’t trust Caine. It makes no sense that she’d have an interest in CJ even if they are related.” Harry said and Uma had to smile to herself because Harry’s protective big brother mode was creeping up.

“Well we can definately go check them out from time to time while we fight the Coven. Kill two birds with one mission.” Uma assured him and Harry nodded his assent, his hand sneaking to grip hers.

Uma breathed in and simply enjoyed the serene moment and the warmth of his hand and a bit of the blood still trickling from his knuckles. It was the calm before the impending storm.

She looked down and saw the night shadows lengthening across the floor from under the door and realized it was probably time to start heading out. There were less people out at night for them to be suspicious of their activities. She looked to Harry, unlocked their hands and walked out onto the deck that was silent with the forms of her crewmmates laying themselves out for the night.

A plan was swiftly snapping into place in her mind and she barreled out orders, “Gil, you stay here with the crew and start scouting for lackeys to recruit to our army tomorrow morning. Jay, Jordan, Aziz, you will go find mercenaries to hire. Calix and I will investigate the castle again and uh, Harry and Lala will stand guard outside.”

Uma didn’t even wait to see the others carry out her orders. She knew her crew would do it, and well… it may be petty but she didn’t care one bit if Jay, and his genie and Aziz got their throats slit in the dark. She could handle things without them.

The four took their familiar route from the ship to the castle, moving as a silent mass and reached the backdoor in no time.

Harry took up position by the door while Lala leaped up to the closest tree and rested herself on the top tree branch, her brown eyes intently watching the horizon.

Uma picked the lock and swung open the door, turning left to where they knew the parlors full of magic spell books were. Before she could get far, Calix grabbed her arm.

Uma pushed him away, and saw he was heading the wrong way. “What are you doing?” “We’ve been there. We should go right and see if we can make our way to the tower. That’s where villains go to look over their kingdom and gloat don’t they?”

“But we don’t know the way there. What if we get lost and then caught?” Uma hissed.

“Oh you underestimate me.” Calix smirked, a small glowing blue ball appeared in his hand, expanded and spread itself into a map of the floor they were on. “Son of Circe, remember?”

“Why didn’t you use that before?” Uma cried as she took the lead heading right. “I didn’t want to undermine your leadership cap’n.” Calix quipped and Uma growled. She didn’t care for his laseiz faire attitude. That sort of personality led you to a quick death around here.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Your idea to scout the floors here was a good one but it’s not working anymore so… that’s when magic is needed.” Calix smiled at his glowing map and almost tripped over himself as they approched the spiral staircase leading up.

The walls were far too close together and the stairs were steep lending to a clustraphobic feeling Uma wasn’t quite comfortable with her. She was in her element in the water and the higher up they climbed, the farther they were from the shore, the water and all that she was used to.

She was going to be high and dry in the tower and the thought made her nervously clench and unclench her fists as she thought over the sparring techniques Harry and she used to fight when they were younger.

The stairs continued upward but Uma made a stop at a door which she nimbly picked and opened to a much more lavish hallway. There were tapestries and velvet curtains lining the walls and at random intervals, there was a desk with a vase of flowers or a knight in shining armor. There was even a plush purple carpet.

“Hmm looks like King Arthur’s.. Ah I bet Morgan was in charge of decorating.” Calix murmered to himself and Uma shushed him.

The plush rug made a great cover for their footsteps as they cautiously walked down. Most doors were unlocked which allowed them to peek into see what was in them. Many were sitting rooms or parlors or man caves. This part of the castle was clearly inhibited because they could hear the echoes of voices causing them to jump into the nearest rooms every seven minutes, but no one came near.

Around the third time of this incident happening, Uma was over it. She hated acting this cautious and scared. It was weak. She was a pirate captain and sea witch, she was used to walking straight into danger, but… the danger here was different than facing Mal’s gang. It was more potent and powerful and caution had to be exercised no matter how annoying it was to do so.

Uma went out into the hallway and brushed against a suit of armor, the small action causing the chainmail to clatter to the floor and the echoing voices stopped echoing.

Uma and Calix ran back into the man cave and hid behind the green velvet curtains. A lame hiding spot but the only one as there was only ottamons and couches and neither would big enoough to hide under.

“Huh? It’s just a knight. Damned things can’t stay up.” A smoky voice commented outside the door and they heard the motions of her putting it back up straight.

“Well as I was saying…” a familar voice drawled Uma gripped the curtain tighter in her fists to keep back the range of emotions rising in her chest like a high tide. Anger, irritation, aggrevation, all the usual things she felt when CJ was near, amplified with the knowledge of how she betrayed her family.

“We should hit them tonight!” Them? Them as in the Jolly Roger and Harry? Tonight?!!

“I don’t think so.” The older, smoky voice rejected and Uma had to take the chance and see who was talking.

Allowing her left eye peer past the edge of the curtain she saw Lady Caine lounging on the ottoman with CJ pacing irritatedly beside her.

“I thought you put me in charge. And I say we should strike tonight.” CJ retorted huffily.

Lady Caine stretched and cracked her neck, seeming to regard CJ as the impatient child she was, “But have you thought of the Coven factor. We just heard their plans, wouldn’t it be better to wait for them and then steal off with Roger in the middle of chaos.”

CJ paused to consider it, “Hmm it would make it worse for dad if I did steal the Jolly Roger while the rest of the Isle is falling apart… I guess we could wait.”

“You're a smart girl. Knew you’d see it my way.” Lady Caine sauntered off and CJ followed after her puffing her red coat tails.

She knew she told Harry they would deal with Caine and CJ along with the Coven but the fact that the two were working with the Coven’s plans just made it so much easier. She really was going to kill two birds with one stone.

Uma shot away from her hiding place to follow after them and Calix wisely followed her lead. Uma poked her head out the door first and saw the two shadows walking away to the left and moved to follow when she felt her hat get pushed off her head. “Hello Uma!” a gleeful voice chirped followed by a hard shove with what felt like a club. Uma turned around to see a staff heading straight for her head which was quickly blasted away by one of Calix.

Uma put her hands up for a fight and then lowered them when she saw who it was.

Ginny Gothel and Zevon.

They were no threat to her really. Ginny was a pathetic fighter, preferring to stay on the sidelines and protect her vanity like her mother and Zevon… Zevon was Zevon. Big talk, big gestures and gestulications, but one good deck usually took him out of the running.

“Fine, you wanna fight. Let’s fight. Meet your doooooooooooooooooooom!”

That’s when Uma noticed Zevon’s staff was glowing threateningly with purple mist rising around them.

Great, someone gifted the delusional meglomaniac with magic. Just great.

#zevon #ginny gothel #uma #harry hook #gil legume #jay #aziz #calix #lala #my OCs #disney descendants #winner’s curse #chapter twelve #jordan #cj #lady caine #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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3packsfrom21 · 4 years

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Gander through Greece

On October 22, we flew from Rome to Athens. Knowing that Greece was nearing the end of its warm season, we only stayed in Athens for 2 nights before heading to Thira (Santorini). Our days in Athens were spent close to the hostel. I was feeling a bit of a stomach bug, so I needed to lay low. However, we were thrilled to discover some delicious food for cheaper prices than we’d seen in months! Greece is known for its gyros – wraps comparable to kebabs with generally either chicken, pork, or lamb, along with onions, tomatoes, tzatziki sauce, lettuce, and fries (inside). We were just grateful to have meat options that we could afford that weren’t just smoked ham, prosciutto ham, fake deli meat ham, or slightly-more-expensive-but-probably-actually-has-meat-in-it-ham. We also discovered feta cheese and HOLY. I didn’t think feta cheese could get better than ours at home, but I assure you it can. [In case you’re confused, my stomach bug didn’t eliminate my appetite].

The morning of the 24th, we woke bright and early (4:30 a.m.) to catch our ferry. Our receptionist had recommended that we show up two hours early, so although our ferry didn’t leave until 7:30, we caught a cab down to the harbor at 5. We were then confused because no one knew where our boat was supposed to dock. Our taxi driver was immensely helpful (another one of the Lord’s saving gifts) and helped us until we figured it out. Apparently, it is ridiculous to show up to a ferry 2 hours early. So, although we kept showing ticket offices the name of our boat, nothing made sense until we finally showed them the time when we would be leaving. They weren’t even considering boats that were arriving that far in the future. Our taxi driver thought we were crazy. With everything sorted, we sat at our gate for 45 min, while Lynece gloated (she’s the “no need to be too early, everything will work out” type), Kiana sat, resolutely unfazed (she’s the “better to be early cause what if [insert literally any possible obstacle that could arise here]” type), and I sat between them, admiring the boats and early morning breeze (I’m the “sure, ok” type). We all had a good laugh, and did get some pretty sweet seats on the ferry (which we later learned were reserved for people who paid more, but regardless). The ride was 7 hours long. We experienced the most amazing sunrise, the kind that can only be witnessed from aboard a boat, and spent the rest of the time chatting. You’d think that we’d eventually run out of things to talk about, but, although we do have our moments of silence, we always have more to say.

Now, to talk about Santorini. In the last post, Lynece told you about Venice being her “must-see” destination. Santorini was mine. In fifth grade English class, I had to do a project, which focused on traveling to another country. I remember basically nothing about the project itself, but I know I did mine on Santorini. I priced out flights and accommodations (pretty sweet deal when you’re 11 and have all the money in the world). I recall choosing a private home in Oia, with a pool that overlooked the stunning view of pearly-white-walled and sky-blue-domed houses, as well as the surrounding islands and endless ocean. From then on, I was GOING to Santorini (“like, when I’m old enough, like probably when I’m 16, or something”). My resolve was further strengthened by the likes of Mama Mia and The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I, too, put it on my list of 10 places that I wanted to see for my 13th birthday trip, and even cajoled Aasta into putting it on hers. And yet, somehow, even with turning 16 and everything, the plan had yet to materialize. Until now.

Since 5th grade, I’ve learned that apparently (and disappointingly) I’m not alone in wanting to go to Santorini. It’s chocked full of tourists who were as convinced as I by Meryl Streep and Abba. So, my expectations were sufficiently checked. Still, the 11 year old inside me couldn’t help but jump with glee as we neared the white-topped cliffs. We didn’t stay in a private home with a pool and a view (although, my fifth grade research was pretty accurate - there are plenty of these homes available). But, our hostel in Fira was clean, had plenty of people to meet, and did have a pool (minus the view). On our first morning, after picking up some groceries and Freddo Cappuccinos (iced espresso, with some kind of special sweetener, topped with just-under-whipped, whipped cream), we sat looking out over all of the magnificent view, feet dangling over the wall, and I couldn’t help but be filled with overwhelmingly joyous tears. It was all too cool.

We spent 5 lovely days in Santorini. The first was spent exploring the climbing streets of Fira. The second was spent in Oia (we went to Oia!), where we explored some more, found the classic windmills as well as an an epic bookstore (that I’d still be in now if it weren’t for Kiana and Lynece’s prompting), and discovered the unpredictable nature of the local bus system (I say local because that’s what it is called, but it is used much more by tourists than locals, from what I could tell). The bus is supposed to come every 20 minutes; however, the bus that brought us back from Oia to Fira was 45 min late. A new understanding of “island time.” The third day was a life maintenance day, where we caught up on journals, did laundry, etc. On the fourth day (I’m beginning to remind myself of Genesis, here), we went to the heavenly “Red Beach,” named after the red sand. It was a cove perfect for swimming, with the kind of water you see on people’s screen savers. We swam and soaked up the rays aaand.. I forgot to drink enough water. Which brings me to the fifth day, where I had a touch of heat stroke, so we lounged around the pool of our hostel all day before catching our ferry back to Athens in the evening. While here, we caught the famed sunsets almost every night (there aren’t enough words), and were blessed with absolutely perfect weather. Also, being at the end of the season, there were sales everywhere and we were each able to pick out a ring we liked.

There is something truly magical about Santorini. It is undeniably westernized. It’s busy. But there’s just a feeling about it that leaves you wanting more. It has an almost Arabic feel to it (I say this with admittedly zero grounding, as I’ve never been to an Arabic country). It feels island-y and luxurious but also feels like real things have happened here. It makes me curious to explore other Greek islands to see what even more spectacular gems might be waiting outside of all the vacationers’ sights. But I would be more than thrilled to spend a season just here, working at one of the shops (preferably the book store mentioned above). Many of the people that we met who were working at the shops were from elsewhere in Europe; they all go home for the down season. So I know it is frequently done! Maybe when I’m finished my degree..

Anyway. We loved Santorini. And I will be back.

As I started saying, on the evening of the 29th, we caught a ferry ride back to Athens. A 12 hour, overnight ferry this time. There were no cabins (and we wouldn’t have been able to afford them even if there had been) but, luckily, the boat was not too busy and there were plenty of open sofas to lie down on. Even better, the ride was incredibly smooth, especially compared to the rather choppy waters on the way there. It was a surprisingly incredible sleep!

We arrived in Athens at around 9:00 a.m. We stayed at the same hostel as before – it was particularly lovely because there were curtains around the bunks which gave us a little bit of privacy. You come to really appreciate these kinds of things! The heat stroke had thrown me off; I lost my appetite towards anything Greek food and was just not feeling myself. So, we spent the 30th and 31st laying low, once again. Truthfully, we were glad to have an excuse to take a break from any kind of sightseeing. Europe was tremendous, but we were exhausted, especially after Rome. Rome really took it all out of us. So those two days of rainy weather and bed/café chilling were necessary for us.

We ventured out a bit more on the 1st. We went and explored the area around the Acropolis, called the Plaka. I was feeling particularly moody and, frankly, angry with still being in Europe, still having to eat this stupid food and sleep in these stupid foreign beds. All I wanted was Mum’s chicken and dumplings, or noodle soup, or Dad’s buttermilk pancakes. It’s funny, writing this and noticing how drastically my attitude towards Greek food changed. Don’t let this deter you; the food is GOOD. This was just the post-heat stroke talking. Anyway, the good news was that our little bit of exploring helped to brighten all of our spirits. We didn’t overdo it - soon returning to the hostel to begin to prepare for our flight to Asia – but it was enough to move through some of the blues.

The next day was Acropolis day. The Acropolis did not get the astonishment it probably deserves. As I’ve mentioned, we were tired. And there comes a time when another set of ruins is kind of just another set of ruins. We put in our best effort, reading lots of the placards for more info and taking time to admire the sights. It really was cool. My favourite part of any ruins is when they still have old engravings on them, and some of these did. On the South slope, there is an ancient stadium/theatre that spans a large portion of the hill. In this stadium there are still the seats that were reserved for the priests/priestesses and on the front of many of the seats there is still the engravings dictating which priest got to sit where: “The priest of Zeus” and so on. We couldn’t actually read the letters, of course, but we overheard a nearby tour guide telling her group about it.

As for the Acropolis itself, I’ll need to return to appreciate it fully. It was remarkable to think of all the history that occurred there (in other circumstances, it would’ve likely been mind-blowing). My highlight of the day was seeing the Areopagus (Mars hill). It is quite the experience to know that you are standing in the place where Apostle Paul preached the gospel to the Greek philosophers. To think: in this spot, Christianity was introduced for one of the first times to this land. Woah. It’s really just a craggy rock on the top of a hill, but it was more impactful to us than any of the pillars in the Acropolis.

Acropolis day was also wonderful because I had my appetite back. To celebrate, we went to one of the most famous Greek restaurant chains, called O Thanasis. O Thanasis is known for its yogurtlu: souvlaki meat, covered in warm Greek yogurt and various spices, and served on a bed of pita bread. GUYS. This food is SO GOOD. Ah. We shared a yogurtlu and a Thanasis souvlaki kebab (basically the same thing, but just onions and tomato instead of yogurt), and were filled and happy, happy, happy. What’s more, it only set us back 19 euro in total. For dessert, we went to Lukumades to try Greek doughnut balls, called loukoumades. Traditionally, they are served with honey and cinnamon. So, we shared one order of traditional ones (with a side of ice cream, of course) and one order with Bueno chocolate drizzle on top. Enough said.

With the 2nd at a close, we only had two remaining days in Greece (and in Europe!) and we had plenty to do. You see, paying to check bags would’ve cost a ridiculous amount of money. So, we embarked on the task of trying to carry everything on. This meant that a) we needed to make our packs look small enough to carry on (the easy part) and b) we needed to ensure that each of us only had 10kilos of weight (the slightly harder part). This task was made easier by the fact that we knew we were entering hot country, so we left pants, sweaters, and other unnecessary layers at the hostel, for other travelers to look through. There were some things that we didn’t want to part with, so we also sent a package home. However, even after all of this, we were still over our weight. We began seeing how much we could fit into our pockets. Turns out, the inner pockets of my sweater can fit our iPad on one side and a novel on the other. I look like a walking brick, but oh well. We debated significantly about how much we could carry in our arms without looking suspicious. Finally, we caved a little for the sake of comfort and bought an extra 5 kilos of carry-on weight. This meant that with just the right number of layers, and with our pockets as full as reasonably possible, we could probably squeeze by.

And so, the morning of the 5th came. We donned our layers and took the hour-long metro ride to the airport. And what were we wearing? Well let’s see. Kiana: 1 pair of capris; 1 pair of pants; 1 t-shirt; 1 long sleeve shirt; 1 sweater; 1 rain jacket; 1 pair of socks; and sandals. Lynece: 1 pair of shorts; 1 pair of pants; 1 t-shirt; 1 long-sleeve; 1 sweater; 1 rain jacket; 1 pair of thick wool skiing socks; and sandals. And me? 1 pair of capris; 1 pair of pants; 1 t-shirt; 1 long-sleeve; 1 sweater; 1 rain jacket; 1 pair of socks; 2 bandanas (one on each wrist) and sandals. And what did we have in our pockets? Kiana: pillowcase, 2 bandanas, phone, charging cords, and glasses case. Me: charging battery, charging cords, sunglasses case, phone, a deck of cards, and my camera. Lynece: phone, charging cords, camera, and 4 adaptors. To top it all off, we each have a multi-colored sheet (Kiana, Lynece, and Dad brought them home from the Philippines) that is sewn like a sleeping bag (except open on both ends). Naturally, we wore them around our necks like face-eating, overgrown scarfs. Needless to say, the metro ride was a little warm.

Just imagine 3 huffing girls walking down the airport hallway (in Athens, a warm country, mind you), topped with massive scarfs, each wearing two backpacks, weighed down by their sagging pockets, wearing socks in their sandals. That was us. We decided that if anyone asked we’d just say we’d come from Canada. We acted as normal as we could, standing in line at the check-in counter, and comparing the size of our packs to the size of everyone else’s. Our anticipation rose as we stepped up to the counter. The man gave us one look, asked for our Passports, printed our passes, nodded, and sent us on our way. HE DIDN’T EVEN WEIGH OUR PACKS. We stood outside of line, stunned, for a minute. The email had been explicit in warning that “each person is only permitted 2 bags with a combined total weight of 10 kilos.” We thought there must be some mistake. Maybe they weigh them later. So, we refrained from removing any layers or putting anything more into our packs. We cleared security (that was a sight, as we emptied the electronics from our pockets). Still no weighing. We found our gate, thinking: “Is it possible that they’d weigh them at the gate? That makes no sense!” Still, we stayed in our layers, pockets full. And so, we boarded the plane with our 16 layers. No weighing necessary. It was all somewhat anti-climactic and highly hilarious. At least we wouldn’t be cold on the flight.

Our plane took off at 11:00 a.m. It was a 10 hour flight, followed by a 3 hour layover in Singapore, and then a 2 hour flight to Denpasar, Indonesia. We said goodbye to Europe, part 1 of our trip. Wild. We’d dreamed of our sister trip to Europe for so many years and it has now come to a close. We were sad to see the end, but also so excited for Asia. We were really too tired to continue in Europe; Indonesia couldn’t have come at a better time.

Cheers // Janae

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