#Virgil and some children

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

6. “Not to be dramatic, but I’m back from the dead. Hope y’all missed me.” With Virgil and Remus?

Title: On a Stormy Sea of Emotion

Word-Count: 1.7k

Summary:

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

Remus laughs, clasping his hands behind his neck as he leans against a building that makes up the alleyway of their standoff, "C'mon, old man. I clawed myself out of the grave and this is how you treat your 'beloved son, departed from the earth too soon?'"

OR: a Superhero AU featuring Jason Todd coded-Remus.

Pairing: parental dukexity

Warnings: Superhero AU, Death mentions, blood mention, vomit mention, implied self harm, pstd flashback, morally grey characters, angst with ambiguous ending

Thank you for the prompt! This infected my brain all last night and today, hope you enjoy <3

-

Killing isn't that hard of an action, really. There is a million ways to kill someone. Guns, knives, poison or the way Remus liked it--using your bare hands. It wasn't always the most effective, but when your target knocks your knife out of your hands--well, then you gotta go for the jugular.

Remus hums as he picks up his knife, examining it. The blood dripping from its blade landed on his gloves, coating it with a metallic stench. One time as a kid, he received a paper cut and out of curiosity, he stuck his finger inside his mouth to taste his own blood.

It just had a copper tangy taste, not very appetizing. But well, he's never tried someone else's blood, what if it had a different taste? Would a greedy drug lord's blood taste too greasy? Tainted by their lack of remorse and regard for the suffering and lives destroyed in their avaricious pursuit of wealth?

He is almost halfway to enacting on such an impulse, when something shifts behind him. He turns around swiftly, his knife meeting nothing but air. But there is something there, or rather someone.

Remus cackles, his eyes darting around his surroundings. There, in the shadows of the nearby dumpster. He lowers his knife, putting it away for now.

His heart clangs loudly against his ribcage as his ears began to clamor with a loud ringing noise. This moment has always been inevitable since the second he decided to remain in this hellish city.

Remus is many things, but he is not a fool nor is he a coward. He is exhilarated this moment has come at last. Not terrified.

"Hello daddy dearest," He calls out, "it's been a while."

His words are enough to draw out the cloaked figure from out of the shadows.

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

Remus laughs, clasping his hands behind his neck as he leans against a building that makes up the alleyway of their standoff, "C'mon, old man. I clawed myself out of the grave and this is how you treat your 'beloved son, departed from the earth too soon?'"

He already knows the truth; maybe there was a time this man had regarded him as a beloved son. Back when Remus had been a quiet, subdued child, perfectly manageable and obedient. But that time had long passed.

"I know I probably should've stayed dead but you know me! I'm not great at following rules."

Virgil Storm, or in this case, "The Raven" still doesn't do anything. It is a little unnerving, actually. Remus had expected there to be harsh words thrown his way, or perhaps even be pinned into a chokehold by this point in the interaction.

The Raven doesn't kill. During his first bout at the whole being alive thing, that been a contentious point between the two. Yet, would an abomination like Remus count as a living being?

"And," Remus says abruptly, shifting his weight against the wall, "you can't kill me. You can try, but like. It won't work. I jumped off like a twenty story building--went splat! Like a bug, it was really messy, but I didn't die. Um, you can take a DNA sample to prove it's me--"

"Remus?" The Raven speaks at last, his voice garbled and gravelly from the voice modifier of the mask.

"Yeah, it's me. I mean, we both know Prince Boring doesn't have the guts to pull off a prank like this," Remus smirks, "I'm sure he's happy that I haven't been around to play screamo when I have the aux or fill his backpack with severed Barbie doll heads."

The Raven's cloaked figure starts staggering towards him. Remus moves to stand upright once more, his body tensing. He can take the punch, it'll hurt but it won't leave any bruises. Remus has done enough experimenting to know he can't be physically harmed anymore. At least not permanently in any way that matters.

But rather a punch thrown his way, the Raven's arms seize hold of him. Not around his neck, but around his body, as the Raven leans around him, his cloak wrapping around Remus like a blanket. He is...hugging Remus? What the fuck?

A cold pricking sensation hits Remus, spreading out through every inch of his body. But he does not move to resist the Raven's embrace.

"I'm sorry," His adoptive father murmurs, "I made so many mistakes, I was afraid but I shouldn't have allowed my fear to control me in the way that I did--"

"Aren't you paranoid?" Remus whispers, "What if I'm not actually Remus? What if I'm just a shapeshifter pretending to be him? Or--or something else?"

"But I know you're you. Do you really think I wouldn't have investigated the assumed grave robbery of my son's corpse?" The Raven counters, "I already have a DNA sample I collected from your confrontation with the Dragon Witch analyzed."

Of course, of course Virgil already had a DNA sample. To any sane person, this might've been a horrifying realization. But for Remus, who spent ten years under the man's roof, this was perfectly normal behavior of a man obsessive enough to run around as a nonpowered cloaked vigilante.

"Remus, you have every reason to hate me or even Roman," The voice modifier pitched upwards in an odd high tone, "but would you'd be willing to come home for at least Janus's sake?"

Remus forgets how to breathe for a moment. There are many reasons why he hasn't sought out his family. He isn't sure if he is willing to accept Virgil's apology, much less risk seeing Roman's face again. But Janus is different. He has always understood Remus in the ways the others never did.

Despite Janus being Virgil's "man in the chair" as it were, he has never operated with the same morals. Remus will never forget the time some henchmen broke into their secret hideout while Virgil and Roman had been away on a mission. Janus had not hesitated to put lead directly into their foreheads.

"I'm afraid I don't indulge in the same mercy as your father," Janus had said, tidying up the mess they'd left behind, "It is my duty to preserve the safety of those I've been sworn to protect, even if comes at the lives of others."

The Raven is a vigilante that is shrouded in mystery. There are rumors that circulate the streets that the Raven is inhuman, a being that moves swiftly and strikes without warning. Some even dare to whisper about the unfortunate ends that some of the Raven's victims have met. What they don't know is that last bit is all of Janus's doing.

It's why Remus has never understood Virgil's hypocrisy. He'll turn a blind eye to Janus's actions but Remus, roughing up a thug a little too harshly? Oh no, no, no, that was the most heinous thing Remus could ever do.

(He wonders what his adoptive father thinks of his actions not only tonight, but the past few months. Isn't this everything his father feared and more? Putting aside the whole "not being dead" thing, isn't this enough to make him irredeemable in the Raven's eyes?)

"Janus?" Remus hesitates, "would he be willing to make his tea?"

"For you, I am sure he is willing to prepare a full spread of pastries along with a pot of tea. He has...missed you a lot, Remus."

Remus's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten in weeks--not since he realized his body technically doesn't need food to survive. But he does need Janus's pastries. Those pastries are never a want, but a necessity.

"Okay, I'll go." Remus says, craning his neck to meet the Raven's gaze, "but only because I'm hungry."

Somehow, this causes a snort from his adoptive father. The closest thing resembling a laugh that the Raven will ever do. When he is not the Raven, and is simply Virgil--sometimes the man will actually laugh. Even so, that snort is the closest thing to a laugh that Remus has heard from the man in close to a year before his death.

Remus's legs buckle beneath him, almost bringing the Raven down with him. But it's not from the shock of the old man laughing. No, it's more likely his body protesting his week long streak of not sleeping.

It seems even though he doesn't require as much sleep as before, he still requires a certain amount of it. Or at least, that is what makes the most sense in his hazy racing thoughts.

"I've got you," Virgil whispers, his words unfettered by the voice modifier, "you're safe now."

Arms gather underneath him, as a long Kevlar cloak is draped around his wiry figure. An unwanted memory drifts to the surface; a time where his kid self demanded to be carried home and the Raven obliged without complaint. Roman had trailed after them, begging to be carried as well.

Janus had taken one look at their return (Roman clinging to Virgil's back like a baby koala while Remus was cradled in his arms) and simply raised an eyebrow. But it was clear through his stifled breathing that he found the entire thing comical.

Remus doesn't want to fall unconscious. He'll deny it, protest it with a wide grin and a cackle, that death doesn't scare him. But he is terrified of pitch black darkness.

He fears a confined undetermined space that is meant to seal him away deep in the ground. He fears wood splinters underneath his fingernails as he chokes on dirt as he continues to dig upwards, driven by an urge to survive--to break out of the ground to blessed, fresh air. He fears staring at a gravestone and just laughing until he started vomiting clods of dirt.

What if Virgil is lying about Janus? What if he decides to bury Remus again, this time in a coffin made out of titanium or reinforced concrete--dooming him to a living death?

"No," He mumbles, attempting to grasp tightly to Virgil's cloak, "I don't--"

But his eyes flutter shut against his volition, and he can only hope that they truly did miss him enough; that the words carved on his gravestone were genuine and sincere.

Remus Seagrove

20XX-20XXX

Beloved Son, Brother, Friend

Dearly Missed and Departed from the Earth too Soon

[gloryride]

Woo woo for an oc of your choosing 🙂

Thanks for asking, I LOVE talking about families, so i will talk about siblings, my nomads siblings

VIRGILE & ENZO

𝘄𝗼𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝗼 〜 what’s their relationship like with their parent(s)/guardian(s)?

Virgile was deeply attached to his mother. Both ill, dreamy and quiet, they spent much time together until Livia died when he was 8. She taught him the basics of what he loves today: old films (especially old Italian Westerns), ancient Roman history and a taste for reading. His father never knew how to react to his son; he could be tender, but often over-protective, as if he were made of crystal. And this got worse over time. While they got on well when Natale showed him the machinery, he was adamant about everything else: Virgile was not allowed to leave the camp, except with him or his grandparents. And when the teenager started relieving his boredom by repairing computer tools and netrunning, he was angry. Virgile and Natale had years of conflict; the young man wanted to live the few years he had, and his father tried to protect him so that he lived as long as possible … They spent more than ten years not understanding each other, each sticking to his own position. But when Virgile had his heart attack at 26, Natale was afraid of losing his son, just as he had lost his first wife, and begged him to accept NetWatch's offer: he preferred an absent son to a dead one. And as the clan rule is strict about who leaves, father and son never spoke, never understood each other. Perhaps one day… (in 2079) As for his mother-in-law, Virgile adored her straight away. Angela never tried to replace her mother, but she was always a sympathetic ear, even a partner in his escapades.

As for Enzo, he was a blessed child. Natale wanted someone to look after Virgile, and him too. Angela Martinozzi was the opposite of Livia, a strong-willed woman with a chaotic past: her first husband fled the clan with their daughter, then joined the Raffens. He was looking for support, she was looking for stability, and they found each other in their misfortunes. Enzo was not on the cards, at least not so quickly! But the boy's arrival in their lives was a blessing. Virgile was delighted to have a little brother, Natale knew a little more about how to be with a healthy son, and Angela adored him. Even as a child, he followed his father everywhere, and has continued to do so throughout the years. Father and son have a respectful relationship, although they are accomplices. Enzo loves his mother too, and she is his shield when he makes a mistake, because she forgives him everything, whereas his father gets angry. When Virgile left, Enzo was only 15. And the emptiness created by the son's departure was transferred to him, receiving an overflow of love that was almost suffocating at times. His parents are his first fans. After the surprise and fear he experienced when he started racing, his mother began to attend some races to cheer on her 'bambino', and his father is his best coach and best mechanic when it comes to modifying his cars! But even though he's 24, 1.88m tall and independent, his mother is still there for him; he's still her bambino, and he still fears his father's wrath when he does something stupid (like playing with his McLaren and losing it).

[divorcedwife]

Hi your dating sim project characters look sooo interesting!! If you feel like sharing some more info about them I'd love to hear it!

thank you!! i havent talked about it in a long time, it would be smart to just reintroduce it :-)

the story is about this fictional european country in the early 1790s. finances are bad, the king is unpopular, the revolution is going full force in nearby france and it's giving people ideas ; it's not going well. pauline is very new here, she's just arrived after suddenly inheriting a title granting her power and influence, and she will have to very quickly learn the history and politics of her new homeland. that's a lot of pressure, but she's so smart and special... i believe in her!

in the city, she can run into four love interests, each with their own politics and ideas of what needs to change.

virgile believes the problem is the current king, who is bad at ruling, doesn't take his role as a god-appointed monarch seriously, and is from a lesser branch of the royal family. a more legitimate candidate from the main branch could federate the people around him, give them strength to survive through these hard times. unfortunately, the former king's children and grand-children were all assassinated, so that branch is extinct. or is it...? virgile is rather sheltered and melancholic, but he is sweet and genuine

lise worked in the royal palace and became very close to the queen, even though she was a commoner. the queen gradually gave her responsibilities far beyond her station, and even asked for advice on all sorts of topics ; the court noticed her growing influence and banned her. lise is headstrong and determined. she doesn't believe in overthrowing the monarchy entirely, but that a good ruler should listen to the competent people around them, regardless of their family name. there were lots of rumors about her and the queen, and it's part of why she was thrown out. scandalous...

augustin is a lawyer who has always dreamt of military glory. sadly for him, military schools and officer positions are only open to the nobles ; even if he were to join the army, he could never rise to any significant rank. he sees this as a great injustice and backwards, and a good example of the stupid ways the country is run. he wants to create a more equal system, but a system still based on merit and education, and where the military will play a major role. augustin is proud and can be too blunt and outspoken, but im sure true love can make him behave :-)

camille is a former shepherdess who is on the run after killing her feudal lord and another noble, and now lives among the poorest workers and the criminals. she only wanted revenge for herself at first, but her new life as an outlaw has made her realize just how many people around her are struggling, are suffering, are dying of poverty. she wears men's clothes and has assumed a new name, and so far it has helped her avoid being caught. this doesn't surprise me, but most people i ask pick her as their favorite candidate. and i get it!

you could pick based on their politics, but i think picking just based on looks is also a good way to determine a whole nation's fate. i mean, true love!

[bones4thecats]

➸ Royal Bloodline; Future! Malleus × S/O

Character: Malleus Draconia A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this cute little thing I made! Disclaimer(s): This is what I used to reference the Reader's outfit + cloak and then Malleus' cloak

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Malleus Draconia ═════════════════════════╝

🐉 Never in a million years did you expect that you would be here, wrapped in a long gown while your husband sat at his desk, writing a letter to one of the knights stationed a ways away from your homeland

🐉 You smiled gently at your husband and stood up, grabbing your cloak from the nearby hook, wrapped it around your frame, and clipped it together so you could walk outside

"Where are you going, love?" Malleus asked from his chair.

"I'm going to head to town really quick. Virgil and Maximus have been wanting some apricots and nectarines as of late." You answered.

"I can send one of the guards out to do it for you, you know this, right?"

"Yes, I do. Malleus, the kids need some fresh air. So, why not do some shopping in the meantime?"

🐉 Malleus sighed and nodded. He didn't mean to be so possessive of you and his two children, but sometimes he couldn't help but give into the things he grew up with. He always viewed being locked away as normal, but when you guys married, you slowly tore that away from him

🐉 He then signed his name on the paper in front of him and stood up, grabbing his own cloak, clipping it, and holding his arm out for you to hold

"So you want some fresh air as well?" You teased.

"Perhaps."

🐉 You smiled and giggled, wrapping your arms around his before walking through the hallways to find your two children and head outside of the castle to the small market that covered the many walkways of Briar Valley

🐉 Malleus listened to the knights walking around while you two searched for Virgil and Maximus. You eventually reached your children's room and opened it to see Silver, Sebek, and Lilia inside with the children. Lilia was playing with them while Silver and Sebek stood guard

"Virgil, Max! Do you guys want to go to own really quick?" You asked.

"Yeah!" The female and male yelled, standing up and pulling their own cloaks before handing them to their two uncles to put on them.

🐉 Sebek sighed and bent down to wrap the dark purple cloak around Virgil's tiny body while Silver put the dark blue one around Maximus' body

🐉 When you guys finally left, Silver and Sebek had to follow as knights while Lilia stayed in the castle for any kind of precaution. Malleus looked at you and smiled, his children happily chatting as they walked next to one another

🐉 Malleus and your crowns shined against the sun as you walked around. Everyone knew whom you were from just your appearance, but your crowns really laid it on thicker

🐉 The kids then began running faster, making Sebek flinch and go sprinting after them. You laughed as Malleus sighed and smiled, watching as they ran away with the larger-male chasing after them so they were safe

🐉 The King of Briar Valley then looked at you and gave a more gentle smile, leaning his head over to kiss your forehead. You looked up at him and smiled, kissing his own cheek before seeing Sebek picking up your kids and bringing them back to where you guys were

🐉 This was what he always wanted growing up. Ever since he realized his feelings when you looked at him years ago back in College when you went to Noble Bell College and watched the stars that beautiful night. Though, those stars were nothing to the beauty of his wife, his queen

🐉 Looking back up as his kids continued to cause chaos for poor Sebek, Malleus laid his hand on yours as you kept walking towards the three of them, Silver silently following behind

🐉 This was his bloodlines, his Royal Bloodline

[kyoshithewriter]

The Missing Piece (Part Seven)

Wc: 4.8k

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

A/n: No comment lol. Enjoy.

The morning sun casts a soft, yellow glow that forces her to scrunch her nose and turn in the opposite direction. Niamh stretches her body in a starfish-like stretch, marveling at how big the bed is when none of her limbs hang over. Not like the small double bed in her apartment that forces her to sleep with her feet curled or even the queen sized bed in the guest room that her feet hang off of when she goes overboard with her stretches early in the mornings. Niamh grows more lucid as the thoughts pass through her mind, her brain a little too sluggish to fully process what it all really means. Because if she’s not in her bed at her apartment or the bed in the guest room, then—

Her eyes shoot open but she remains incredibly still. The dark blue cotton sheets feel soft against her heated skin. She takes her time to survey the space as memories from the night before come trickling into her mind. Virgil— his room, the alcohol. He cried in your arms. She slowly sits up and realizes that he must’ve cleaned up while she was fast asleep. The blackout curtains are open to allow some light into the room. The shelf with the broken bottles is gone. The clothes that were discarded all over are now nowhere in sight. There are a few pictures of him and his children framed on his dresser. Niamh squints at the sky outside through his window. From the sun’s positioning, she’d guess it’s about 9 am there around. Fuck!

“Shit! Shit shit shit.” She overslept on a school night. Her feet tangle in the sheets causing her to almost fall face- first onto the ground. Niamh does a series of awkward hops to free herself of the sheet and hurriedly tosses it back onto the king sized bed. She’s not even sure when she fell asleep last night. ‘Shit, did we sleep in the same bed?’ All Niamh remembers is holding him until her limbs grew heavy. Her bare feet slap against polished wooden floors with a harsh pitter patter as she races downstairs. She almost slips as she comes to an abrupt halt in the entryway of the kitchen. Instead of the 5”2, plump woman; there’s Virgil— with an amused glint simmering just under the surface of his obvious shock.

“Oh… I was expecting, Ivy… um?”

“Oh. I gave her the day off. I thought I’d get the kids ready today and maybe we could all go out for dinner later?”

It takes her a second to realize that he’s staring at her expectantly.

“Oh! As in… you want me to come too?”

He doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

“Um, of course. I’d love to! I know going out with three children alone must be a handful.” She chuckles awkwardly.

“Sure, Niamh. You want some breakfast?”

She blinks up at him and offers him a quick, little nod.

“I… do you have a spare toothbrush I could borrow? I kinda rushed over here after class and I intended to go home but…”

Niamh stares at her feet bashfully.

“I do. I could also give you something to change into if you want to shower.” He eyes her jeans intently.

“Yes please.”

******

Niamh clutches at the towel wrapped around her chest and eyes the lone t-shirt on the bed. She wants to slap herself for not going home to pack a bag just in case before rushing over yesterday. Not only did she have to sleep with her hair unwrapped last night, but now she also has no underwear. Ten minutes ago after her shower, she thought the mass of dark curls on her head that she had to use her fingers to pick at was her biggest concern, now she’s realizing it isn’t. With a sigh, she unwraps the towel from her body and lays it on the bed. She reaches for the dark grey shirt with a small ‘4’ on the upper right side and slips it over her head. It falls softly against her thighs and it still has a lingering smell of fabric softener and his cologne. She takes a shuddering breath as she eyes herself in the mirror. The oversized she’s currently naked underneath stops mid-thigh. Her nipples poke at the soft fabric as if they’re demanding attention. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a few seconds before exhaling a heavy breath and marching out the guest bedroom. Virgil is leaning against the counter by the window with his phone to his ear when she re-enters the kitchen. His gaze is heavy as she takes a seat on one of the stools. Niamh pretends not to feel the heat of his stare as she uncovers the plate he made for her. It’s a simple buttered toast with scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon and a few slices of strawberries. The toast is limp, the eggs and bacon cold and the strawberries warm; but Niamh nibbles away without complaint because she’s too flustered to even move.

“Uh-huh. She threatened to sue and she looked serious so I am taking her threat seriously.”

His voice reverberates through the quiet kitchen. Quiet because it’s empty. Just them. All Alone. Niamh subtly peeks at him through her peripheral vision; the man seems to hate shirts. She’s sure she has seen his chest more than she has seen him fully clothed— not that she’s complaining, but he’s not making her life any easier. The pair of sweats he’s wearing this time are grey; they hang low enough to show off his v-line and-

Niamh’s eyes want to bulge out of her head. There’s no underwear band; he’s currently going commando under his sweats.

“Yes, they said they want to stay here with me. How about tomorrow at 1? Good. See you soon.”

He pockets his phone and the room dissolves into complete silence. The charged type. The type that makes her want to fidget, so she does. She hears the subtle slickness between her legs. Fuck, no panties. The reminder makes her steel her spine.

“Do you want some coffee?” The baritone of his voice sounds deeper all of a sudden. It rattles her to her very bones.

“Um, no thank you. I don’t like it.” She mumbles shyly.

“Orange juice then?”

“Yes please.”

He moves over to the fridge behind her. Niamh sits with her heart in her throat— the clink of a glass, the sound of liquid pouring. She’s hyper aware of everything and she wants to scream.

“So…Who were you on the phone with?”

She needed to break the silence before she did something embarrassing. Something embarrassing like bursting into tears and begging him to fuck her silly.

“My lawyer.” His voice comes just behind before his tattooed hand reaches to place the glass down in front of her.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Don’t you have classes today?”

He’s out of sight again, moving to return the juice in the fridge.

“I do, but I’ll just skip school today.”

“You sure? I could take you to your place for you to get dressed then drop you off on campus, it’s not a big deal. I only have therapy today at 2.”

She can’t help the way she grins. He’s going right back to taking steady steps to heal.

“It’s okay, I need a rest day anyway. Could you take me to my apartment on your way to therapy though?”

“No problem.”

Virgil pulls a stool to her right with an almost awkward look on his face.

“Look, Niamh I— thank you for last night. I was a mes-”

“It’s oka-”

“No, let me finish. Thank you for always telling me what I need to hear. Thank you for handling me without judgment. Thank you for the way you love my kids. Thank you for… everything. Your very presence here has made this home better.”

Niamh is momentarily speechless at the sincerity that clings to his every word. She’s overwhelmed and can’t find the right words so she stands and envelopes him a hug. He spreads his legs wider so he’s able to pull her closer to his body.

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

His hands smooth along the length of her waist and pauses at her hips; his touch is innocent enough but she feels his body become rigid in her hold. She’s about to ask him if there’s something wrong when his fingertips start skimming around her hips. Oh. He can feel there’s nothing underneath. Niamh takes a few steps back, clearing her throat as she does.

“I uh… I didn’t have any extras.” She tries to chuckle but it comes out as an awkward wheeze.

She moves to climb up on the stool, aware of the way his eyes zero in on her legs as if he can’t help himself. Her thighs part briefly— his breath hitches, hers stutter in reply. She’s not sure how much he sees but he looks away from her with a clench to his jaw.

“Being in my shirt is one thing, not wearing a bra is another, but no panties too, Niamh? Are you trying to fucking kill me?” He sounds pained. It makes something down below clench and flutter.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Her voice is a timid whisper. Niamh shifts again on the stool and the slick sound is louder this time. She’s wet. Her cheeks burn when she notices his nostrils flaring. He heard it. Virgil’s stool scrapes along the floor with a hideous, grating sound before he rises to his full height. She immediately knows he wants to leave; she’s not having it again.

“Niamh-”

“You promised.”

“Sorry?” His body almost shakes with the effort to keep his hands to himself.

She licks her lips, wringing her hands in the hem of his shirt. “You told me you’d see me that night before…”

“You still want to…? Even after what you witnessed last night?” He eyes her in disbelief.

“Why would you think that would change anything? I told you I wanted you and I meant it.”

“Fucking hell, baby.”

The man has her lifted off the stool before she can blink. Niamh grips onto his shoulders with a surprised gasp. She couldn’t look away from his penetrating eyes if she tried. They don’t say a word as Virgil slowly takes her upstairs; they just breathe each other in. Every inhale full of anticipation, every exhale full of pleasured promise. She locks her legs tighter around his hips and presses herself closer into his body. He groans when he feels her wetting his stomach.

“All that for me, baby?”

“Just for you.”

Their lips meet in a deep, slick kiss just as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. His room. Their tongues dance; there’s no fighting for dominance because she doesn’t want to take the lead. She’s pliant. Submissive— ready to be at his mercy. Niamh moans sweetly as his tongue slithers along the roof of her mouth. Her back touches his soft, warm sheets. He toys with the hem of his shirt against her soft thighs— then he drags it up her body. He only separates their lips for a few seconds to pull the shirt over head before diving back in to devour her mouth. What Niamh lacks in experience, she makes up for it in eagerness. She matches the passion in his kiss, she presses her chest into his and grinds herself against his thigh. Virgil pulls a few inches away from her mouth just to watch her chase his lips. He allows them to touch but just a bit. Niamh whines.

“Virgil..”

“Mhmm?”

He gently bites her cheek then soothes it with an open mouthed kiss. He kisses his way down her jaw to the column of her neck where he sucks a bruise into her sensitive skin. She trembles beneath him with a whimper. Virgil cups her ample breasts in both hands.

“Fuck.” It’s a whisper from his small but plump mouth as he drinks in the sight of her— brown peaks hard against smooth, supple skin. He gently squeezes them together and looks up at her. But Nimah has her eyes squeezed shut, body tense with anticipation.

“Niamh look at me.” She blinks her eyes open and timidly looks down at him.

“Do you like being touched here, baby?” He gestures toward her nipples.

“Hah— I don’t know?”

Niamh answers truthfully.

“What do you mean, Niamh? How are you going to tell others what makes you feel good if you haven’t learned your body?”

She shrugs helplessly. “Help me learn?”

Virgil gets lightheaded from physically feeling the blood in his head rush south. He doesn’t know why her words send arousal crashing through him so intensely but they do.

“Okay baby.”

Virgil slowly flicks his tongue against one of her nipples. Niamh jolts under him with a moan.

“Oh.”

Niamh’s body locks tight in anticipation as he leisurely laps at her hardened peak again. His tongue is soft, warm and so wet.

“Feels so good.” She almost sobs.

He groans in response then gently closes his mouth around it and begins to suck— softly, unhurriedly, in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth.

Niamh’s belly spasms as ecstasy curses through her veins like tar: thick, heavy, slow and hot.

The man switches to her other breast, her moans and whimpers like a symphony. Fuck Beethoven and Mozart; play him a track of Niamh’s overwhelmed sobs of his name and her hitched breaths. This is real art.

He feels the way her belly clenches beneath him. The woman is already on the verge of coming and he hasn’t even explored her fully yet. He pulls off her nipple with a little pop.

“Deep breath, sweetheart. Don’t come yet.”

“Bu- but I-”

Virgil eases himself away from her to give her some space to breathe.

“If you come now just from having my mouth on your titts you’ll be an exhausted, overwhelmed mess by the time I fuck you, Niamh.”

He straightens his spine to stand at his full height by the bed watching her twitch away as she tries to calm herself.

Niamh immediately brings her knees together, hands moving to block her pussy from his view. She’s suddenly feeling self conscious. The last time she had shaved was almost two weeks ago when she was preparing herself for when he finally gave in. She hadn’t thought about it until now.

“Let me see you, baby.” He softly encourages. Not demanding, not coercing.

“It’s— I didn’t get to…”

It takes him a few seconds to put the pieces of the puzzle together and when he does he cocks his head with an annoyed frown on his face.

“I’m a 33 year old man, Niamh. You think I give a fuck about some hair? Spread your legs, baby.”

She chews on her lower lip but she slowly allows her legs to fall apart and pulls her hands out the way. Virgil wants to roll his eyes at what the woman is self conscious about but he can’t. He can only stare, transfixed, at the sight of her. Skin soft, her pussy glittering— fucking dripping down her perineum as it pulses and clenches. His mouth actually fucking waters.

“So fucking pretty and you wanted to hide this from me?”

Niamh throws an arm over her eyes to escape his chastising gaze, fighting the urge to squeeze her legs together.

“Show me how you touch yourself, Niamh.”

Niamh blinks up at him dumbly. “I- Virgil..” she pleads, torn between arousal and embarrassment.

He walks over to his dresser and pulls open the top drawer. Niamh watches as he retrieves a golden square packet and slides it shut. Virgil returns to his place by the bed, eyes so piercing and lidded with arousal it makes her whine. He flicks the condom by her bent legs before sliding the sweatpants down his legs.

“Oh.”

She almost closes her legs on reflex, immediately intimidated. Niamh has never had sex but she isn’t clueless about the deed. She indulges in porn from time to time, but even in the videos she has watched, she doesn’t remember them being this girthy or long. It’s smooth like the rest of him and just a shade darker than his caramel skin with two prominent veins on each side. It presents itself as if conscious and knows that it has nothing to be ashamed of.

“Hey, eyes on me.” His voice is gentle.

She stares up at his eyes that are now softer. Virgil kneels and reaches for her ankles to drag her to the edge of the bed. Her gasp gets caught in her throat as she slides across his sheets. He’s now eye level to her most intimate part; if Niamh was a few shades lighter she’d be red as a tomato. Her scent hits him this close. The smell of the green apple shower gel she uses linger on her skin tinged with her unique musk. Her scent is so heady it makes his head spin; he doesn’t even try to subtle with the greedy inhales he takes.

“Give me your right hand.”

Niamh timidly obeys, her body strung tighter than violin strings. He touches her hand to where she’s warm and glistening.

“Show me.”

Niamh hesitates for a second before using the pad of her middle finger to gently tap at her clit. This is one of the things that make her feel good. Her eyes automatically drift shut as she applies a bit more pressure. She’s so on edge from Virgil’s ministrations and the feel of his heated stare that she thinks she might be able to bring herself over the edge. She had tried to give herself orgasms plenty of times, but Niamh has only succeeded four times. She isn’t sure why; she always manages to get herself to the precipice but can’t get herself to fall over.

“Open your eyes, Niamh.”

She immediately obeys and moans gutturally at the sight of him looking up at her from between her legs.

“That’s it, baby. Put a finger inside.”

“I- I can’t do- it doesn’t feel good when I-”

He tutts at her softly. “Inside, Niamh.”

Her entire body quakes as she eases her middle finger inside herself. She wants to gasp at the easy glide from how wet she is.

“Oh! What-”

Niamh’s eyes grow two times their size as she feels him sliding his middle finger alongside hers. It’s a snug fit, but it doesn’t hurt.

“Virgil..” she whines almost helplessly.

He gives a long, rough exhale through his flared nostrils, eyes never straying from where their fingers stretch her open.

“Move your finger, Niamh.”

With a little moan, she drags her finger along his downward then back up inside herself. He just enjoys the show for a few minutes, breaths shallow as he allows her to set a steady rhythm. When she thrust her finger up, he drags his own down.

“Keep going just like that.” He instructs.

Niamh keeps her rhythm; she slides her finger down but he thrust his own up. Oh. The dual stimulation makes her want to scream. But she just clenches her teeth as she keeps going, trying not to break her rhythm. Niamh’s mouth does actually pop open on a scream when he angles his finger upward to touch at that same spot like that night in the room down the hall.

“See, Niamh? Angle your finger right there.”

Sweat trickles down her temples and her limbs tremble but she tries to follow his lead. She thrusts her finger upward and her body jolts.

“Oh fuck.”

“Good girl. Now rub at it.”

Virgil slowly pulls his finger out. He watches in rapt attention as Niamh finds her g-spot and gives herself pleasure. Her soft cries pitch higher, her legs tremble like leaves, the muscles in her belly clench. Not yet.

Grabbing her wrist, he pulls her finger from her body. Ignoring her distressed cries, he gently sucks her middle finger between his lips. He moans around the digit.

“Virgil, it hurts.” She whimpers while raising her hips to hump against air.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He continues to rub at her legs and whisper sweet nothings until her body relaxes as much as she’s able to. He knows she’s frustrated judging by the tears leaking from her eyes and how much more swollen her clit is.

He dips his tongue to lap at the swollen nub and Niamh gives a scream that sounds like it rubs her throat raw.

“You’re so responsive. I bet I could get you off with just some kissing.” He groans at the thought.

Niamh only sobs in return. He takes pity; he almost forgot she’s new to this and he’s overwhelming her so much already.

“I’m sorry baby, no more teasing. Let me get you ready for me.” His tone is placating while sliding his middle and ring finger inside. Her body welcomes them easily, now used to that stretch. Virgil suckles lightly on her nub as he eases his index finger alongside the other two. She whimpers above him but she’s so wet and open that her body welcomes it as well. He takes his time opening her up, twisting and spreading his fingers. His mouth on her clit makes her grow wetter. She has already soaked his sheets; she drips down the length of his arm. His dick throbs, liquid gathering at the tip. Ready.

Niamh actually cries when he pulls his fingers out again without making her come. Tears flow down her cheeks and great, heaving sobs leave her mouth as she writhes on the bed.

“I’m so sorry, Niamh. I promise I’m not punishing you, baby.”

He knows he’s above average. He needed to prep her properly without overstimulating so it can be as painless as possible. Virgil clenches his teeth painfully as he slides the condom on. Niamh probably thinks she’s the only one being tortured but she has no idea how he feels. He might actually fucking come as soon as he’s inside her. He’s just hoping he doesn’t actually lose himself and fuck her harder than he intends to.

“Niamh, baby? Are you still with me?” Niamh nods with a hiccup, leaning into the hand cupping her jaw.

“This is going to hurt a little.”

Niamh holds her breath feeling the blunt, latex of him bumping on her clit. He glides through her folds, wetting the lubricated condom even more. He finally positions himself at her entrance and pushes forward.

“Breathe, Niamh.”

His voice reminds her that she is in fact, holding her breath, so she sucks in a greedy inhale just as she feels the slightest pinch.

“Don’t stop breathing.” His voice sounds strained.

She tries to follow but the burn of her body trying to accommodate him is distracting.

“Owww.” She whines— trying not to slide away from him.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

Virgil groans from the pit of his belly when he gets halfway in. He pauses— not only to give her time to adjust but to clench his teeth and control the inferno reaching a fever pitch beneath his skin. He can already feel the base of spine tingling and his balls tightening. Her body squeezes around him like a vice. He hasn’t had sex in so long— it’s too fucking good. He rolls his neck with a long exhale then climbs onto the bed on his knees. Niamh automatically opens her legs wider to welcome him in between like he belongs there. ‘I fucking do.’ He doesn’t even care to shake the possessive little thought from his mind. He bends his body to stare down at her. Her pretty eyes, wide with surprise and wet with tears. Her mouth agape as she stares up at him. He captures her slack mouth in a kiss that she eagerly returns.

Niamh whimpers in his mouth as he starts moving slowly inside her. The stretch is uncomfortable and she feels so full it’s overwhelming. She hugs him tightly around his neck as he breaks the kiss to moan helplessly in her panting mouth.

“You’re doing so well, baby.”

Niamh quivers as she feels him slide deeper.

“Virg, it’s too much.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Niamh immediately shakes her head no. She likes the way his body is coiled tightly with tension, she loves the sounds he’s making because he’s finding pleasure from her body. She’s starting to like the way he feels dragging against her walls.

“Just too deep.” She whimpers softly.

Virgil pulls his hips back an inch. It eases the pressure off whatever was resisting him inside, alleviating the dull ache in the pit of her belly in the process. He sets a slow rhythm again— his thrusts are purposeful as he drags them along her walls. The arousal that was overshadowed by the slight pain and anxiety starts creeping in again. It buzzes under her skin lightly at first. Then Virgil reaches for a pillow as he sits up on his knees. He raises her hips and slips the pillow underneath. The slight elevation changes the angle for him to hit that fucking spot inside.

“Virggg…” her fingers reach for him but slip from his slick skin.

“There you go. Feels good, baby?”

She nods, hands twisting in the sheets. He glides between her, the squelch of it audible in the quiet room.

“Oh fuck.” Virgil groans, fighting to keep his eyes open. He grabs her waist with both hands to keep her place as his pace increases.

“Oh fuck, Vir- I-”

Niamh’s mouth pops open. He keeps hitting that spot over and over and over. It feels so fucking good that she’s on the verge of genuine panic.

“Hah! ‘m- wai-” she moans wantonly trying to shift her hips to get him off that spot for just a second.

“This is what you’ve been pouting for, hm? Take it. I know you can, baby.”

His words heighten the pleasure even more than she thought was physically possible. Her toes curl to the point of pain. The pressure keeps building and Virgil doesn’t let up. Not for one second.

“But it fe-”

She wants to tell him that it feels different. She wants to tell him that whatever is building inside feels like a hurricane waiting to be unleashed. All that edging he did before has built into something dangerous. But she can’t speak. Her teeth clank together as she quivers on the bed. He bumps into that spongy spot once, twice and on the third time she actually screams. This orgasm doesn’t roll through her like gentle waves like the few she managed to pull from herself and it doesn’t crash into her like the one he had given her with his fingers. No, Niamh feels like she actually explodes with it. Her mouth opens on a silent scream as Virgil steals some part of her soul across his unmade bed. She’s heaving and sobbing gibberish as it keeps going.

“Won’t st- sto-”

Her breath is stolen from her lungs and she thrashes. Fully on the verge of panic as she gets lightheaded.

“Virgil! I can’t!”

“Fucking hell, Niamh.”

He grunts like an actual wild boar. Niamh clenches around him and milks the orgasm from his very bones. His vision blurs as he empties his load in the condom. Years of frustration flow in spurt after spurt. A sound between a moan and whine comes tumbling out his mouth before he can stop it. He doesn’t remember ever making a sound like that before. He barely has the brain capacity to not crush her with his weight as he hunches forward on his hands— spent.

“Baby?” He calls blindly.

She twitches beneath him with a small whine. His vision finally focuses again. She looks a beautiful mess as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes are unfocused and she keeps blinking them as if she’s trying to stay awake. Virgil reaches between them to slowly pull out, noticing the way she absolutely soaked through his sheets and mattress. Shit. She gives an unhappy little moan but he hurries to gather her in his arms. He litters her face with kisses, while whispering praises in her ear.

Niamh’s senses finally return to find herself enveloped in his arms and the warm baritone of his voice whispering in her ear.

“So good, did so well, baby.” He presses the praise into her skin with a kiss.

“Are you with me now, Niamh?”

“Uh- huh.”

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” He caresses the length of her arms gently.

“Like I just had an outer body experience.” She says truthfully. The man laughs on the shell of her ear.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to “phase out” a character to focus on other ones?

I started to create an OC character for a fan fiction/fan comic, but then I realized that I actually hate my OC and was planning on phasing her out of the story entirely so that way the story is fixed by having everyone in the story forget her, leading to the plot going on as if my OC were never there to begin with. After that, I won’t have to deal with a shitty Mary Sue character. Can you please help me know how to get rid of her?

Writing Ideas: Getting Rid of a Character

your character...

Goes on an independent adventure/quest

Goes to prison

Gets transferred to a different department

Is taken out of focus; they're in the background

Moves to a different city

Seeks education or training

Settles down to a regular life

Simply disappears into limbo; everyone carries on as if the character never existed

Examples

A Feast for Crows: Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and Bran Stark, three central POVs of the first three books, disappear entirely, while Jon Snow is mostly absent, being reduced to a cameo in Samwell's chapter. Sansa and Arya Stark still appear but are relegated to a few chapters. Davos Seaworth is absent, as well, meaning the Stannis Baratheon subplot isn't featured.

A Series of Unfortunate Events: The wart-faced man from Count Olaf's troupe disappears after the 1st book and is never mentioned again. He also didn't reappear in the movie that was made 5 years later.

In a 1940 essay on Charles Dickens, George Orwell noted that Dickens derailed his characters all the time, and is "never better than when he is building up some character who will later on be forced to act inconsistently."

Hestia from Classical Mythology. She was actually very important to the ancient Greco-Roman religion, being the goddess of the hearth and thus patron of the family and community; however, she's only in a handful of stories, in contrast to her siblings (Zeus, Hera, Demeter, Poseidon and Hades) and their many children.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: Thalia Grace gets "put on a bus" for book four after joining the Hunters of Artemis.

In The Divine Comedy, Virgil leaves Dante just before the end of Purgatorio because as one of the Damned, he cannot enter Heaven. He spends the rest of the Poem back in the first circle of Hell, although Dante thinks of him during later discussions of God's justice.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more examples in the sources linked above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

[fluentmoviequoter]

bang, baby

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!metahuman!reader (characterization up to you!)

Summary: After you move to Dakota City from Gotham, you find yourself dealing with metahumans and vigilantes yet again. Dick Grayson comes to check on you after an explosion and gets a surprising glimpse into your mind.

Warnings: fluff, very brief angst, spoilers/references to Static Shock, the entire Batfamily, people trash talking Gotham

Word Count: 5.5k+ words

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Hawkins,” you say over the phone. “I look forward to working with you and the people of Dakota.”

“I’m excited to see what you’ll bring to the center,” Robert Hawkins, the man in charge of Freeman Community Center, replies. “Dakota will certainly be a change from Gotham, but I trust you’ll adjust nicely.”

“Is that your polite way of saying that I won’t have to deal with Joker and Scarecrow anymore?” you joke.

Mr. Hawkins laughs but doesn’t deny it. It is no secret that Gotham has its downsides, but it’s been your home, it’s where you met your best friend, the people who have become your family. Dakota offers new opportunities and a viable way to help people in need, rather than sitting behind a computer while vigilantes do the heavy lifting.

“I’ll see you Monday morning, Mr. Hawkins.”

“See you Monday. Travel safe.”

The call disconnects, and you sit back and sigh. Your apartment has been packed up, and most of your belongings shipped to the small bungalow you rented on the outskirts of Dakota. The community center provides exactly what you want, a hands-on role in helping the next generation. Yet, as you look at the picture of Dick Grayson on your lock screen, you know that you’re leaving things behind, too.

“I miss you,” you whisper as your screen goes dark.

You’ve been friends with Dick Grayson for as long as you can remember; you stayed close after he moved to Blüdhaven to escape Batman’s shadow and a destiny he didn’t want. He’s supported you every step of the way, completely in favor of you doing something good for the children of Dakota. But there’s a nagging feeling that leaving him so far behind will be impossible.

Your first day in Dakota passes in a blur of unpacking and desperately avoiding thinking about Dick until you’re settled. As you collapse onto your new couch, only twelve hours before your first day at the community center, you close your eyes and try to relax. Mr. Hawkins asked you to come in before the center opens to tour the facility and get acquainted with everything.

“It’s a great facility, Mr. Hawkins,” you say as he leads you back to your office.

“Please call me Robert, Bob, anything except Mr. Hawkins,” he responds. “Here’s your door. We’ll get your name up here soon.”

“No rush; putting names on doors is the least of your worries.”

“My son Virgil is stopping by on his way to school and I think he’ll agree with me that having another full-time employee is deserving of her name on the door.”

You smile and look around the bare office. There’s a desk, a bookcase, and a file cabinet against plain tan walls. The room is begging for not only an occupant, but a personality and a welcoming feel for the people who rely on the center.

“Feel free to put your own touches, whatever you want to do with the space.”

“Thank you, Mr.- Robert.”

“Better,” he applauds.

“Pops!” someone yells.

“That would be my son,” Robert sighs. “In here, Virg!”

“Pops, I’m asking Frieda-“ Virgil stops when he sees you and greets, “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you, Virgil,” you say, offering your hand. “Your dad’s told me some great things about you.”

“You moved here from Gotham?” he asks.

“I did. It’s sunnier here.”

“Safer, too.”

“Thanks in no small part to your dad, I’m sure.”

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Robert begins.

“Do you know Batman?” Virgil asks, ignoring his dad.

“Can you keep a secret?” you whisper. Virgil nods quickly, and you say, “I’ve met all the bats and birds.”

“No way!”

“Precisely,” you say with a wink. “Between me and you?”

“For sure. Welcome to Dakota!”

“Virgil,” Robert calls. “Be good today.”

“Every day, pops! I’m good every day!”

As Virgil turns and exits the center, you shake your head. He reminds you of some of the previously mentioned bats when they were his age.

“He’s a good kid,” Robert muses. “But since his mom passed, I feel like I’ve had to remind him of that more often.”

“It’s hard,” you agree. “Losing a parent like that can make it too easy to lose sight of who you are. Virgil’s lucky to have you. All the kids here are.”

“You have to say that,” Robert jokes. “You’re from Gotham.”

The Freeman Community Center is relatively quiet on your first day, giving you time to remember where everything is, put some personal touches on your office, and figure out how to use the computer. It isn’t Wayne tech, but the outdated operating system isn’t easier to use. The phone on your desk rings later in the afternoon, and your brows pinch as you pick it up.

“Freeman Community Center on Dakota’s Ferris Row,” you begin, reading the printout of frequent questions and information Mr. Hawkins left you. “How can I-“

“We keep secrets, right?”

You turn away from the open door and whisper, “Virgil?”

“Yes or no?” he presses, his voice high and urgent.

“Virgil, that depends entirely on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I just- I need help, and my pops won’t understand.”

“What happened?”

“He always says I’m smart and asks me not to prove him wrong… what if someone else makes me?”

“Who?”

“Forget it,” Virgil decides.

“No, listen to me. I’ve been exactly where you are. It’s a tight spot but it’s not an impossible one.”

“I told my dad it was a football injury; if he finds out I even got near a gang… I can’t hurt him, so I have to do this alone.”

“Be careful, Virgil.” You hesitate before you add, “If you need anything…”

“Thanks, Gotham.”

You huff a laugh and reply, “No problem, Dakota.”

As you end the call, you notice a handwritten note from Mr. Hawkins at the bottom of the paper. It mentions gangs, the letter F, and someone named Wade.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Virgil?” you mumble.

Your bungalow is within walking distance of the center and the docks. The house is nice, safe, but is quiet enough that your Gotham-bred mind is uncomfortable. Your city never sleeps, coming to life after the streetlights come on, but Dakota is on a schedule that makes it impossible for you to ignore the silence. Flipping through channels, you try to find something to distract you, and when a news crew discussing Gotham pops up, you frown. It’s 600 miles to Gotham; there shouldn’t be a signal to broadcast Gotham City news.

“-Joker toxin dosing just last night,” the news anchor continues. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t in Gotham, Deb?”

“I sure am, Mike. Back in hometown news, Dakota residents have noticed an increase in traffic on-“

You turn the television off and check your phone. Jason texted you about the Joker toxin incident last night; several factory workers had been hospitalized, but the toxin was contained, and no one you know was affected. It was a relief, but your deep worry of not knowing when something else happens remains.

Your finger hovers over Dick’s contact. It’s been several days since you spoke to him, but if anything can make you homesick, it would be him. The sudden sound of helicopters flying over your house keeps you from texting him. You walk to the large window in your living room and see police choppers hovering with their spotlights pointed at the dock.

“Freeze!” someone demands over a speaker. “You are in a restricted area. Drop all weapons and step into the open.”

Gunshots echo as you turn the television back on to watch the helicopter footage. The boys at the docks look to be about Virgil’s age. A gang, you realize.

“No,” you whisper, rushing toward the front door.

As you near the road that leads you directly to the docks, an officer fires a nonlethal round from one of the helicopters. The noise is louder than it should be, pushing you backward as you cover your ears. It gets worse, however, when you notice the purple mist that covers the docks immediately after.

“Virgil,” you call, launching into a run.

Whoever is present needs help, but if Virgil is there, you must ensure he’s okay. As you near the fence on the east side of the docks, you slow. Virgil is climbing out of the secured part of the docks while police officers in gas masks are gathering the rest of the teenagers inside.

“What happened?” you ask.

Virgil looks at you before he falls off the fence and lands with an audible thud. You check his pulse and shake your head. He’s alive, breathing, and seems fine other than being unconscious. Carefully, you pull him up and thank Bruce for letting you train with vigilantes so often.

“I’ll get you home but I’m making you promise never to do this again,” you mumble.

You refuse to open your eyes the following morning despite your ringing phone. Blindly, you feel around your bed and nightstand until you find it.

“Hello?” you ask against your pillow.

“You are not gonna believe this, Gotham! Meet me at the auto junkyard. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah,” you answer. It isn’t until after Virgil hangs up that you ask, “Why?”

When you reach the junkyard, you notice a blond boy with a green sweater wandering aimlessly. There’s a picture of him on Mr. Hawkins’ desk, and you think back to your tour as you try to remember his name.

“Richie?” you try.

He spins quickly and takes a step back. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Virgil’s. He told me to meet him here,” you answer.

“Yeah, me too.” Richie sighs and murmurs, “I’m worrying about his butt and he’s rushing me off the phone and…”

“Whoa,” you whisper as Richie yells.

Before you, Virgil stands atop a stack of junk cars as several rise and move to other piles. He moves his hands, and you watch his face as this new power courses through him.

“Tell me that’s not cool!” Virgil exclaims.

“How the heck did you-“ Richie begins.

“There was an explosion last night. There was this gas. It changed me, Richie. Check it out!”

You watch Virgil as pink sparks fly from his hands to wrap around the hood of the car. It flies up, and Virgil balances on top as it circles the junkyard.

“No more asking my pops to borrow his car, dude!”

“V-man, you could be a superhero!” Richie yells excitedly.

“I could, couldn’t I!”

“Virgil!” you warn just before he crashes.

You walk to his side as Richie pulls him up and begins brainstorming ideas for protective gear. Looking into his eyes, you try to determine what other effects the gas may have had on him or anyone else.

“What?” Virgil asks. You tilt your head, and Virgil murmurs, “Oh.”

“What?” Richie repeats. “What oh?”

“I don’t like that look, Gotham.”

“And I don’t like seeing people react to airborne mutagens,” you reply. “Does your dad know?”

“No! And he doesn’t need to. Right?”

“I won’t tell him, but…”

“You’ll help me? You know other heroes.”

Richie looks between you and Virgil, and you sigh before you agree, “Yeah, I’ll help. But if I notice one thing that seems off, I’m getting you real help.”

“Deal, Gotham,” Virgil says, extending his hand.

“I’m not shaking your hand, Static.”

Richie and Virgil gasp together, and you roll your eyes at the realization that you just named another vigilante hero.

“Good morning,” Dick greets with a smile, and Haley tucked under his arm. “Beautiful day isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” Jason replies, blocking the door.

Dick sighs. “Why can’t you ever play along?”

“What do you want?”

“Fine, fine. Can you watch Haley for a few days?”

Jason looks at Haley, whose tail wags at his attention. “Where are you going?”

“Dakota. There was an explosion last night.”

“Yeah, the weird purple gas, I saw. She would’ve called if something happened.”

“She hasn’t called at all,” Dick admits softly. “I’m just worried.”

“I texted her after Joker dosed the warehouse workers. She was fine then.” Jason opens the door and takes Haley. He adds, “But I get it. Be careful.”

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Just one?”

“I can start repayment with a hug,” Dick offers, spreading his arms.

He blinks as the door slams in his face. His phone buzzes with an update on the citizens of Dakota, and he runs to his bike so fast he nearly trips over it.

“Bruce Wayne. Leave a message.”

“Bruce, something happened. I’m going to the hospital now to look into it. Dakota might be a new breeding ground for metahumans. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

You save the voicemail as you enter the hospital. The emergency room is an open area to your left, and it is at maximum capacity.

“It’s getting worse,” a nurse says. “They keep mutating.”

You discreetly look through the first door and gasp. An explosion down the hall draws the attention of doctors, nurses, and patients, but you walk the other way. You have to find Virgil and fill in Bruce, in that order. On your way out, you snatch a newspaper from the stand by the door.

In your office at the center, you read the front page several times. The story isn’t surprising, but you know it is nowhere near finished.

“Bang baby,” you read from the newspaper. “Dakota’s better than Gotham, huh?”

You look up when Mr. Hawkins knocks on your door. “Join my family for dinner? It’s the least I can offer after the unsavory welcome you’ve gotten.”

“Oh, there’s no need. Your family deserves your time.”

“We eat at six. The address is in my contact. See you then!” Robert calls over his shoulder.

You drop your head and nod to no one. “See you then,” you reply weakly.

“Everywhere you look there’s another Bang Baby setting fires, wrecking buildings, scaring everybody, and no one’s doing anything about it,” Mr. Hawkins says at dinner.

“Well, what about that kid they were talking about on the news?” Sharon asks. “What’s his name? Static. He’s doing something, isn’t he?”

“Didn’t you hear what happened today? He got beat. Bad. Besides, he’s probably a Bang Baby, too.”

“If he is, he’s one of the few good ones.”

“Huh. For now.”

“What’s that mean?” Virgil demands.

“Nobody knows anything about these metahumans. What if Static keeps changing? What if he turns into some kind of monster? Nobody knows. Not even Static himself.”

“He’s willing to fight, though,” you point out. When all three Hawkins turn their attention to you, you clear your throat and explain, “He’s not mutating yet, like the rest of them, so it seems likely he never will. Plus, if he’s willing to fight the other Bang Babies, win, lose, or tie, I think he’d fight against any change he didn’t agree with.”

“That’s- I hadn’t considered it that way,” Mr. Hawkins admits. “I suppose you have a point. Fighters have something to fight for. Right, Virgil?”

Virgil smiles at you as he agrees, “Right.”

After dinner, Virgil walks you out and stops on the sidewalk. “You really think I won’t mutate?”

“Virg, the ones who are already mutating were probably closer to the explosion, exposed to more gas, there’s no way to know for sure. If you do, and I think it’s a big if, I’d anticipate it would be a slower, more manageable change. Something you can handle, no problem.”

“And you’ll help?”

You smile, but someone behind you answers, “That’s what she does best.”

Virgil looks over your shoulder, but you spin, your eyes widening as you run toward him.

“Dick!” you greet happily, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he catches you.

“I saw the explosion and was worried something happened to you. I should have known you were helping a young hero.”

“Hero?” Virgil repeats.

Dick looks at you as you move to his side, and you smile before you turn to Virgil. “I’ve been considered a sidekick for a very long time. Invisible but always there. Something you should remember, Virg.”

“I will. Nice to meet you…”

“Dick Grayson,” Dick introduces himself. “I take it you’re Virgil Hawkins.”

“Shake his hand,” you encourage.

“Why did you say it like that?” Dick demands, pulling his hand behind his back.

“Just do it.”

Dick reaches his hand out carefully, and Virgil shakes it without releasing any static electricity. You nod and wave to Virgil as he returns to his house.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you tell Dick. “I thought I’d want to come back if I talked to you.”

“What happened?”

You glance back at Virgil’s house and decide, “It’s not my story to tell. What I do know is that there are a lot of metahumans in Dakota, and most of them are not good.”

“Did you tell Bruce?”

“I left a message. They- I just don’t know what to do.”

“What you came here to do. Help the people who need it most.”

“The center is for the poor, homeless, doomed narrative people, Dick, not metahumans.”

Dick lays his hands on your shoulders and smiles. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“How long are you staying?”

Dick smiles and helps you onto his bike before he answers, “As long as I need to. I’ll do whatever I can, but I’ll also keep Bruce off your back. He’ll want to know everything, but your focus needs to be here.”

“Thank you.”

“Static,” Dick says. “That’s why you wanted me to shake his hand.”

“He’s gotten much better. But don’t tell him I told you anything.”

“You’ve been protecting my secret identity for over a decade, your secret’s safe with me.”

While Dick stays at your house and tells Bruce everything he’s found out about the explosion and metahumans, you accompany Mr. Hawkins to a meeting at city hall. Despite your best efforts to convince him otherwise, he approaches the podium to ask what the city’s leaders are doing about the Bang Babies.

“Mr. Hawkins, the topic of today’s meeting is budget appropriations,” a woman on the board replies. “There will be a general meeting next month and-“

“This can’t wait a month!” Robert exclaims, hitting his fists against the podium top. “You’re our leader, we put our faith and trust in you when we elected you, but you seem to be forgetting that you serve us, we don’t serve you!”

As the crowd cheers, you lean toward Virgil.

“I’d hate to be on the other side of that,” you whisper. “But you know he’s not attacking you right? He’s just looking out for the greater good.”

“Sounds like your pops took some public speaking classes,” Richie muses.

“Nah,” Virgil replies, “he just gets lots of practice talking to me that way.”

“We all know the police have what’s left of the tanks the gas was in, so why haven’t they been able to trace the owner?” Robert asks.

“Someone’s working on that,” you tell Virgil.

“Batman?” he asks, wide-eyed at the idea.

“Maybe.” You look down at your phone and notice a message from Bruce. “Does the name Alva mean anything to you?” you ask Virgil.

He and Richie turn to each other, then smile at you. “It certainly does. Care to help us out with this one?”

“Better that than send you out alone.”

“Don’t lose him,” Richie instructs from your passenger seat.

“Rich, this isn’t my first time tailing a bad guy, just calm down,” you reply. “Virgil’s listening in on Alva and he’ll let us know about any changes.”

“Guys, Alva is sending someone else to wipe hard drives of mutagen formulas and shipping records,” Virgil says through Richie’s walkie-talkie. “He wants everything saved somewhere else so he can start over.”

“Where’s the lab?” you ask Richie.

“Take the next right,” he instructs. Virgil flies over you, and he amends, “Or just follow him.”

You pull the walkie-talkie from Richie and radio, “Be careful, Virg. We’re right behind you.”

“10-4,” he replies.

When you park behind Alva’s lab, Richie reaches for the door handle, but you stop him.

“We wait here,” you instruct. “If Virg needs help, I’ll go in.”

Several minutes later, after Richie has grown increasingly nervous and antsy, a window on the second floor shatters as Virgil flies out on a metal utility cart. You back out slowly and drive around the back of the building to meet Virgil. He did it alone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have questions or concerns about how and what he did.

“This is everything?” you ask as you hold up the disc.

“Yep. Once the doctors see it, I’ll know if I can stop worrying,” he answers.

“Worrying?” Dick repeats.

“Virgil thinks he’s going to keep mutating like some of the other Bang Babies.”

“Don’t you think that would have happened by now?”

You gesture toward Dick to communicate, see? It’s the logical explanation, and you hope Virgil will see that now.

I missed you, you think as you look at Dick. His eyes are on you as Virgil and Richie theorize what data Alva saved. Dick stands and drops his eyes to your lips.

“Do that again,” he instructs.

“Do what again?” you ask.

“Just…” Dick trails off and places his hand on your shoulder as he leans toward you.

I knew talking to you would make me homesick.

“How close did you get to that mutagen gas?” Dick inquires.

“I don’t know,” you answer, shrugging. “To the fence, so ten yards from the purple cloud, maybe?”

“You were that close to the gas zone, and you didn’t tell me?” Dick asks as he steps back. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?” you inquire as Virgil begins arguing against you leaving. “Dick, I can’t leave!”

“You just talked to me without opening your mouth!” he exclaims, tossing his jacket to you. “Something happened to you, and I’m not going to sit around and wait to find out if it gets worse.”

“He didn’t care if I got worse,” Virgil murmurs to Richie.

He’s protective, you think as you glance toward him.

“Whoa! Get your voice out of my head.”

“I’m not trying to do it,” you defend. “What can you hear?”

“Your thoughts, I think,” Dick answers. “I highly doubt you wanted me to hear it.”

“One day,” you tell him, convinced by the idea that you could accidentally share something with someone you trust less. “You have one day to run the tests and then I’m coming back. I can’t leave now, Dick.”

“Fine. We’ll be back. If you need anything, call her.” He passes a card to Virgil and reluctantly adds, “Or him.”

“This is- there’s a-“ Virgil stutters.

“That’s a bat!” Richie exclaims. “Is this Batman’s number?”

“Yes, and if you call him for anything short of an emergency, he will be very mad.”

“Oh, of course,” Virgil agrees. “Good luck.”

“Hey,” you call, looking back. “Whatever answers I get help you, too. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and it’ll work out.”

“You got it, Gotham.”

“Stay you, Static.”

As you follow Dick to his motorcycle, you try to keep your thoughts calm and meaningful. He turns toward you and offers you a helmet, but he lays his hand against your cheek before you can put the helmet on.

“Relax,” he says. “I won’t listen.”

“I don’t want to say – think - something I shouldn’t,” you mumble.

“It’s me. Think whatever you want.”

“Promise not to get scared away if I let a secret slip?”

Dick smiles as he says, “I promise. You’re stuck with me… like static.”

“I don’t see any physical effects of the gas,” Bruce declares. “But you’re clearly telepathic.”

“Great,” you grumble. “Known for my ability to keep secrets and one little explosion opens my brain up to everyone.”

“Quite the opposite,” Bruce corrects. “It seems to me that only people you trust have been able to hear your thoughts, and it’s only active thoughts at this point. With practice, I see no reason you couldn’t gain control and be able to both send and receive message telepathically.”

“How do I practice that?”

“Intentional telepathy. Send thoughts to people rather than speaking, try to get in the head of someone you trust.”

You nod and purse your lips. Dick wants to know what you’re thinking, and, of course, it’s not clear this time.

“You want me to stay, don’t you?” you ask.

“Pure-hearted metahumans are hard to come by. There are more than enough villains and crooks in Gotham who would stop picking fights once a telepath was involved,” Bruce points out. “I’d love to have you with us.”

“I… I want to go back to Dakota. Virgil needs my help and all of those metahumans are just as lost and scared as I am. The difference is that they’re dangerous in their fear. But I know that Gotham needs all the help it can get, too.”

You look to Dick, but he shakes his head and says, “I’m not telling you want to do. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

“I’m going back to Dakota,” you declare. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“Of course. You know where to find me if you need anything else or want to strike fear into the hearts of Gotham’s criminals.”

Yet you didn’t answer your phone, you think pointedly.

Bruce shakes his head as the thought enters his mind, and you smile at how easy it is. As you follow Dick out of the Batcave, you know that the road ahead of you won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.

“I’ll call this time,” you promise as Dick prepares to return to Blüdhaven. “Thanks for everything, Dick.”

“Any time. Thanks for the glimpse into your mind,” Dick replies, then winks.

“It was never for Gotham. The homesick feeling.”

“What was it for?”

“I think you know, Boy Wonder.”

Dick shakes his head as he slides his helmet over his hair. “I’ll call if you don’t,” he threatens.

“Understood, Nightwing, sir.”

Dick waves as he pulls away from your house. That homesick feeling settles below your concern for Virgil and yourself, and you push it down further as you get ready for work. The community center needs you first.

“Good morning, Robert,” you greet as you enter.

“Good morning. How was your trip to Gotham? I wish you’d taken up my offer to stay longer,” he replies.

“It was good. I refuse to leave you any longer than necessary, especially since I’ve only been here a week.”

“Community, family, it’s what we do here.”

You smile and accept a hot drink from Robert before you walk to your office. Several meetings with female students are on your calendar this afternoon, and you’ve set aside two hours to plan a basketball game fundraiser. The busy day should keep your mind off of Dick, and as long as you keep your thoughts in your own head, it should be a nice return to work.

“Gotham!” Richie yells.

You look up from the paper in your hand and frown. Richie slides to a stop, out of breath, as he points toward the docks.

“Bang Babies, like, all of them,” he pants. “Virg can’t hold ‘em.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s saying. Virgil is alone against a multitude of metahumans with no backup. At least until you arrive. You usher Richie into your car and speed to the entrance of the docks.

“Wait!” Richie yells. “This is for you.”

He hands you a metal case, and you open it quickly. There’s a gray spandex suit covered with black embroidery that you think is meant to be EEG results.

“Brain waves?” you ask, looking at Richie.

 “I know you don’t have a name yet, but Virg and I were messing around and… it should fit.”

You smile and thank Richie before you run into a nearby outbuilding and pull it on. It fits well, though you’re not surprised that Virgil and Richie managed it. As you move through the buildings and shipments surrounding the docks, you count over twenty Bang Babies and see Virgil struggling to hold off at least ten more.

You close your eyes and think about the people you love. Telepathically, you call out – or try to call out – Batman, we need backup in Dakota. The docks. Send everyone you can spare. I love you all.

After adding the last part about loving them, just in case, you jump into the fight. Hotstreak is closest to Virgil, and you invade his mind with thoughts of icebergs and cold water splashing on him. He flinches back as if the water extinguished his flames, and you turn your attention to the next person.

“Is that Batman?” one of the Bang Babies yells.

You don’t turn, focusing on Boom, a metahuman who can generate sonic waves. Once he’s disoriented, Static moves in and pushes him into a shipping container where his power can be contained.

“You called in backup?” Virgil asks.

“I didn’t think they’d come,” you defend.

“Way to have faith in us!” Red Hood yells as he dodges a punch.

Robin tuts behind him, wielding a katana. “You are family, or so they keep telling me.”

“Ebon!” Richie yells from the other side of the fence. “Don’t let him get away, Static!”

“I’ve got Ebon!” you announce. “Static, Replay!”

Johnny Morrow waves at Robin and then splits into several clones of himself.

“I’ve had so much coffee that I was already seeing two of you,” Red Robin taunts. “Come at me, one kid wonder.”

“Are you chasing shadows?” Nightwing asks as he falls into step with you, running toward the lone streetlight over the docks.

“Ebon can slip into the shadows, he can teleport, but if I can see him, I can stop him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mostly,” you answer after several steps. “Bruce brought the whole family, I see.”

“You sent the message to all of us,” Dick says. “We all boom tubed here.”

“Oh. I’ve got this, go help the others. We’re outnumbered.”

“Be careful!”

Dick turns and pulls his Escrima sticks from their position on his back and taps them together as he moves toward Leech.

“Try to fight without power!” Leech bellows.

“Sorry… no superpowers for you to turn off,” Dick taunts with a smile.

You tune out the sound of the fight behind you as you search for Ebon. Just ahead of you, you can sense someone thinking.

Ebon, you call telepathically. Talon made you sound so scary. I wasn’t expecting you to run from a fight.

He doesn’t reply or move, but you can sense his discomfort with having another voice in his mind.

Since I’m here and you’re a bad host, maybe I should look around for myself.

You navigate to one of his memories, watching in your mind as he fought a Bang Baby. He won, so you dig for another. When you reach a fight from the day after the explosion, Ebon slings his head to the side.

That won’t work, I’m in your mind, not on your head, you explain. Unless you’re ready to come out and face me like a man. Or do you think it’ll go as well as the last time you fought a girl? Her memories are much different than yours.

Ebon launches out of the shadows, and you fill his mind with an image of falling. He crashes to the ground, and Virgil binds him with looping static.

“Try teleporting with the entire dock stuck to your back,” Virgil says.

“How many more?” you ask.

“None. Your, uh, friends are very efficient.”

“Did you hear that?” Red Robin asks. “He called us your friends.”

“If your need for aid has been met, I’d like to return home to Titus,” Robin adds.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply. “Thank you all, for everything. I meant what I said.”

“We know,” Red Hood assures. “See you at family dinner? We know boom tubes work here now, so no excuse!”

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

“Nice work,” Batman applauds. “You, too, Static. Hold on to that card you have.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Virgil replies.

The boom tube opens behind them, and they step in one after the next. When it closes, you turn and high-five Virgil. He smiles at something over your shoulder before he runs toward Richie to relive every glorious moment. Dick walks toward you, visible now that Virgil isn’t between you.

“I thought you left,” you say, tilting your head to the side.

Dick looks down at your new suit and exhales dramatically. “Bang, baby.”

You laugh and push your hands against his chest, but instead of shoving him backward, you grip his suit and pull him toward you. His lips meet yours, and fireworks explode overhead. You know that they’re real, Virgil’s doing, but you don’t care about that or anything else as Dick wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you.

You’ve dreamed of this moment for years, thought of it daily since Dick left Gotham, and it’s everything you dreamed it would be. Breathless, you pull back and smile at Dick as he removes his domino mask. You only have a moment before you must leave, make room for the police to take the most dangerous of the Bang Babies in. But, in that moment you have left, you look at Dick and think…

Bang, baby, indeed.

He pulls you close and leads you away from the docks. You both ignore the sirens approaching behind you as you get in your car and drive in the dark to your house.

“It’s a nice suit,” Dick mentions after you change out of it.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“You know I always will. I’ve been homesick without you, too.”

You lean in to kiss Dick again, and just before your lips meet, you think, I love you, Dick Grayson.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

A god to consider: Nyx 🌚🪶

Lady Nyx, the primordial, ancient goddess of the night and of darkness itself, one of the protogenoi, daughter of Chaos, is one of the gods of the underworld. A premordial Cthonic deity, She is the mother of the daemons, as well as the mother of sleep, death, and pain. Referred to as “the subduer of gods and men” She is one of, if not the single most intimidating god, so terrifying in her cadence in fact, that Zeus himself was once in terrified awe of her power. She bore nearly all of her children through immaculate conception, these children being some of the most fearsome gods of Hellen, including but not limited to: Hypnos, Thanatos, Nemesis, the Morae, and the Daemons. She is the mother of death, the mistress of dreams, the personification of night. She is Nyx, learn her name.

If you wish to learn more about Nyx, consider the sources below. If you wish to learn about more gods of Hellen, please consider giving my blog a follow! I lost daily. Blessed be your day! 💙🏛️💙

Sources:

• Theoi.com

• Wikipedia.org

• “the Iliad” - Homer

• “Theogony” - Hesiod

Relevant stories:

• Theogony - Hesiod

• The Iliad - Homer

• works and days - Hesiod

• Eumenides - Aeschylus

• Aeneid - Virgil

[hoardingpuffin]

Thinking about Elwood and their relationship with sentimentality and aesthetics.

Thinking about this kid that grew up in a group home orphanage sort of place where the only things he really owned were his clothes. Not even the books in the abandoned study were truly his, he just borrowed them even though their original owner was long gone.

Thinking about the teenager that flew off in the middle of the night with his only possessions being his clothes and a scrap of a torn-out dictionary page, fending for themselves for the first time, never allowing himself to gather objects that were not strictly useful and nessessities, because he could not have anything weighing them down.

Thinking about the lanky seventeen year old who broke his own rule about 'frivilous' things just a few times but always justified them to himself as useful: A nice fountain pen, some books, nicer clothes that fit him better than worn-out handmedowns. Of course all of these things are useful, but none of them are strictly nessecary - he could have used a pencil, borrowed books instead of carrying them with him, stuck with lesser quality clothes until they wore out. Thinking about how Elwood gave up one of his only possessions to Mirasol as a gift.

Thinking about Elwood arriving in Brightstep with his only possessions being his clothes, now with a spare knit jumper, a notebook for his research, a sleeping bag. Still only useful things, where he can excuse away the sentimental value. Thinking about Elwood now, months later - he has a house, he has an office in the library, he has flower pots and plush pillows and soft blankets. He has several notebooks when he really only needs one, but several are easier to split different topics of research into. He has a proper new well-made binder that has not been mended a hundred times. He has armour for the first time, he has weapons instead of pockets of rocks. He has a flower crown that reminds him of his younger sibling. He carries around the lily of the valley that Virgil gifted him, as well as an orange tulip from Pietro. So many of these are not explainable with usefulness, they are purely sentimental and for the first time in his life Elwood is allowing himself to have these things and to be sentimental without feeling guilty for it.

And then the books. For the first time in ages, Elwood is reading for pleasure rather than research. He sat down on the spiral staircase to read to Virgil's ravens. He's read childrens' books like And Tango Makes Three and novels such as Kite & Prejudice and Lord of the Wings. These books bear no relevancy to his research, but Elwood is reading them anyways, without feeling guilty for it.

Holding him in my hands.

That's all.

[mrmustachious]

Happy 10th Anniversary Thunderbirds Are Go! To celebrate, I've put together a list of my favourite fics from the past decade to spread love to all the amazing authors who have been a part of this wonderful fandom throughout the years. I've also included a section of recs that other members of the fandom have given me too! Thank you for everyone who contributed!!

NOTE: This list got ginormous (over 200 fics!) and I reached tumblr's text limit. Please reblog the second and third parts with all the fics included and not just the first part!

Feel free to peruse the list and maybe you'll find something you enjoy! I tried my best to include the author's tumblrs, but if I missed anyone please let me know! Please also let me know if any links are broken. The fics are separated into different categories to provide some semblence of organisation. Enjoy! 💕💕

List below the cut. All warnings, ratings, etc. are inside each fic~~

✨ALTERNATE UNIVERSE✨

Different Circumstances by @godsliltippy

Tanusha had a job to do and international rescue just couldn't stay out of her way. (Evil Kayo AU)

TAG You're IT by godsliltippy

A curfew during summer vacation has the Tracy boys stuck inside. As strange events unfold, can they figure out what is happening to their town before more children go missing? (Stephen King's IT AU)

The Cost of Safety by godsliltippy

Brains will do anything to keep his friends safe. (Evil Brains AU)

Thunderbirds Cafe by godsliltippy

Lady Penelope visits her favorite coffee shop for some much needed stress relief. (Coffee Shop AU)

Unscheduled Leave by godsliltippy

When Virgil goes missing, Gordon is sent to find him and bring him home safe. (Mark & Wings AU)

Demons of Time by @silverstarfics

Halloween Fic. Brotherly rivalry led to a dare, and that led to haunted mansion. And now he's trapped in time with his brother held captive by whatever the dark figure with red eyes was. Halloween had never been this real before... (Supernatural AU)

A Son by Any Other Name by @space-baegel

Cursed as a child, Scott Tracy lives a life in which everyone he encounters must follow all of his given commands. (Fairy Tale AU)

as the world goes away by @whatgaviiformes

A test of the bonds between brothers, between species. Between hearts (vox delphini/Kermadec AU)

✨FAMILY, FLUFF, FRIENDSHIP✨

But I'm only human by @avengedbiologist

Jeff saw something he wasn't supposed to see.

Gordon learnt something new.

Let's celebrate by avengedbiologist

For thunderpride day 24- Let's celebrate!

Dangerous Games by @eirabach

In which Penelope plots, and lives to regret it. Possibly.

But then again, possibly not.

[Or, Pen and Ink vs The Cham-Cham.]

Pressure by @rosellestorm

Gordon's body feels different sometimes and he can't find comfort alone. Luckily his brothers have a way to help him.

A Beautiful Song by @scribbles97

Family is like music, some high notes, some low notes, but always a beautiful song. - Unknown.

Just as things are beginning to settle for the Tracy family, thing take an unexpected turn and life on the island will never be quite the same again.

Tornado by silverstarfics

Hiding in a bathtub from a tornado with your brother isn’t the best of Saturday night plans, but here they are.

✨WHUMP, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT✨

A Fun Winters Walk by @fullmetalninjabunny

The shadows on the bridge were gone now and a new thought struck him harder than the fall had. Those shadows had been his brothers and now they had disappeared like smoke. There were only two places they could have gone; to go get help or onto the ice to help Gordon themselves.

A crack echoed and Gordon knew what they had decided. Either Scott or Alan or Ocean forbid both of them were going to step onto the frozen lake to help him and they were going to fall through the ice and they were going to die all because Gordon had been stupid enough to have climbed up on top of the bridge.

"No..." Gordon moaned, praying it would be loud enough. "Stay back..."

Ask Me Anything (except for that) by fullmetalninjabunny

“What was it like to survive the worst hydrofoil crash in the world?”

Gordon blinked.

The audience fell silent and Gordon could feel their eyes boring into him as they hung off the very edges of their seats, apparently having all been waiting their entire lives to hear this.

"I," He swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

When an innocent interview about ocean conservation suddenly becomes about how Gordon should be dead right now, complete with graphic photos of the hydrofoil crash, he is forced to face not only his fractured memories of that day but also decide how he is going to continue with his life.

Choose One or Lose Both by fullmetalninjabunny

Gordon was right; Virgil had to make a decision. Either he got Gordon out of the rubble, making the entire weight of the building crush Alan, or he rescued Alan and damned Gordon to that same devastating fate. Virgil couldn’t consider it a miracle that his brothers had managed to survive the initial collapse, not knowing that he was going to have to choose which one of them to save and which to sacrifice.

Doll, Girl, Bird by fullmetalninjabunny

Most worrying of all was the line of blood that ran down Gordon’s face. He had hit his head, on what Alan did not want to know. Gordon’s helmet had been taken off for some reason but it had no blood on it which meant it had already been off when the building collapsed. It might explain why Gordon was conscious but not really, still mumbling about dolls and girls and birds but Gordon should have known better than to remove his helmet during such a risky rescue operation.

There must have been a reason for him to do that.

One Word by fullmetalninjabunny

If Gordon Tracey was asked to describe his current situation in a single word, that word would be ‘uncomfortable’.

Now of course being trapped in a volcanic cave with only his radio as a source of light while covered not only in his own sweat but his blood also, the word didn’t quite do what he was experiencing justice. In fact, there were many other words that would describe it better.

Claustrophobic.

Terrified.

In agony, perhaps.

Stick In The Mud by fullmetalninjabunny

Static.

Alan forced himself to be patient, watching the rise and fall of his brothers chest. Still breathing. There should have been a response by now. Maybe no one was listening to the radio. But over fifty personnel including his other brothers should be on the frequency, surely someone at Base should hear him. Surely someone would care that there was an emergency, surely someone would care that Gordon was unconscious.

Gordon was breathing. He was still breathing but at any moment he could stop and then he’ll die and it will all be Alan’s fault so why the hell was no one responding?

The Golden Hour by fullmetalninjabunny

The Thunderbirds did not have lights and sirens, at least not like the average ambulance or police car did. But they still followed the Golden Hour rule. If the Golden Hour passes, the rescue becomes a recovery. Do not take unnecessary risk. Do not allow others to risk their lives, even as the family screams at you to help their loved one, especially as the family beats at your chest, begging you to not give up.

You are not giving up. You are being practical. The Golden Hour has passed. The likelihood of survival only diminishes from here. No lights. No sirens. Only respect.

There's Fire In My Veins by fullmetalninjabunny

Trying to ground himself, Gordon dug his nails in harder but he could still feel the medicine course through his veins. While the Doctors claimed that it was medicine, Gordon knew that it was instead poison that was tearing him apart from the inside. Gordon clawed at the needle that he could feel piercing his skin but it simply would not budge even as he drew blood.

Gordon could feel everything.

There was fire running through his veins, there was metal digging into his body, his bones, his very soul. Every whisper was a shout and every shout a faint memory that had lost all meaning. The lights were too bright and too dim all at once and whenever he closed his eyes he could still see his own blood mixing with the water, he could still see where his body ended and the hydrofoil begin.

He knew they were only memories and that this time it was Alan that was hurt and not him and yet Gordon could still feel everything.

What Not To Do When Bored At a Gala by fullmetalninjabunny

For someone being mocked so thoroughly, Gordon wasn’t rising to the bait. He hadn’t so much as said a word since the youngest Tracy’s had returned from the Gala and now that Virgil was watching him, he noticed that Gordon wasn’t looking at anything in particular. It was like he was staring through Virgil, with every blink becoming more sluggish. Even more concerning was how Gordon’s arm were hanging limply by his sides.

Gordon was never this still, never this quiet. Something was wrong.

A Simple Reminder by @allandmoree

It's been a tough month for International Rescue and tensions are beginning to wear thin among the boys. With Jeff missing, everything just seems to be going wrong. Gordon takes a step to try and bring the team back together, but could it just end in more disaster for the family?

Every time it snows by allandmoree

A simple mountain rescue goes wrong for International Rescue. Gordon battles the elements and his memories, and Scott has a tough decision to make.

Ripples by allandmoree

A one-shot In which Scott is a storm and Gordon holds his breath.

In All My Dreams I Drown by @angelofbenignmalevolence

There are those that say that drowning is peaceful…Gordon Tracy respectfully disagrees. Gordon Tracy knows that drowning can be the most painful experience without ever being dealt a physical injury…

Shiver Me Timbers by @drdone

"a fic where gordon falls through icy water and gets hypothermia and e v e r y brother needs to cuddle him for warmth. All of them. even John."

An Aquanaut Walks Into a Bar... by corbyinoz

Gordon has a conversation in a bar, and Virgil has strong opinions about that. Childhood memories, and the stories we tell ourselves and others.

Yellow Sky by corbyinoz

Scott has always struggled to control his anger. He learned long ago how important it is that he finds a way to do it. A much younger Gordon was the reason he learned that lesson, but it's not Gordon's fault he's close to losing it now, in the middle of a dangerous rescue...

A Tangled Web by crystalquirt

Something has caused heat and trace amounts of radiation in the deep sea. Thinking it volcanic, Gordon takes Thunderbird Four to be sure after John detected an unusual amount of dead sea life in the area. The water around the phenomenon has turned brownish yellow, all the way up to the surface. One species still thrive there.

Backlash by eirabach

Gordon + Used as Bait for Bad Things Happen Bingo on tumblr.

My Brother's Pain by FABThunderbird

Virgil and Gordon are both exhausted after a dangerous rescue. On their way home Virgil notices that Gordon is not only dealing with an injury, but he sees his brother struggling to open up about what he had witnessed during this rescue.

Explorer by @fallenfurther

A family holiday on the English coast and Gordon decides he wants to go rock pooling alone. Intent on finding something cool to show his brothers, he ends up getting a little hurt in the process.

Where the mermaids live by fallenfurther

Gordon decides to cheat on an important test but is caught by the school bullies. They are happy to let him keep the grade as long as he does something for them. Gordon knows he's getting in deeper than he should, but the consequences go far beyond what he expected.

Conformity by @figure-in-black

It was nothing...just a small boy grasping onto his understanding of language. He would soon grow out of it...

Stars in the Sea by Fyoex

The Tracy family thought the hydrofoil accident had been left far behind them. But head trauma is a fickle beast that isn’t quite ready to let go.

No Accidents by Glazier Blue

Gordon thought the Hydrofoil crash was behind him. But there was a lot more to his "accident" than his family realised. It looks like the past with WASP has come back to finish what it started. Now Gordon's life hangs in the balance. Can his family stop history from repeating it self?

100 Degrees in Zero G by godsliltippy

John discovers how far his brother will go to save a life.

Birthday Wishes by godsliltippy

Gordon takes Grandma out for her birthday to keep her occupied while the others get the island ready. Too bad Tracy Birthdays have to be difficult.

Catch Me by godsliltippy

Penelope wakes up to pain and darkness, unsure of what happened. Eventually, the memories return as she realises who is with her.

Cheerleader by godsliltippy

Sometimes the things we learn in highschool follow us into adulthood. For Virgil, there's value in what he learned even if it was only one year.

Confined Space by godsliltippy

Gordon and Virgil are sent to rescue a group from a structure collapse. Luck doesn't seem to be on their side as a new hazard presents itself mid-rescue.

Dinosaur Dilemma by godsliltippy

Never in a million years would International Rescue have thought they would be rescuing victims from dinosaurs. Alan's excited, Virgil is... well, Virgil, John's out of his element, and Gordon is terrified.

What could go wrong?

Disguise by godsliltippy

Alternate Scene - Jeff knows something's wrong, but what is he supposed to do about it in his current condition?

Distraction by godsliltippy

Jeff is given the choice to save his family and forfeit the world.

Distraction by godsliltippy *different fic to the one above ^.^*

Gordon needs some time away from his family while he's recovering from the crash and Penelope is more than happy to offer her home and a party to lift his spirits.

Friendly Fire by godsliltippy

Virgil and Gordon are on site of a routine rescue. It should have been simple. No one was supposed to get hurt.

Kisses by godsliltippy

After a successful rescue and brushing off some unnecessary gifts of appreciation, Gordon, Virgil, and Scott head home, only to realize they had brought back a new kind of trouble.

Look Before You Leap by godsliltippy

Choices have consequences - good or bad - and Gordon learns the hard way that sometimes, his ocean is a dangerous mistress.

MMADay by godsliltippy

Gordon and Kayo are pulled into an undercover operation that could save the lives of the people they meet, along with those already lost.

Motionless by godsliltippy

One can never expect a rescue mission to go smoothly when Langstrom Fischler is involved. Gordon knows this and yet, that information does him no good when lives are at stake and it's his job to get everyone out safely.

No Air In Space by godsliltippy

John's gone beyond his abilities, suffering long hours with little food and sleep, if any. With International Rescue struggling to function without him, one of his brothers has to pull him back from the edge.

Teenie Tinies by godsliltippy

An experiment does more than intended, leaving Gordon and Alan to fend for themselves to find help.

The Job by godsliltippy

Parker's past has a way of sneaking up on him. Unfortunately, he can't stop his past from effecting the people he cares about.

The Most Dangerous Game by godsliltippy

Scott and Gordon find themselves unwilling participants.

The Wave by godsliltippy

Gordon takes part in the winter Olympic.

Thunderbird DSV by godsliltippy

Gordon and John respond to a call for assistance from a crew they both admire. What seems like a routine mission, however, quickly turns hazardous.

Timing by godsliltippy

Virgil and Gordon find themselves stuck under a bridge while they wait for the weather to calm.

Whumptober '19: Don't Move by godsliltippy

Gordon's in trouble

Whumptober Day 2: Explosion by godsliltippy

Alan, Gordon and Virgil deal with a rescue gone wrong.

The Myers Complex by godsliltippy & MadameWinter

On a routine rescue, deep in the belly of a cave, Gordon and Virgil come face to face with a nightmare that will leave more than a few scares to deal with...

The Deep Dark by godsliltippy & @sempaiko

Gordon loves the ocean and everything within it, but he forgets, monsters can live in the darkness.

Survival Skills by godsliltippy & @tenjounotora

Alan and Gordon finally get a chance to participate in an activity their father created.

The Antarctic Accident by @tb5-heavenward & space-baegel

Thunderbird Two goes down in the middle of an Antarctic blizzard.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Gordon by hybryd0

When a call out turns out to be an ambush instead of a rescue, Gordon has to brush off some old skills to save his big brothers

Tracy's Never Panic by Ikklebunny

But what could the Tracy's possibly have to panic about? A little Tracy story.

Four Months by IR Stars

Gordon is ill and he wants to get better, only he doesn't know how or when. This is a very emotional read, full of feels and angst. Written Pre IR during Gordon's recovery from his Hydrofoil crash.

Tears Of The Ocean by @janetm74fics

The ocean is a harsh mistress and Gordon has been burned by her. Will Scott be able to help him get through this?

A pre-iR, military bro's fic.

The Monsters of the Deep by @lenle-g

Chapter 39 of Assorted Thunderbirds Drabbles

Heart and Soul by @loopstagirl

They always knew there would be a cost to International Rescue. They just never realised how high it would be.

Precipice by ManicRavingsofaLunatic

A mission goes terribly sideways, the boys having to battle Mother Nature herself to save one of their own

Look Before You Reach by nhsweetcherry

Gordon experiences trouble on a rescue - all because he dropped his watch!

Unprepared by nhsweetcherry

Gordon finds out the hard way that the island holds plenty of danger - as long as one is unprepared, that is!

Broken By The Devil by @tracybirds

Following a serious incident that lands all five brothers in hospital, the Hood tries to finish the job. Not on Grandma's watch.

Consequences by tracybirds

Gordon is in a bit of a bind, and the older bros will need to help him out of it in a big way.

Gone But Not Forgotten by tracybirds

Gordon's lost a beloved pet and going through the initial grieving process.

Hit by a Truck, Huh? by @phading

The midday sky was blinding blue, there wasn’t so much as a single, stray cloud to focus on. His eyes wandered, searching for something, until Virgil’s face finally loomed above him, dark within a halo of light.

Halfway down a bottomless pit, Gordon dragged a grin up from the abyss. “Not funny!”

The brightness expanded, blowing out the edges of his vision, until his big brother vanished into white and there was nothing.

It's Got Me by phading

The hands clutched around Virgil’s wrists were trembling now. “It’s got … it’s got me.”

“What’s got you?”

No answer, just a small spasm of fingers and facial muscles.

A Walk in the Light by @quasar-concept

After an incident that left him the only survivor, Scott is still learning how to recover.

You're so Strong, Our Little Fish by rosellestorm

“Scott, your heartbeat just picked up. What’s wrong?” John asked, tone neutral but Scott knew him well enough to pick up the worry in his voice.

“John, I’ll call you back.” Scott said softly as the cold metal pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Put your hands up,” a voice said lowly and Scott’s heart leapt. He would recognise that voice anywhere!

Malfunction by @weathergirl8

Gordon is enjoying some time in the ocean when Thunderbird 4 decides to play some tricks, giving our loveable prankster decompression sickness.

The Break Room by SpaceKat38

Like Virgil once pointed out, there are certain hazards to being on the world's most elite rescue squad. The world doesn't stop just because it's your birthday and, apparently, that infamous Tracy luck just won't let up either. Poor Gordon's having a really bad day.

Where Do All the Lost Souls Go? by SpaceKat38

John wrestles with the knowledge that all astronauts know but can never share.

Silver Lining by Stormyskies89

On request. "Be strong Gordy, because things will get better. It may be stormy now, but it never rains forever." After hurting his back on a rescue, Gordon has a hard time getting the care he needs and wants from his brother. It take some harsh words to straighten Scott, Virgil and Alan out and to apologise to their Silver Lining. Mentions of self-mutilation.

Don't Believe Everything You See by @strongerwiththepack

The Hood is back with a new way to torment the Tracy Family. Is it really him or is there more to what meets the eye?

Gordon & Explosive Device & Storage Unit by strongerwiththepack

Gordon's in trouble when an underwater storage facility explodes with him still inside.

Gordon & Stab Wound & Swimming Pool by strongerwiththepack

At 17-years-old Gordon is one of the youngest ever recruits in the WASP training program. But will his natural talent get him trouble?

Hyperthermia vs Hypothermia by strongerwiththepack

"Do you two coordinate your disasters just to irate me?" Virgil asked in exasperation.

Risky Rockpools by @strongerwiththepack

The Tracy family get a reality check when they remember that living on an isolated island in the middle of the South Pacific ocean isn't actually all that safe.

Into the Depths by @tenjounotora

Gordon was involved in a horrible accident, he shouldn't have survived. He did, he healed, and now it is time for International Rescue to start operations, but Gordon still has some demons he's trying to fight and he's not sure if he'll win.

Picnic by ThatGirlSix

Every Tracy has a type of job they hate, be them car crashes, hotel fires, mine collapses, whatever. Gordon absolutely hates tornadoes with a passion. No, really, he hates tornadoes. His life would be so much better if they never did another tornado job ever again. The rest of the family is starting to think so, too.

Something to Challenge your thoughts on the HOOD by @gentlebluelizard

The Hood and Gordon find themselves prisoners of the Mechanic but only one of them has anyone who cares enough to move heaven and earth to help them.

Who was this Bob guy again? by gentlebluelizard

A simple mission for International Rescue ends up with them all poisoned and in a desperate state but who was in a position to help them this far north and on Christmas Eve.

A Dinner with Danger by @melmac78

The Tracys attend a murder mystery charity dinner, promising fun, games and prizes. One guest, however, isn't interested in the fun and games - only the murder, and it's not part of the play. The Tracys are at the top of the list.

Scenes from Gordon's Bedside by @whatgaviiformes

One-shot exercises, connected by a family grieving, hoping, and trying to make sense of why. Blended Universe

PART 1/3 [PART 2] [PART 3]

[latin-literature-tourney]

Latin Literature Tournament - Round 2

Propaganda under the cut!

Vergil Propaganda:

The vates himself, everyone. The poet so good that the Church was like "okay yeah this one magical pagan can stay"

The Fourth Eclogue is such a weird little delight. Is it about the children of Antony? Augustus? Is it a prediction of the birth of Christ? Is it somehow, as I heard one professor suggest for some reason, about Gallus? The possibilities are endless

Are you going to vote against the world-shattering masterpiece that is the Aeneid?

Side note, if you spell it "Virgil" you are my enemy

Catullus Propaganda:

When I was teaching Latin, one of my 8th grad students said of Catullus "He's the worst man who ever lived. I love him."

The only Roman writer to talk about clit envy

Fucking loved Sappho, so you know he has good taste

[motherstone]

What was lost | Faces | From one mother... | What remains

Additional notes:

Page 1-2: Gulfen was suffering a drought at that time, and Trellis’s mother and her brother were hoping to seek help from Valcor to get some water in their village. The elven elder Trellis is talking to has a birthmark, and it’s the same man on page 4.

The Western part of Gulfen is more of a desert because of the mountain ranges. The Eastern part is more diverse in terms of biomes.

Page 3-4: Some of the poses here are referenced from the Children’s Bible Story Book, because I was going insane. I’m drawing this for fun, not profit, so I had to make my work as efficient and as fast as possible while maintaining its quality.

The two soldiers are a commander and her 2nd-in-command. In elven pan-culture, nicking, cutting half, or cutting off the entire ears is to indicate that that person is a criminal, depending on the severity of the crime. A variation of the punishment is also cutting off the nose in some areas.

The Elf King took several prisoners off of death row and life sentences to further bulk up his army with vicious people, and the commander was one of the few officers willing to take that criminal under her command.

Page 5-6: Virgil and Luger cameo. I like to think Virgil played a part in why Trellis gets spared, and Luger is the one taking him away.

I will add analysis notes after I posted all the parts, to show further depth in the comic, but other than that, I'll keep it at a minimum, for now.

[loopstagirl]

Walk in the Park

For @febuwhump day 3: Pinned Down

Jeff paused and took a moment to look around. He smiled. It was a rare weekend where a) he wasn’t called into work, b) none of the boys had activities, c) none of the children were unwell, and d) the sun was shining. As soon as they’d seen the forecast that morning, both he and Lucy had known what they’d do today. 

A picnic in the park, with all five of their boys. 

It had been months since circumstances had let them do something like this. Between an unseasonably wet spring and various clubs, not to mention emergency meetings as Jeff’s fledgling business sprouted wings, there was always something on. 

Now, though... Now, everything was perfect. They’d eaten with minimal squabbles over who got the last sausage roll and which flavour drink they wanted. Alan had started to get tired and Scott had declared he was taking his baby brother for a walk. Ten minutes later, a smug 13-year-old had returned with Alan asleep in the stroller. The toddler wouldn’t sleep for much longer, but it had stopped any meltdowns. 

Virgil had seen some friends from school and run off to the play equipment with them. Thankfully, they’d picked a spot where both parents could see him without having to move. John was sprawled on the blanket, legs swinging in the air as he read, and Scott and Gordon were playing a version of catch the 5-year-old could keep up with. 

Jeff caught Lucy’s eye. She was sitting next to John, leaning back on her palms, keeping an eye on Virgil but with a satisfied smile on her face. It only widened when she looked over at her husband. This was what their family was all about. 

He grabbed a drink from the cooler, intending to sit next to her. All their children were entertaining themselves, which was a wonderful and rare experience. Before he could do so, however, a shout came from the playground. Jeff shielded his eyes with a hand as he looked that way, aware that Lucy had also straightened up. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening to begin with. Perhaps a child had misjudged the monkey bars? There were plenty of parents milling around there. Then there was another shout – and it was a voice he recognised. 

Lucy was already on her feet. 

“Virgil.” 

Jeff took a few steps closer, trying to see what was going on. Then he cursed under his breath, hoping that John didn’t hear him. 

Some older boys, maybe Scott’s age, were trying to take over the playground. They were ignoring the little kids, but focused on the other boys there without their parents: Virgil and his friends. As Jeff watched, one of the older kids shoved a younger one, causing him to stumble into the other teenagers. They didn’t let him regain his balance though, pushing him again. 

Lucy recognised the red tee before Jeff did. She took off, not quite a run, but a fast, angry walk that would get her there quicker than if Jeff sprinted. He took a step, then glanced at his remaining children. Scott was responsible, but he couldn’t leave him with John, Gordon and Alan. Still, he stayed on his feet, a few steps towards the playground, watching. 

“Dad? Where’s Mom-,” Scott trailed off, standing next to him. He too squinted in the direction of the playground, just as Virgil hit the ground. “Virgil!” 

Jeff only had time to grab Scott’s arm as the boy made to hurtle off.  

“Your mom has got this, Scott.” 

“That’s Tommy Higgins and his friends,” Scott snarled. “I warned them if they ever went near my brothers again...” His gaze flickered to John before back to the playground, and Jeff knew there was an untold story there for sure. 

Scott tried to pull out of his dad’s hold and Jeff found himself tightening his grip to hold the boy back.  

“I need you here, Flyboy.” 

“No! I told him! If he dares-,” 

“Your mom is almost there, Scotty. Virgil is okay.” 

Indeed, the boy was getting back up. Lucy was almost at the gate now and Jeff knew the older teens were going to be fools if they tried anything now. 

“Where’s Mama?” Gordon asked, appearing out of nowhere. 

“She’s gone to help your brother.” 

“I can help too!” Gordon looked as if he was all set to go dashing after Lucy. 

“John? A hand, please?” 

John looked up from his book and caught Gordon round the middle, pulling the suddenly-giggling child down to the blanket with him.  

“Scott, calm down.” 

“I’m not calming down! I told him he’d get what was coming to him if he ever went near them again.” 

“Scott!”  

Jeff couldn’t hold him. He wasn’t sure when Scott had suddenly sprouted but his little boy wasn’t so little anymore. In the type of move he hadn’t used since his Air Force days, he hooked his arms under Scott’s shoulders, pulling the boy back into him. Scott struggled, but even his new-found height was no match for this grip. 

“Calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. “I know you’re upset; I know you’re mad. But your mom is handling it. It won’t help Virgil, or any of your brothers, if they see you answer violence with violence.” 

Indeed, Jeff wasn’t entirely sure where this had come from. Scott had always been protective, but it appeared that all the emotions that came with being a young teenager meant he was trying to find a different outlet for those emotions. Jeff loved Scott’s protective nature, but he couldn’t let this continue. 

Scott snarled. One day, that was going to be an impressive sound. But his voice hadn’t yet broken and it didn’t have the depth to it to be truly chilling. Jeff winced as a foot collided with his shin. While he didn’t necessarily remember being 13, he did remember being a teenager and the feeling that the world was out to get him.  

He walked back a few steps, dragging Scott with him so that he was further away from his brothers. Carefully, he shifted their centre of gravity until he could drop to his knees, pulling Scott down with him. Then it was just a case of extending his legs, unhooking his arms and wrapping his son in a bear hug, keeping Scott’s arms trapped within his own. 

“You need to calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. Scott twisted in the hold but his father’s grip was too strong. 

“I have to help Virgil.” 

“This is not the way, and you know it. You’ll only get yourself into trouble and either you or your brother could be hurt if you react like this. Is this what you want?” 

Scott, mercifully, stopped struggling. He was still tense though and Jeff didn’t dare relax his grip. 

“What about Gordon? Do you think this is any example to set your younger brother?” 

He didn’t need to worry about John. He hadn’t copied Scott the way the others did for a while now and had his own way of handling things. Jeff knew his second born had a bad habit of trying to be invisible when the attention was on him, but he had an acid tongue if anyone tried to pick on his brothers – whether that was another child or a grownup. Jeff had been forced to apologise while trying not to laugh more than once. 

“He’ll know that I’ll always defend him.” 

“By getting into trouble yourself? That’s making the situation worse, and you know it.” 

Jeff dared risk a glance at the playground. Lucy was heading back their way, their 8-year-old clutching her hand. Jeff couldn’t read Virgil’s expression from this distance, but he was walking fine, so at least he wasn’t physically hurt. 

“Let me go!” 

“Not a chance, kiddo.” 

Jeff knew that Scott was fighting the hold, but he could barely feel his boy’s struggles as he held him down. It was only when Lucy came closer and they could see for themselves that although there were tear tracks down Virgil’s face, he’d already stopped crying and was smiling at something his mother had just said. 

Jeff sighed in relief. Then Scott went limp. The father suddenly wondered how much Scott had been feeding off his own tension and grimaced. He could keep calm in a business meeting but apparently not so much when it came to someone hurting his children. 

“Everything okay?” He called. He relaxed his grip but didn’t dare let Scott go. Not just yet.  

“All handled,” Lucy said. She had a hand on Virgil’s shoulder but ruffled his hair and nudged him towards his brothers. Virgil didn’t hesitate, dropping down beside John and instantly finding himself with Gordon climbing on him.  

“Get off,” he muttered, but he didn’t push Gordon away like he usually did and there was no conviction in his voice.  

“I was gonna save you,” Gordon told him, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

“I didn’t need saving. Especially not from you.” Virgil wasn’t meeting Gordon’s eye. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a helping hand,” Lucy told him, also sitting down. “Even if it comes in squid-form.” She seized Gordon round the middle and pulled him onto her lap, tickling him. Gordon laughed. 

“Johnny, help!” 

John – for once – joined in without hesitation. After a second, Virgil also piled in and Lucy disappeared under three laughing boys. 

“You okay?” Jeff murmured in Scott’s ear. He softened his grip until he was hugging his boy. Scott didn’t let that happen very often these days and Jeff missed it. 

He heard Scott swallow before the boy nodded. “Yeah.” 

Gently, Jeff let go until Scott could sit up. His son looked at him, and it was a mixture of the man he’d one day be and the little boy he was trying so hard not to be. 

“They know you’ll protect them,” Jeff said quietly. “But there’s a right and a wrong way of doing it. You understand that, right?” 

Scott couldn’t meet his eyes but he nodded again. Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Scotty, I’m proud of you for wanting to look out for them. But no getting into fights, or you’ll be the one in trouble.” 

“Copy that,” Scott said. Jeff properly relaxed at hearing the words. 

“Now, go on, I think your mom needs you right now,” he said. He nudged Scott towards the pile that was his wife and three kids. Scott didn’t need telling twice and charged over, scooping a surprised and delighted Gordon into the air just as Alan woke up. 

Jeff fetched his youngest, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he balanced the 18-month-old in his arms. Alan’s eyes were wide as he watched the laughing pile of siblings. 

“Maniacs,” Jeff told him. “The lot of them.” 

Alan’s answer giggle told him the smallest Tracy both agreed and approved. 

[scramjettracy]

There has been a lot of discussion recently regarding your family, which you yourself engage in on your newly created social media. Especially the legacy you all share regarding your father, Jeff Tracy.

This publication notices a distinct lack of mention of your mother, Lucille. Is there any reason for this?

Hi Anon ‘publication’,

Interesting you should say that - our Mom, Lucille Tracy, absolutely deserves to be known and mentioned just as much as Dad.

Although a little unfair to say no mention - I believe my brother posted a photograph of her the first day we were here.

But you are right, nobody else has yet asked about her. As you have, I will do my best to describe the indescribable.

She was an incredible force of nature in her own right, and although in popular opinion her name was eclipsed by Jeff Tracy the astronaut, Doctor Lucille Tracy (nee Evans) was and still is fairly well known in her field - namely as a renowned experimental astrophysicist and academic author. She was also a fairly handy engineer and a lot of her work for NASA was actually in that field (she kinda treated the various university lectureships she held during various periods of maternity leave as a hobby!!)

So actually the first thing I want to say is go and search her up online - skip past all the “wife of Jeff Tracy” and the “tragic mother of five” stuff and find her contribution to science and our understanding of the universe. She had so much more left to discover.

Her loss was a loss to the whole world, not just to us.

But then apart from having at least three different paid jobs, she also was frequently a solo parent to five children spanning a pretty significant age gap*. I have genuinely no idea how she managed it and remained so good humoured the majority of the time. Our home was always full of laughter. Perhaps there is something in that old phrase “if you don’t laugh you’ll cry” because some of us I believe were rather challenging to parent / keep alive.

On top of all that she was an amazing artist, a musician, and so so SO kind. She loved nature and always insisted we take care of the world around us. And she was adamant what we saw was not all there was - she had a strong faith and never let us forget that none of us was ever going to be (or needed to be) the biggest deal in the universe, nor would ever be alone. I wish I had that confidence… but I still respect it.

Objectively she was WAY out of Dad’s league and looking back, I see now that he knew it full well. And although it was hard to accept at the time, I do understand now why he retreated emotionally when she passed.

It’s been… a long time since we lost her but in some ways… it’s still a sharp painful shock to remember she isn’t here… I can’t just go and run something by her to get her take - she was always so wise and could put a positive spin on almost anything… there’s so much I could have asked her when I had the chance but… well we none us could predict that time was limited. I really don’t know if the things I’d ask now would be so much more worth her time than my silly teenage struggles but she gave that time so willingly.

The worst though is remembering that my youngest siblings didn’t know her as a (nearly) adult - Alan has almost nothing other than what we tell him or show him on video, he was too young. Gordon has some memories of Mommy… but as a person to talk to about grown up worries or share opinions with - I got the privilege of the lion’s share of that and I feel guilty they didn’t.

And yet - it seems trite but she lives on absolutely in my brothers.

John carries her legacy in his love of the stars and his academic brilliance. Virgil carries her gentleness, and her artistic mind. Gordon her humour, her readiness to laugh, the way he brings fun to anything. And Alan has her sense of adventure, her acute sense of justice and her quickness to learn.

So - there we are - all of that and I still don’t feel like I’ve done her justice.

I don’t know if that was what you were after, Anon, and sorry it took me so long to reply. But I thought, hard as it has been to write, she deserved the fullest reply I could manage.

*OOC: insert your preferred gap here, I know mine is larger than most would have it

[kyoshithewriter]

The Missing Piece. (Part nine).

Wc: 3.6k

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

A/n: Told you I’d wrap it up lmaooo. Final part to this series because you know how I feel about drawn out writing. Thanks for every read, every comment, and every like. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it🫶🏾

The stupid little strap of the cone hat digs into his skin in a way that would’ve been a real nuisance any other day. Not today though. Today is his oldest baby’s birthday. His Shelly. His head is much too big for the small hat, and all his children and Niamh had made it known just how amusing they found it when he slipped it on earlier. But he’d keep the stupid hat on for hours if he gets to see them like this; Niamh and ten other children, including his own, jumping around wildly in a bounce house. Niamh holds Mason’s hands in hers as a safety precaution because he’s the smallest of the group. It didn’t take her much convincing to get him to agree to this. What can he say? He’s weak to the women in his life. It’s small, just a few of her closest friends at school and their parents; but Shelly is so happy that she cried when she saw the decorations this morning. The past month has been nothing but pure bliss that he sometimes thinks he might be in a twisted dream. His lawyer had sent a very strongly worded email to his wife— the woman had reached out to him to let him know she had changed her mind and that sticking to their routine visits was fine. He was so fucking ecstatic that he took them out for the entire week- dinner, ice cream, bowling. There are some days that the darkness threatens to pull him back in— like watching his team struggle and losing a game with the title race being tight. Some defensive errors that he knew he could’ve easily covered if he was on the pitch. But Niamh would immediately notice that he hadn’t left his room all day and quietly enter. Not to speak or ask superficial questions like ‘are you okay?’ No, she would come in, gather his head on her lap and scratch at his scalp in the quiet, dark room. Just offering the unspoken reassurance that she’d be there for him. Virgil always believed that there’s no real timeline to fall in love. It’s something that just happens. Yet, he never really expected to be pondering whether or not the warm, fluttering of his heart when he sees her and contentment he feels by simply being in her presence could be the big L word after only a few short months. The muscle in his chest clenches tightly as Niamh makes her way over with Mason clutching her hand. She’s absolutely beaming at him.

“You’re on bounce duty now, daddy. I’m going to help Ivy with plating the snacks.”

Virgil has the urge to do something stupid. Something stupid like gathering her in his arms to kiss her silly. But he can’t; not right now. Not in front of strangers who would spread gossip before they even discussed what was happening between them— not when he hadn't even spoken to the children about their relationship.

“Stop looking at me like that.” She says bashfully while doing a quick scan of the backyard.

He reaches for Mason’s hand but he doesn’t stop staring. “How can I, Niamh?”

The woman has recently got braids that flow down her back with some pretty little curls incorporated throughout. She had called them boho braids when Aurora inquired about them. Whatever they’re called, they look good on her. The jeans she wears hugs her frame that has slowly been filling out a bit more recently. He fucking loves it. The olive green knitted jumper complements her brown skin so well.

“Not here, Virgil.”

But he sees the way she folds her lips to hide her smile before heading inside the house. Mason tugs at his impatiently with a frown on his face. He’s almost glaring up at him. He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat.

“My bad, buddy. Let’s go.”

***********

Shelly is almost passed out against her shoulder as she carries her to bed. Niamh smiles; the little girl had a long day of fun. They both worked together to organize the party. Niamh had introduced Shelly to ‘Totally Spies’ a few weeks prior and she had grown obsessed with the show and decided she wanted her party to have the theme. The cake, the decoration and even her costume was a reflection of her love for the cartoon. After partying all day, Niamh brought the kids upstairs to give them their baths while Virgil and Ivy cleaned up the kitchen and backyard. Ivy left for the evening and they all gathered in the living room for Shelly to open her presents. Then they played a disastrous game of monopoly while having more cake. Niamh didn’t even flinch when Shelly climbed into her lap with her eyes half mast until she fell asleep. Placing her gently on the bed, Niamh tucks her in and presses a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Best birthday ever, love you, Niamh.” Her voice is no louder than a whisper and her eyes barely open. But Niamh chokes up anyway.

“I love you too, Shelly. Sweet dreams.”

And that’s how Virgil finds her teary eyed in the hallway after exiting Mason’s room.

“What’s wrong?” The volume of his voice is low.

“Nothing. Shelly told me she loved me.” She says through a sniffle.

Virgil laughs softly and gathers her in his arms.

“You’re so cute.”

“You’re just jealous.” She teases as she rests her chin on his chest, blinking up at him with wet eyes.

“Damn, you’ve got me.”

She giggles at his antics and closes her eyes in anticipation for the soft press of his lips against hers.

“Been wanting to do this all day.”

He mutters between every soft, chaste press of their lips. Niamh’s sighs turn to a quiet moan as his hands cups the curve of her ass in a gentle squeeze.

“What time is it? I need to head home.”

His hands tighten around her waist as she pulls away from him.

“You should just… stay here every night. It would make your job easier and I’d pay you extra.”

Niamh tries to hide her smile as he feigns nonchalance.

“Mhmm, even though you’ve already tripled my salary for no reason?” She asks slyly.

“I did promise the rate would increase if the job is done well.” His eyes are piercing; Niamh used to be intimidated by them, now she challenges him back with her own heavy gaze.

“And you only want me here all the time because it would make my job easier despite you getting them ready some mornings anyway?”

Her cheeky smile grows tight around the edges when Virgil doesn’t return her playful expression. Instead, his face grows solemn. He takes a while to respond and the strained silence makes her hold her breath.

“Sure, Niamh.”

She clears her throat loudly. “My apartment is a lot closer to school.”

“I’ll have the driver take you until you get your license.”

The man has been determined to make her get her license. He started teaching her about driving, road rules and basics of a vehicle some time ago. She’ll officially start her lessons soon.

“In that case, it would be a lot easier.”

He dips his head again to kiss the contemplative look off her face.

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

***************

“I’m waiting on an answer, Niamh.”

He’s surprised his voice is this calm despite the inferno burning beneath the surface of his skin. The woman clenches wildly around his fingers inside her. He doesn’t move them— he just allows them to nestle perfectly inside her. She tries to subtly shift her hips to get some stimulation.

“Niamh.” He warns firmly. She immediately ceases her movements with a small whine. Her soft walls flutter helplessly around his middle and ring finger. She’s dripping everywhere, but he was mindful to lay a towel down this time at least.

“I- I don’t know. Please, Vir-”

“No, Niamh. You do know it. It was on one of your flash cards.” Virgil sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He’s so hard it fucking hurts and he twitches beneath his sweats every time she makes a sound.

“But I d-don’t rememb-”

He tutts in disappointment and moves to pull his fingers out. Niamh flails in panic, gripping at his wrist to keep him inside.

“Wait! Please… I- I don’t remember the question.” She rushes out breathlessly.

“What does the shape of a protein determine?”

“Um…”

“Come on, sweetheart, you know it. You’ve been doing so well. This is the last one.” He says gently. He subtly flicks at that little spot inside, laughing softly at the way her hips jerk and her thighs quiver. She’s so on edge; he has had her like this for almost an hour now. Her exams officially begin on Monday and he has been trying to help her study for almost two weeks now. He had joked about rewarding her for studying some time ago but the man actually noticed that using pleasure like this really motivates her to study and helps her retain information better. He has created a monster.

“The f-function?” It’s a timid whisper from her lips. He knows why. She’s afraid he’ll leave her dry (not quite) and hanging if she doesn’t answer correctly.

“Speak up, Niamh.”

“The function of the protein!”

He doesn’t respond immediately— just to watch the way she eyes him in timid panic, just to enjoy the way she tenses around his fingers with her mouth already in a pout to beg in case she’s wrong.

“Good girl.”

She gives a high pitched little keen as some of the tension melts from her body. Virgil throws the flash cards haphazardly on the floor behind him before climbing onto the bed. She meets him halfway in the kiss, tongue immediately seeking his own. Always so eager. It reminds him of the time he tested his theory of being able to get her off with just his lips on hers. He wasn’t surprised that it worked but rather by how quickly she came just from some sloppy kissing while humping at his leg like a dog.

“What do you need from me, baby? Tongue? Fingers?”

At the mention of his fingers, he meticulously slides them in and out of her. The sounds of him gliding through her wetness is so erotic; he can’t help the way he moans into her open mouth.

Niamh shakes her head. Instead, she reaches between them to grip at the bulge in his sweats. His breath stutters as she gives him a gentle squeeze. She has grown a lot more bold since the fourth time they fell in bed together. He remembers vividly how she blinked innocently up at him and demanded he taught her how to make him feel good. That night, she learned how to touch him— the pace he likes, how to squeeze at him with just the right amount of pressure. But what he’ll never forget is the sight of her mouth on him. She was clumsy and a bit intimidated; but as with everything else, so so eager. He didn’t care that she couldn’t take him all the way down her throat; not when she moaned around him like his taste was the best thing to ever hit her tongue— not when she blinked those pretty eyes up at him desperately with her hand working between her own legs because having him in her mouth brought her pleasure.

“Fuck, Niamh. Let me get a condo-”

“No. I… I started birth control.” She mutters shyly.

Virgil stares down at her in stunned disbelief.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Just want to feel you… all of you.”

She flicks her tongue against his lips desperately.

And Virgil? He’s so desperate for it that he physically starts shaking. Pulling his fingers from her body, he reaches for the waistband of his sweats to push it just below his hips. He can’t even care to remove it completely. He just wants— no, he needs to be inside her now. He glides along her folds a few times to get himself wet before pressing against her entrance. Her body gives under the gentle pressure and she opens around his tip to welcome him inside. He groans in tandem with her breathless moan. He’s fully prepared to stop halfway inside, just like he had the four times he’s been inside her like this. But something tells him to test the waters, so he continues— slowly inching forward. The muscles in his neck strain as he tries to keep the guttural groan in his throat. And Virgil knows immediately that tonight will be another one of those times with her that he’ll never forget. Because it’s the first time her body welcomes every single inch of him. Niamh grips onto his shoulders with a little sob falling from her lips. He dips his head to swallow the sound before he starts moving. Slow little drags against her walls that flutter around him. She locks her legs around his waist, pushing the sweats further down his legs with her toes. His tip kisses at something harder deep inside and she jerks in response, groaning in his mouth. She breaks the kiss with a tormented furrow between her brows.

“Fuck, Virg. You’re so deep.”

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

He immediately moves to shift his hips back, but Niamh locks her legs tighter around him, keeping his hips in place.

“Don’t. I like it. It’s— hah, hurts so good.”

A string of helpless curses fall from his mouth. He hoists her right leg over his shoulder— the new angle allows him to slip deeper inside. Niamh sinks her teeth into his shoulder and the sharp pain blindsides him. He can only moan helplessly as his thighs tense and then he’s coming. He fucks into her sloppily and Niamh— Niamh the undercover little minx clenches around him, whispering little praises in his ear to heighten the feeling so much it feels like his body is being wrung dry.

“So good for me, baby. Was made to take your dick.”

“Fucking hell.”

It feels so overwhelming and he’s momentarily stunned to feel tears pricking at his eyes. He’s shaking so much that he collapses into her body, his arms giving out. He slowly slips out of her and eases two fingers inside. He’s so fucking spent but still manages to twitch feeling her insides flooded with him— sticky, warm. He barely has the frame of mind to be skillful, so with little finesse, he angles his fingers upward to rub at that spot that makes her speak gibberish. It doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry, spasming around his fingers as his name falls from her lips like a mantra.

“Fuck, Niamh. I think I’m in love with you.”

He feels her body stiffen beneath him, but his thoughts are so scattered he can only wrap an arm around her waist before he passes out.

**************

“So… when are you two going to tell the kids?”

Ivy’s question makes them both freeze in the middle of the kitchen. The woman had called them both in asking for help dishing out dinner— now Niamh is realizing that she just wanted to be nosy.

“Erm, tell them what?”

Ivy gives Niamh an almost insulted look.

“Check my birth certificate, pumpkin. You will be surprised to find that I wasn’t born yesterday. So I repeat, when are you telling the kids?”

Virgil chuckles to her right and Niamh turns to glare at him.

“What? That birth certificate comment was funny.” He scratches at his neck shyly under her harsh stare.

“You’re not helping.” She whisper-yells even though the woman is in earshot. Virgil reaches for her waist and pulls her body into his. Niamh stares in wide-eyed disbelief as he drops his head to peck at her lips.

“What? She already knows.” He says with a shrug.

“Virgil, go get the kids washed up for dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Niamh wants to roll her eyes in pure exasperation watching as the grown adult man gives her a salute before leaving the kitchen.

She slowly turns to face an amused looking Ivy, who stands with her hips cocked.

“We… they’re visiting their mother for the holidays in a few days, we planned to tell them before they leave.” She can’t help but wring her hands together. She’s anxious about it. They had finally discussed it the morning after Virgil had told her he might love her before passing out. The gentle giant admitted that he liked her a lot and he has been thinking about his feelings for a while.

“It… I’m not sure if it’s love yet. What I feel for you is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. With Olivia, it was slow… gradual. But with you, it’s all consuming and sudden. I’m not sure if it’s love yet but I know it’s getting there and I want to try it with you, if you want the same thing.”

Niamh didn’t hesitate to agree. She knew she wanted him the very moment she saw him in this kitchen. Looking gruff and angry. Because beneath that she also saw a man that was just… lost. Her feelings solidified when he attended that play. He was so open with his tears, uncaring if anyone saw. A man who isn’t afraid to show his love or his vulnerability. Niamh knew from that moment that she had to have him.

“They adore you, stop worrying. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family, Niamh. They weren’t broken, just… incomplete and they’ve found their missing piece.”

*************

Aurora’s high pitched scream causes laughter to ripple through the crowd of people gathered in the auditorium.

“Go Niamh! That’s my other mommy!”

Niamh ducks her head bashfully after receiving her diploma and moves quickly across the stage. She waves shyly in their direction and almost starts sobbing at the proud look in Virgil’s teary eyes. It has been almost a year of officially being his woman as he calls it.

“Girlfriend feels too childish for a man my age.”

They told the kids in December, right before they left to spend the holidays with their mother. Their reactions were varied in ways that she can only describe as uniquely them. Shelly, sweet, empathetic, Shelly had cried out of happiness with her tiny hands clutched around Niamh’s neck. And Aurora- always overly excited, had ran around the living room yelling that she now has two mommies. Mason just sucked at his fingers but leaned quietly in Niamh’s side in silent acceptance. It was a challenge to get them to leave after though; all of them wanted to spend the holidays with Niamh and Virgil. It was heartbreaking watching them cry as they left, but all was forgiven when they got back home in January to find her waiting at home for them. It has been so surreal. Virgil spoils her rotten, not just with material gifts, but with gestures- some small, some grand. But she has never been shown love like this before and it gets so overwhelming at times she doesn’t know how to process it.

“You deserve to be loved, baby. You give so much, relax and receive it too.” Were the words Virgil had whispered against her trembling lips when they surprised her in bed with a poorly decorated cake they had all made for her. So she takes it all in stride; even when the little black monster niggles at the back of her brain with sinister thoughts, she repeats his words like a mantra.

Aurora is the first one to leap into her arms as she joins them after the ceremony ends.

“You did it! You gratuated!”

“Graduated, Aurora.” Shelly gently corrects, stepping closer to hug at her waist.

“That’s what I said!”

Shelly doesn’t bother responding and the three of them share a laugh. Mason clutches onto her leg without saying a word. And Virgil; despite the onlookers, despite the people subtly recording, moves forward to press a gentle kiss onto her mouth.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

The tears are instantaneous. She has stopped growing shy of being the centre of attention. That changed the minute he was able to get back on the pitch again two months ago and invited her to all the games. Her face has long been in the headlines, especially after they won the league and he brought her on the pitch to celebrate. She’s known. People talk. But she doesn’t care. Not when she has this. Not when she feels all the love pouring from the three smaller bodies between them. Not when he eyes her like she’s something precious to be treasured and adored.

“I love you.”

The words come tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them. He told her on her birthday with surety.

“I love you, Niamh. You don’t have to say it because you feel the need to. But there’s no doubt in my mind.”

And he kept saying it, despite her never echoing the words back. But now she’s sure. She’s so certain and she has been for months. She was just waiting for the right moment. And this is it.

He’s momentarily stunned but eventually breaks into a smile as he inhales a shuddering breath.

“We should get Niamh ice cream because she gratuated, right daddy?” Aurora yells cheekily.

Mason perks up at the sound of ice cream and stares up at them expectantly. Virgil and Niamh share a full-bellied laugh.

“You’re so cheeky, aren’t you? But ice cream sounds lovely.”

The children skip away in glee while Virgil reaches to clasp her hand in his. Niamh is so overwhelmed by happiness that fresh tears roll down her cheeks. Virgil and Ivy speak about her healing the family constantly, but they have no idea how much they’ve healed her as well.