#cross hatching is my enemy.

[basilpaste]

a fact about me is that i LOVE to hatch art.

a related fact about me is that i fucking HATE cross hatching art.

[hoshifighting]

Rivals to Lovers — Mingyu

— Synopsis: You were willing to do everything to win the science fair and claim the $500 prize, hoping to outdo Mingyu, your college rival. You successfully win the prize, but your excitement took a hit when you found out that Mingyu actually wanted to use the prize money to support a dog adoption campaign. — WC: 9.1k — WARNINGS: smut, angst, fluff, some messages archives! sabotaging a school project, which could be interpreted as a form of cheating, pet adoption, rumors, guilt/regret, oral (f. receiving), bulge kink, face slap, dirty talk, mentions of fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, creampie, creampie eating, big cock!mingyu.

You never thought you'd have a rival. Enemies? Definitely not. You never even wanted one. Why bother? For what? Life is hard enough without unnecessary drama. But things have just changed.

Your science professor has announced a competition. The task? Create a clay volcano for the upcoming college science fair. It’s a throwback to middle school projects, something you haven’t done in years. The prize, however, is enticing: $500.

"Easy," you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. Your name is consistently at the top of all your class grade scores. This should be a walk in the park.

But then there’s Mingyu. You and Mingyu are always neck and neck academically. Your rivalry isn’t born out of animosity, but there’s a real tension between the two of you. It’s as if the universe decided to pair you up as academic sparring partners.

As you sit in the lecture hall, the announcement still fresh in your mind, you can’t help but glance over at Mingyu. He’s already deep in thought, probably planning his volcano. Typical. You shake your head and chuckle quietly to yourself.

The whole college is buzzing with talk about the upcoming science fair. Everyone seems to have an opinion on who’s going to make the best volcano and walk away with the prize. Your name comes up a lot, but so does Mingyu’s, along with a few other students. The competition is heating up.

One afternoon, you’re in the library when Mingyu saunters over, a cocky grin on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, leaning casually against the table. “I hope you’re ready to lose. My volcano is going to blow yours out of the water.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a spark of irritation. “Oh, really? And what makes you so sure?”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Just a hunch. You might as well not even bother showing up.”

You narrow your eyes, your competitive spirit ignited. You didn’t intend for this to be such a cutthroat competition. It doesn’t even affect your grade; you just wanted the prize. But now, with Mingyu’s teasing, you’re ready to do whatever it takes to win. Even if it means cheating.

The week before the fair, you’re working overtime. Your room is a chaotic mix of clay, paint, and scientific paraphernalia. Not only are you perfecting your volcano, but you’re also hatching a plan to sabotage Mingyu’s. You overheard him mentioning he’s going to use bicarbonate for his lava. Perfect.

It’s late one evening when you spot Mingyu in the hallway. He’s carrying a bag of supplies, looking as smug as ever. You can’t resist the urge to confront him.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you call out, walking up to him. “I hope you’re not getting too confident. You might just be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

He stops, turning to face you. “Oh, please. I’ve got this in the bag. Maybe you should focus more on your project instead of worrying about mine.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I am focused. More than you know. Just don’t come crying when you lose.”

Mingyu’s expression darkens, and he steps closer. “You know, for someone who claims to be so good, you sure talk a lot of trash. Maybe it’s because deep down, you’re scared you’re not as great as you think.”

Your blood boils, and you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. “Watch it, Mingyu. You might be good, but you’re not unbeatable.”

“Neither are you,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with irritation.

The tension is thick, and for a moment, it feels like you might actually come to blows. But then a passing professor gives you both a stern look, and you back off, muttering under your breath.

That night, your resolve hardens. You’re going to win this. You’ll work doubly hard on your volcano and ensure Mingyu’s project doesn’t go as planned.

On the day of the fair, the hall is packed with students and faculty, all eager to see the displays. You manage to sneak into the lab when no one’s around before the presentations begin. You swap the bicarbonate inside Mingyu’s volcano for salt, ensuring his project will be a complete flop.

Your volcano stands proudly, a testament to your hard work and determination. As you watch Mingyu set up his project, you can’t help but smirk, knowing what’s coming.

When the time comes for the demonstrations, you go first. You add the substances, and your volcano erupts perfectly. The foam drips beautifully over the clay, drawing gasps and applause from the other students. The professor praises you, saying, “Perfect as always, Y/N.”

You beam with pride, soaking in the admiration. As you watch Mingyu with crossed arms, you can’t resist a little tease. “Good luck, Mingyu. You’re gonna need it.”

He gives you a sharp look but then turns his attention to his volcano, the picture of confidence. 

But as soon as he adds the final ingredient, nothing happens. 

The salt just mixes with the vinegar, and the expected eruption is a complete failure. Mingyu gives a strained smile to the professor, who watches with disinterest, as he tries to stir the mixture, but nothing happens.

The crowd murmurs, and you see Mingyu’s face fall. You look on from your table, feeling a rush of satisfaction. As Mingyu continues to fumble with his project, you walk out like nothing happened, feeling no guilt at all. 

Your name is called as the winner, and you step forward to accept the prize. As you hold the trophy, you feel a surge of triumph. Maybe this rivalry has gone too far. But for now, you’re on top, and that’s what matters. The envelope with the $500 is in your hand.

As you leave the university building, you slip the envelope into your bag. Some students congratulate you, and you give them your best smile as you advance to your car. Turning the key in the ignition, you glance at the group sitting by the fountain. There, a very frustrated Mingyu sits with his friends Joshua and Wonwoo, who are trying to comfort him. You look over your shoulder at them before getting into your car and driving away.

Over the next few days, the campus buzzes with talk about the volcanoes—mostly about your perfect eruption and Mingyu’s epic fail. Every time you stumble upon him in the hallway, you flash a devilish grin, ready to tease him, but he just walks away, mumbling an apology.

Was this really too much? You begin to wonder. The comments about the science fair slowly die down within the week, but Mingyu remains resentful. This puzzles you. Determined to confront him, you find him alone in the grandstand, reading some books.

You sit down beside him. He immediately starts gathering his things, but you hold his book down, stopping him.

“Are you really going to be all pitiful because of this stupid science fair?” you ask, your tone sharper than intended.

He huffs, looking up at you with frustration. “What do you want, Y/N? You want me to congratulate you? Fine. Congratulations! I don’t know what the fuck you did with that stupid money, but I wanted it. I really wanted that $500. Is that what you want to hear?”

You stay in shock, his words and tone catching you off guard. You and Mingyu have never argued like this before. You've never seen him lose his cool.

“Mingyu, I—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He gathers the rest of his books and stands up, looking down at you with anger.

“You know what? Forget it. Just forget it,” he mutters before walking away, leaving you alone in pure disbelief.

Why did Mingyu want that money so badly? You try to ask some of your classmates, but no one knows. As you walk out of the university door, you hear Joshua's voice nearby. Glancing around, you see him apparently alone. Deciding to take the moment, you approach him.

“Hey, Joshua,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks up, surprised, but nods. “Sure, what’s up?”

You ask, “Do you know why Mingyu wanted that $500 so much?” 

Joshua frowns, contemplating whether or not to reveal the reason. After a moment, he breathes out and says, “Mingyu is a volunteer at a dog shelter. He wanted to use the money for a dog adoption campaign there.”

Your shoulders fall. “That’s why he wanted the money so badly?“

Joshua nods. “Yeah, he’s been volunteering there for years. He’s really dedicated to those dogs.”

Back at home, you sit on your bed, staring at the envelope on your bedside table. You haven’t even used the money yet. Closing your eyes, the regret beats at your door, relentless and insistent. You grab your notebook and start stalking Mingyu's social media.

When you pull up his LinkedIn, you see that he’s been volunteering at the kennel for five years. There are countless photos of him playing with puppies and grown dogs, some with disabilities, some older. Your heart clenches at the sight.

As you scroll through the photos, you see the joy and love on Mingyu's face, surrounded by the dogs he cares so deeply about. The realization hits you hard—his frustration and anger weren’t just about losing a competition. They were about losing the chance to help those dogs, to make a change.

You look back at the envelope, untouched and alone. The victory that once felt so sweet now tastes bitter.

You know what you have to do. 

The next morning, Mingyu arrives at the dog shelter, adjusting his volunteer shirt on his torso. He greets Mrs. Lee, who immediately coos at him.

“Why are you here today, Mingyu? It's Saturday, the sun is shining. You should be hanging out with your friends.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I was planning to make up some extra hours here and help with the donations later.”

Mrs. Lee's eyes light up, and she claps her hands. “No need for that, dear. A kind lady came by today and covered the donation. She gave us $500! Isn't that great?”

Mingyu frowns in confusion. Donations of that size are unusual for this shelter. “Really? Who was it?”

Mrs. Lee continues, “She's outside playing with the puppies. It's such a cute scene—you need to see it!”

She holds his hand and leads him to the open field. There, you are, lying on the ground, surrounded by a flurry of excited puppies. They lick your face and jump on you, their clumsy movements making you laugh. The scene is one of pure joy and innocence, and Mingyu can see that both you and the puppies are enjoying every moment.

He stands there, watching in awe. As if sensing his presence, you look up and meet his gaze. A smile spreads across your face, and you gently push the puppies off you, standing up and dusting off your clothes.

After a moment, Mingyu's expression turns serious. He waits for you to notice his presence. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice sharp.

You look down, avoiding his eyes. “I heard that you volunteer here and—”

“Yeah, I know. Joshua told me. What do you want?” Mingyu cuts you off.

You take a deep breath, looking everywhere but at him. A puppy cries at your feet, trying to get your attention, and you pick him up, nestling him in your arms as you caress him. “I’m sorry, Mingyu. If I had known that this was the reason you needed the money, I would have helped you with your volcano. Or I would have donated this earlier.”

He stands there, reluctant. “Did you really donate all the prize?”

You nod. “Yes. I’m really sorry.”

Just then, Mrs. Lee appears again, beaming. “Look, Y/N, who’s ready to go home!” In her arms, she holds a caramel puppy with a cute pink bow.

Mingyu's eyes widen. “Lola!”

Mrs. Lee continues, “Yes! Lola is finally getting a home. She’s such a sweet girl.”

Lola was a caramel dog who had a problem at birth and only had one eye. 

You smile softly, looking at Lola and then back at Mingyu. “I heard about Lola from Joshua. She deserves a good home.” “I fell in love with Lola,” you continue, sniffling the head of the puppy. 

Lola wriggles in your arms, her little tail wagging furiously. Mingyu watches you, trying to hide the way his heart throbs at the sight.

“Lola had a hard time getting adopted,” he says quietly. “I never thought you’d be the one to take her home.”

You smile, looking down at the puppy who’s now nuzzling into your neck. “I couldn’t resist her. She’s special.”

Mingyu nods, his expression softening even more. “Yeah, she is. She’s been here for a while, you know. I was worried she’d never find a home.”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Well, now she has one. I’m going to make sure she’s happy.”

He pouts a little, thinking about how Lola won’t be teething his pants or his shoelaces when he arrives at the shelter anymore. “I’m going to miss her.”

“You can visit anytime,” you offer, then stop to think if it hadn't sounded too appealing. “I mean, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, a small smile forming. 

You shrug, feeling a sense of relief and a twinge of regret. “It’s the least I could do. I’m really sorry for what I did, Mingyu. I hope this makes up for it, even just a little.”

“It does,” he admits. “Seeing you with Lola… it’s a good sight. She looks happy.”

“She is,” you say, watching as Lola’s eyes droop sleepily in your arms. “And so am I.”

Mingyu chuckles softly. “I guess she found the right person after all.”

For a moment, you both stand there in comfortable silence, watching the puppies play. The rivalry that once felt so consuming now seems distant, replaced by a shared understanding and a newfound… respect.

“Maybe we could work together next time,” Mingyu suggests, breaking the silence.

“I bet you want to work together because you know I'm the best, right?” you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

Mingyu rolls his eyes, laughing. “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Y/N.”

As you turn to leave the shelter, Lola nestled contentedly in your arms, Mingyu watches you go, a smile lingering on his face. 

[...]

In the days that follow at college, Mingyu's friends find it strange to see the two of you greeting each other kindly, for what they believe is the first time. You don't force anything, knowing that pushing for kindness right now would feel hypocritical.

Mingyu always wondered why you were so gentle to everyone but him, but he also remembered that he wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, given your rivalry and his constant teasing. Now, seeing this different side of you, the resentment he held begins to fade.

In the quiet moments of your day, you reflect on the past weeks. How quickly things had escalated between you and Mingyu, from academic rivals to almost enemies. It felt strange, now that the tension was easing, to think about how much energy you had spent on trying to outdo him. You wonder if it was worth it.

The next day, you see Mingyu in the hallway. He’s standing with Joshua and Wonwoo, and they glance at you as you approach. You give them a small wave and a genuine smile.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you say.

“Hey, Y/N,” he replies, his tone surprisingly warm.

Joshua and Wonwoo exchange bewildered looks, but you don’t pay them much attention. “How’s Lola settling in?” Mingyu asks.

“She’s great,” you reply, the memory of her wagging tail bringing a smile to your face. “She’s already made herself at home.”

Mingyu nods, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear.”

As the days pass, you notice the way people react to your newfound harmony with Mingyu. They seem curious, whispering to each other as they watch the two of you interact. You and Mingyu aren’t best friends overnight, but the hostility is gone, replaced by a cautious but genuine friendliness.

Well, that's what you thought until now.

You walk into the hallway, the usual buzz of students replaced with an unsettling silence. Eyes follow you, not with curiosity but with judgment. The whispers you once ignored now feel like sharp blades. You push the bad feeling down your throat, trying to keep your head high as you make your way to the courtyard.

As you approach your friends, you notice their uneasy expressions. They exchange nervous glances, unsure whether to walk away or stay put. “What’s going on?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

One of your friends steps forward, looking uncomfortable. “There’s a video, Y/N,” they begin hesitantly. “On the university blog... it shows you sabotaging Mingyu’s volcano. It’s a little dark, but it’s you.”

Your heart sinks, a cold chill spreading through your chest. “What?” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips.

Another friend chimes in, their voice low. “People are saying you might get kicked out of the university. They’re already talking about disciplinary actions.”

You feel the weight of their words settle on you, heavier than you could’ve imagined. Your thoughts race as you try to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Kicked out? You’d worked so hard to get here, and now it might all be over because of a moment of weakness and petty rivalry.

Your mind drifts to Mingyu, the awkward but promising start of a truce between you two. You wonder if he’s seen the video, if he knows the full extent of what you did. The thought makes you feel sick.

You glance around the courtyard, suddenly hyper-aware of the stares and whispers. Your friends stand by, uncertain and uncomfortable. You can’t blame them; they didn’t sign up for this drama. The fear of repercussions, the shame of being caught—it's all too much. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry.

“I—I need to go,” you stammer, turning away from the group. You don’t wait for their reactions as you walk briskly toward the building's exit. The video, the possibility of expulsion, Mingyu—all of it spins around in your head, a chaotic mess you can’t straighten.

The thought of your parents, the disappointment in their eyes if they find out, makes you feel even worse.

You sit in your car in the parking lot, tears streaming down your face as you watch the damning video on your phone for what feels like the hundredth time. The grainy footage shows you sneaking into the lab, swapping out the bicarbonate for salt in Mingyu’s volcano. Your heart sinks with each replay, the weight of your actions pressing down on you.

Then, a notification catches your eye. A new comment appears right after the post, marked by the blog admin so that it's fixed at the top. It’s from Mingyu.

kmingyu_1577: "hey everyone, just wanted to clarify that this video doesn't tell the whole story. the truth is, i had already messed up my volcano. the bicarbonate i used was expired, and i didn’t realize it until it was too late. y/n knew about it and was just trying to help me out. it’s not her fault. please stop the hate."

You blink through your tears, rereading the comment to make sure you didn’t misinterpret it. The comments below start shifting, the tide of public opinion turning. Relief and understanding replace the initial anger and disappointment.

“Wow, Mingyu’s so mature about this.”

“Glad to know the truth. Poor Y/N, she must have been so scared.”

“Thanks for clearing this up, Mingyu. You’re a good guy.”

You sit back, stunned. Why would Mingyu do this? After everything, why would he cover for you?

You hear a knock on your window, and your heart sinks. There he is, Mingyu, standing outside your car with a serious look. You’re too embarrassed to face him, but you roll the window down slowly, your hands trembling. He gestures for you to step out, his expression softening just slightly. You nod and step out of the car, trying to discreetly dry your tears, but the redness of your nose and eyes betrays you.

Mingyu stands in front of you, his posture relaxed but his eyes full of unease. He takes a deep breath, his voice calm as he speaks. “Why did you do this, Y/N? I mean, you're incredibly talented and intelligent. You’ve always been at the top, outshining everyone. There’s no need for you to resort to something like this. It doesn’t make sense... not for someone like you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t bring yourself to look up. You feel the weight of your actions pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. But then you feel his hand gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and you see the genuine concern in his gaze.

“Y/N, you’re so much better than this. You’ve always been more than just your grades, more than just this rivalry we’ve had. You have so much potential, so much to offer. Sabotaging my project... it’s not who you are. It’s not who I believe you can be.”

You sniffle, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s no use. They spill over, running down your cheeks. Mingyu’s eyes soften even more, and he sighs. 

You feel the lump in your throat grow, and a sob escapes your lips. “I’m so sorry,” you choke out. “I just... I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to win so badly, I lost sight of everything else. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Mingyu steps closer, his expression easing as he listens. He hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. You freeze for a second, surprised by the gesture, but then you melt into him, the sobs coming harder now. He holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing your back.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers. 

You cling to him, feeling the regret starting to lift, just a little. The heat of his embrace feels like a safe haven. Mingyu doesn’t let go, even as your tears soak into his shirt. He just holds you, steady and patient.

Eventually, your sobs quiet down, and you pull away slightly, wiping your eyes.

A question lingers in your mind, and you finally find the courage to voice it. “Why did you leave that comment?” you ask. “You didn’t have to say those things, you didn’t have to defend me like that. After everything I did... why?”

“I can’t lose my favorite rival that easily. Our rivalry... it’s pushed both of us to be better, to work harder. And I think, deep down, we both know that.” 

You chuckle softly. “So, you’re saying you did it because you need me as your competition?”

Mingyu laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Instead of tearing each other down, why don’t we join forces for a change?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Join forces? What do you have in mind?”

He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Well, there’s a whole new batch of freshmen who think they can waltz in and take over. They’re talented, sure, but they have no idea what they’re up against. I say we show them how it’s done. What do you think? Team up and teach them a thing or two?”

You can't help but smile; the idea sparks a sense of harmony you hadn’t felt in a while. “So, you’re proposing an alliance?”

“Just think about it,” he replies.. “We could be unstoppable. The dynamic duo.”

Later that day, you scroll through the university blog and notice a new post: a photo of you and Mingyu sharing a heartfelt hug in the parking lot. The caption reads, “The unexpected truce: rivals turned allies?” Below the post, a comment catches your eye:

JoshuaHong_223: “I always thought they would make a powerful couple.”

[...]

You walk into the library, scanning the rows of bookshelves. Your mind is still buzzing with the encounter you had earlier. As you turn a corner, you spot Mingyu sitting at a table, surrounded by a pile of books. He’s focused, scribbling notes, but your presence doesn't go unnoticed. He looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees the expression on your face.

You stride over to him, your steps quick. When you reach his table, you crouch down to his level, trying to keep your voice low but unable to hide your frustration. “Mingyu, can you believe what just happened? One of the new freshmen had the nerve to confront me in the hallway. Can you imagine?”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, closing his book slowly as he leans back in his chair. “Seriously? What did they say?” He keeps his voice calm, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “They came up to me, all smug and confident, and basically implied that they were going to knock us off the top spot. Like they could actually compete with us.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. “Wow, bold move. Did they really think they could take you on just like that?”

You nod, still fuming. 

Mingyu chuckles softly, leaning forward with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Guess they have no idea what kind of competition they’ve signed up for. Ya! this could be fun. A little extra motivation to keep us sharp.”

You roll your eyes, though a small smile tugs at your lips. “Fun for you, maybe. I just don’t like the idea of someone thinking they can walk all over us.”

He reaches out and gently taps the back of your hand, a reassuring gesture. “Relax, Y/N. We’ve got this. If they want a challenge, we’ll give them one.”

You sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit. 

You’re walking towards your car, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders, when you hear that all-too-familiar voice. It’s one of the new freshmen, and her tone is dripping with smugness. You freeze, feeling a surge of irritation as her words cut through the quiet of the parking lot.

You turn around sharply, spotting her standing a few feet away with a smirk on her face. Her attitude is infuriating, and you feel your patience snapping. Mingyu, standing a distance away, watches with a knowing look, sensing that you’re about to lose your shit.

As you close the distance between you, you see her expression shift from confident to slightly uncertain. You get right up in her space, your chest touching hers. “Listen here,” you say, your voice low and controlled but bounded with anger. “I’ve had enough of your crap. I’m not afraid to beat your ass.”

She narrows her eyes, not backing down. “Oh? And what are you going to do? Risk getting kicked out of the university again?”

You scoff, shoving your bag through the open window of your car. The motion emphasizing your frustration. “Really? You think you can scare me with that? You’re just a freshman, and you’ve got some nerve talking to me like that. The parking lot is outside university grounds. No one here can touch us. And I'm not afraid to beat your ass.”

Her eyes widen as she processes your words, the confidence draining from her expression. “You think you can just intimidate me and get away with it?”

You lean in closer, your voice a dangerous whisper. “I’m not here to play games. If you’ve got a problem, we can sort it out. But don’t think for a second that you’re going to walk all over me without consequences.”

As you push your chest into the girl’s, you feel her shove back, her rage matching yours. The confrontation is heating up, and just as you’re about to respond, Mingyu strides over and steps in between you, pulling you back against him. His arms wrap around your shoulders and arms, his chest pressing against your back.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Mingyu says, his voice authoritative. “Let’s not escalate this further.”

You struggle slightly, but his hold is steady, keeping you securely against him. 

“How about you give me a ride and let me help you get away from this situation?” He whispers exaggeratedly.

You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze, and sighing. Mingyu releases you from his embrace but keeps a protective hand on your back as you both walk towards your car. The freshman watches, but she doesn’t make a move to follow.

As you open the car door and slide into the driver’s seat, Mingyu gets in beside you, placing your bag on his lap, and settling into the passenger seat. 

As you focus intently on the road, your jaw clenched and your eyes angrily fierce, Mingyu can’t help but notice the vigor of your expression. The anger from the conflict still simmers beneath the surface, and every so often, you grip the steering wheel a bit harder, your knuckles white. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than he intends, his eyes admiring the mad energy that radiates from you.

He’s seen you angry before, but this—this is something different. There’s a raw, magnetic energy about you when you’re like this, and he can’t help but be captivated by it.

Mingyu bites his bottom lip, trying to steady himself. Part of him is charmed by how hot you look when you’re mad. It’s as if your anger fuels a side of you that’s irresistible. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts. This isn’t the time for that.

He straightens up in his seat, looking out the window, focusing on the blur of trees and buildings rushing by. The silence in the car is thick, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of gears. 

Mingyu knows he needs to break the silence, to offer some kind of reassurance. But he’s also aware that now might not be the best time for his usual teasing.

Oh, maybe that's why he liked to tease you—the sight of you mad.

His hand, initially resting awkwardly at his side, slowly finds its way to your thigh. The touch is tentative at first, his fingers feeling the warmth of your skin through your jeans. He gives it a firm squeeze, trying to offer some comfort.

“Hey, Y/N,” Mingyu says softly. “Try to relax a bit. You’re too wound up.”

You soften your jaw, releasing some of the tightness, and let your shoulders relax. You lean your head slightly against the headrest. Mingyu’s thumb begins to make slow, soothing circles on your thigh. His touch is like a balm, easing some of the tension from your body.

You pull up in front of Mingyu’s home, the car coming to a gentle stop. The quiet of the night envelops you both as you turn off the engine. Mingyu glances at you, his eyes softening as he gives a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks for the ride, Y/N,” he says sincerely. 

He reaches out, his fingers pinching the tense curve of your neck. 

“Ouch!” You pout. 

“You’re so tense,” he teases with a soft laugh, his fingers lingering for a moment.

You can’t help but sulk slightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Well, you did just see me almost start a fight.”

Mingyu’s smile widens, and he leans in closer. “Let me help with that. I’m pretty good at taking away tension.”

Before you can respond, he starts kissing the curve of your neck with an unhurried, conscious trail of saliva. The sensation of his warm lips against your skin is making you melt against the seat. His hand moves to the other side of your neck, his fingers kneading the tense muscles with gentle strokes.

The combination of his kisses and the soothing massage leaves you in a state of blissful ease—but probably wet. You close your eyes, your head tilting back slightly as you surrender to the feeling. 

Mingyu’s touch eventually slows, and he pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face. “Thanks for letting me help with that. You’re much better now.”

You nod, still slightly dazed from the unexpected massage. “You’re welcome. I—”

He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, opening the car door. “Oh, and before I forget,” he says, glancing back at you with a touch of playful seriousness. “Send me a message when you get home, okay?”

You nod again, managing a small smile as he steps out of the car. “I will.”

Mingyu closes the door with a final, lingering look, his smile wide as he heads up to his front door. 

As Mingyu is about to open his front door, you call out to him. “Hey, Mingyu!”

He pauses, turning back with a curious eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“You nasty! Making a move like that right before you leave.”

Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling with naughtiness. “Oh, was I too forward? I just wanted to help you relax. Maybe I got a bit carried away.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “A bit carried away? You practically turned my neck into a love nest.”

He grins, stepping closer to the car. “Well, if it means getting you to loosen up a bit, I’d say it was worth it. Besides, I thought you might enjoy it.”

Your cheeks flush slightly as you fight to keep your composure. “I—well, I did. But don’t think you can just get away with it.”

Mingyu leans against the car door, his expression smug. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m sure you’ll be thinking about it on your ride home.”

You give him a mock glare, trying to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Fine, fine. Just don’t think you’re off the hook for being a tease.”

Mingyu’s eyes twinkle with delight as he starts to head back toward his door. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to get back at me. Until then, keep that bottom lip tight between your teeth. It’s kind of sexy when you do.”

You let the bottom lip escape from your teeth, your expression gawked. 

“Don’t forget to text me when you get home, or I might have to come check on you.”

With that, Mingyu heads inside, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a tight grip on your bottom lip as you drive away, the naughty exchange lingering in your mind.

(open the photos)

The next day, Mingyu looked like he’d barely slept. His pristine appearance was disheveled, his eyes a bit glassy, and there was a certain exhaustion about him that was hard to miss. It was clear that your midnight message had taken a toll on him.

His tired eyes and the slight stubble on his face made it evident he’d been up all night, likely replaying your audio moaning and the hickey photo in his mind. You couldn’t suppress a smirk at the thought of how your little game had left him looking so disoriented.

“Morning, Mingyu. Rough night?” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “You have no idea. What was that last night?” His voice was incredulous.

“You looked like you needed a wake-up call.”

Mingyu’s face flushed slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you to take it that far. Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“Just keeping things interesting. You know, making sure you don’t get too comfortable. Besides, you started it.”

He shook his head, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “Yeah, well, you definitely made your point. I think I might be feeling this one for a while.”

“Glad to hear it. I'll consider it a compliment.” You smirked, enjoying the way he was visibly trying to regroup.

Mingyu gave a reluctant chuckle, finally being able to see the humor in the situation. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you that. Just don’t make a habit of it. I need to survive the rest of this semester.”

Certainly, you and Mingyu hadn’t exactly become best friends overnight, but the dynamic between you two had undeniably shifted after what happened last night. 

There was a new kind of tension in the air, an electric undercurrent that had nothing to do with animosity and everything to do with the teasing games you both seemed so fond of.

Mingyu was too attracted to your fiery expressions to let things slide, and he had to admit—something was thrilling about the way your usual small spats had taken a new direction.

 But the teasing? That still remained, stronger than ever.

You were in the last class of the day, and you could tell from the way Mingyu’s gaze kept drifting toward you that he was aware of everything you were doing. 

Earlier, you had been sliding your middle and ring fingers slowly inside the slit of your book, your smile widening as you noticed his eyes glued to your movements. Mingyu hadn’t missed a thing.

In the lab, he had been at the table right next to yours, and when you crouched down to pick up something “accidentally” dropped, you made sure to lift the front of your skirt just enough to give him a glimpse of your thighs. The fabric had risen provocatively, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes blackened, nor how he subtly adjusted his position as if to ease some tension. 

On the third provocation, it clicked for him—he finally understood the game you were playing, and he was more than ready to play along.

Now, in the current lecture, you found yourself seated right beside him. You were doing your best to focus on the lecture, but when you glanced sideways, you saw him palming himself through his pants. 

The motion was subtle enough not to draw attention from others, but obvious enough for you to notice the perfect outline of his cock pressing against the fabric. Your breath hitched as your thighs instinctively pressed together under the table.

Mingyu caught your reaction immediately, and you saw a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He licked his finger slowly, before using it to turn the page of his book, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. It was a blatant taunt, a silent challenge that he was not backing down.

But you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand. Not just yet.

You shifted in your seat, leaning back slightly as you let one of your legs brush against his under the table. The touch was light, almost accidental, but the way his body tensed told you he felt it. 

You let the edge of your shoe graze up the inside of his calf, teasing your way higher as you pretended to be engrossed in your notes. Mingyu didn’t move, his breath growing shallower, but he didn’t pull away either.

Your hand slowly made its way to your lap, where you began tracing small circles on the fabric of your skirt, inching the hem higher just enough that he could see your fingers playing with the material.

You knew his eyes were glued to the action, his own hand still resting against his thigh, tense, almost daring you to keep going.

Without warning, you let your fingers dip beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing over the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. You could practically feel the restraint he was forcing on himself. His stare darted between your face, your hand, and the bit of exposed skin, as if he couldn’t decide which to focus on.

Then, leaning in slightly as if you were about to whisper something in his ear, you let your hand trail higher, just shy of the edge of your underwear. You didn’t touch yourself, but the implication was clear. Mingyu’s breathing hitched, and you could tell he was holding back a groan. His eyes were burning into you, the heat between you two palpable.

He wasn’t going to let this go unanswered. Not a chance.

Mingyu’s hand moved from his thigh to the edge of his desk, fingers tapping rhythmically as he tried to maintain his composure. But when you let out a small, barely audible sigh—one that could have been mistaken for frustration, but you knew better—his resolve broke.

Mingyu leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Keep going like that, and I won’t be able to focus on anything but you. Is that what you want?”

You bit your bottom lip, glancing at him through your lashes, and nodded ever so slightly. Mingyu’s eyes darkened further, and he let out a quiet, almost desperate laugh.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Because I’m going to make you regret teasing me like this when we’re alone.”

The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture, you didn’t waste any time. Gathering your things quickly, you slipped out of the classroom, moving fast through the hallways with a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. 

The rush of the chase made your heart race, knowing full well that Mingyu was right behind you. The game was on, and you had no intention of making it easy for him.

You headed straight for your car, hoping to put some distance between you and Mingyu, but before you could reach the driver's side, a firm grip caught your arm.

A strong hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around. Mingyu was right there, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge.

“Running away from me, are you?” he teased, his voice low and laced with a smirk.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh as you looked up at him, your eyes gleaming with the same playful energy.

 But before you could respond, Mingyu’s hand slid up to your jaw, his fingers firm yet gentle as he pressed you against the side of your car. Your back hit the cool metal, and you widened your eyes in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.

There were people around—students lingering in the parking lot, walking to their cars, chatting in small groups. But the way Mingyu looked at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race, made it clear that he didn’t care who was watching. 

And from the heat in your gaze, he could tell you didn’t either. 

The next thing you knew, the scene had shifted. 

You were no longer in the parking lot, but somewhere far more yours. Your clothes were discarded in a trail leading to the bed, and now, Mingyu’s body was pressed flush against yours. 

The teasing, the back-and-forth, the playful banter—it had all led to this moment, and now there was nothing holding either of you back.

You hated yourself for not being able to resist him.

Despite everything, despite knowing you shouldn’t be this weak for him, here you were, looking into his eyes, your jaw slack as you practically drooled. 

Mingyu had already made you cum more times than you could count, his fingers and mouth driving you to the edge and beyond, and now, as he hovered above you, you struggled to take him in, feeling stretched to your absolute limit.

“Too big, too big… Mingyu—ah!” you cried out, your voice breaking as his cock pushed into you, filling you to the brim. 

Mingyu’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he licked his lips, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling beneath him. “Too big, huh?” he teased. “Should I have mercy on you?”

Before you could respond, his fingers reached down to your clit, pinching it just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. The loud moan that escaped your lips was involuntary. 

You felt a flush of embarrassment wash over you, ashamed of how desperate and clingy you were being for him, how you couldn’t control yourself around him.

“Shhh,” Mingyu chided softly. “You don’t want to be too loud, do you? Lola’s right in the next room.”

You had made sure to put the dog away, closing the door before things heated up. Frustrated, you slapped him lightly on the chest, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it only made him chuckle.

“You’re such a crybaby,” Mingyu whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as he started to rock his hips, each thrust making you sob. “First crying on my shoulder… now crying on my cock. What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes drifted down, catching sight of the bulge from his cock pressing against your belly, making the stretch inside you all the more real, all the more intense. Mingyu noticed too, his gaze following yours before his hand, the one that had been tormenting your clit, moved up to caress the bulge. He pressed down on it, the added pressure making you gasp, your legs spasming around him.

“Motherfucker,” you grit through your teeth, the words almost a growl.

Mingyu only smirked at your reaction. “Watch your mouth,” he scolded, his voice low as he began thrusting harder, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust. “You… need… to… learn… some… respect.”

With every thrust, your body tensed and then melted back into the sheets, the rhythm pushing you further into a state of desperate need. 

Your chin quivered as you cried out, your voice trembling. One hand slid up his back, fingers digging into his skin, while the other wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your legs locked around his waist. You held him tight, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Mingyu smiled, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. “You’re so cute when I fuck you like this,” he murmured. “All grumpy and stubborn outside, but here… you just melt for me.”

You wanted to respond, to say something back, but the pressure was too much, too intense, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body strung tight like a bow ready to snap.

And then it did.

Your entire body tensed, every muscle tightening as the pleasure yanked through you. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest against his as your nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks along his back.

Your legs tightened around him, trapping him in place as your body convulsed, your walls clenching around his cock in a desperate attempt to pull him even deeper. Your vision blurred, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as you sobbed his name, the sound of it broken, completely broken.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—everything was white-hot pleasure, consuming you completely.

Mingyu stayed with you through it all, his own breath hitching as he watched you come undone beneath him.

Your body was still trembling from your orgasm, but Mingyu didn’t give you a moment to recover. He continued thrusting into you, relentless despite how tight you were around him. 

Sensing your haze, Mingyu pulled back slightly from your embrace, his strong arms still cradling your trembling frame. His hands found their way to your face, and before you could process it, he gave you a light slap, just enough to snap you back to reality. 

The sting on your face was a shock, but it was the way your body reacted—clenching tighter around his cock—that caught both of you off guard.

He watched your eyes widen. The effect it had on you was unmistakable, and Mingyu, ever the tease, decided to test it again. Another slap, this time a bit firmer, and the response was immediate—your walls squeezed him so tightly that he hissed through his teeth.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me—” His voice broke off into a moan as his hips stuttered, a hand flying to the pillow under your head to brace himself. 

He came hard, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips as his head fell back, eyes rolling as his release filled you. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the high, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he drank in the way your body clung to his.

You looked up at him, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, annoyed at how effortlessly he pulled you under his spell. 

He looked too good, too smug, and it pissed you off—especially when he came with that full, satisfied grin plastered across his face. The sight of him, made your irritation spike, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else when he started to move again.

Mingyu wasn’t done. He raised himself up slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What was he planning now? Before you could ask, he began to lower himself, and your confusion turned into shock as the realization hit you.

He’s not going to… You thought to yourself, eyes widening as you watched him get lower.

But he was. 

Mingyu was about to do the nastiest shit, and the excitement was written all over his face. The look of surprise + disbelief on your face only fueled him further, making him more determined to see this through. He lowered his mouth to your core, the mix of your juices and his cum still leaking out of you, and without hesitation, he began to eat you out, his tongue lapping up the mess he had made.

The overstimulation, plus, something so dirty it made your head spin. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him in a trance. You could barely process what was happening—his lips, his tongue, all of it working on you again, despite the fact that you were already so sensitive, and full of his cum.

“Mingyu, what the fuck—” you started, but the rest of your sentence was lost to a moan as his tongue flicked out to taste more of you—and… him. His own cum smeared across his lips and chin. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He teased even as he continued to lap at you, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive flesh until your hips were twitching uncontrollably. “Too much for you? Or do you like watching me clean up my own mess?” 

You tried to speak, tried to tell him to stop or keep going; you weren’t sure anymore, but all that came out were broken moans and gasps. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your already overstimulated body. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue worked you over.

He finally pulled back, leaving you breathless and trembling, your body still humming with the orgasm he'd just given you. You looked down at your pussy, glistening from his attention, but something didn’t add up. There was no trace of the mess he had made earlier, just the slickness from his saliva. Confused, your eyes flicked back to him, then back down to yourself, your mind struggling to piece together what the fuck had just happened.

Mingyu caught your fogged look and let out a deep, satisfied laugh, the sound was rich, deep, and so incredibly self-satisfied.

He stuck his tongue out, showing you the clean, pink muscle—without a hint of the mess you expected—and you nearly lost it. Did he really swallow it all? Your mind raced, and the disbelief was written all over your face.

“Fuck... did you just…?” you started, but the words got caught in your throat. You were too stunned to finish the thought.

He grinned, leaning on his elbows, completely unbothered by what had just transpired. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “Swallowed every drop.”

Your eyes widened, shock flooding your system. You could hardly believe it. And the worst part? He looked so damn proud of himself.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Not even you had tasted him like that, and yet he had done it without a second thought. The realization hit you like a truck, and before you knew it, you were pulling him back to you, needing to feel him, taste him, and confirm that it had really happened.

Your lips crashed into his, and you kissed him with an appetite that surprised even you. His mouth was warm and soft, the remnants of his earlier work still lingering, and it only made you more desperate. 

Mingyu’s hands slid into your hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss, feeding off your urgency. When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, he gave you a smug smile, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip.

“Taste good, doesn’t it?” he teased. “Thought I’d save you some, but… I couldn’t help myself. It was too fucking good.”

You stared at him, still trying to process everything, and he just laughed again, the sound rumbling through his chest as he watched you grapple with the situation.

[...]

You didn’t know how you managed to sleep after everything that had happened. By all accounts, you should have been wide awake, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. But exhaustion won out, and not only did you fall asleep—you practically passed out. The weight of the night’s events melted away as soon as your head hit the pillow, dragging you into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Morning crept up on you gently, the first thing you noticed being something warm and wet against your face. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with Lola’s excited little face, her tongue happily lapping at your cheek. You groaned, half-heartedly trying to push her away, but she was relentless, her tail wagging furiously behind her.

“Lola, come on… let her sleep,” came Mingyu’s voice, a shout-whisper from somewhere near the foot of the bed. You could hear the fun in his tone, despite the fact that he was trying to be serious.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, surprising even you with its lightness. It felt strange, this casual morning after, as if last night hadn’t completely turned your world upside down. 

You wiped at your face Lola's excitement was contagious, and soon you were sitting up, rubbing your eyes and grinning at her.

Mingyu walked over, his hair still mussed from sleep, an easy smile on his face as he watched you. “Guess she missed you,” he said, shrugging as if to say he couldn’t be held responsible for Lola’s antics.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you replied, your voice still thick with sleep as you scratched behind Lola’s ears.

[solar-wing]

⚣ One Kent Was Enough 👦🏻

⚣👦🏻 A/N → You spoiled little brats got a damn near 40k word fic out of me! No complaints, EVER again. Also, if anyone remembers, I posted about doing something like this before when I got inspired by this post from @cipheress-to-k-pop. Hope you enjoy and thank you for your patience and support! WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Canon Divergence | Domestic Fluff | Angst & Fluff | Minor Conner/M'Gann mentions | Slight Enemies To Lovers trope | Implied Mpreg |

⚣👦🏻 Summary → Conner and Y/N had a very tense relationship; tense meaning there was rarely a moment the two could be in the same room without arguing. Their friends didn't see a future where they would ever be close, let alone cordial. But, a timely visit from some special individuals could end up changing things for the better? Or worse, depending on the perspective. Could the world actually be ending?

⚣👦🏻 Words → 39.4K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 👦🏻

In the dimly lit garage hangar of Mount Justice, Batman, and Red Tornado stood solemnly by the ramp, awaiting the return of their young proteges from a mission that was purportedly successful, though marred by "minor complications," as Aqualad had cryptically reported. The exact nature of these complications remained unclear until the bio-ship's hatch door swung open, releasing a cacophony of shouts and arguments into the cool air of the hangar.

The first to disembark were Y/N and Conner, their heated argument escalating with each step they took from the ship. Their faces, illuminated by the harsh overhead lights, were twisted in frustration and anger—emotions that had clearly brewed long before the bio-ship touched down.

"You always undermine me, every single mission!" Y/N's voice echoed off the metal walls, his anger palpable. "With your encyclopedic brain, how can you not grasp the simple phrase 'I don’t need help'? Is English somehow the exception in your multilingual repertoire? Shall I translate it into Spanish? Russian? Swahili perhaps?"

Conner responded with equal venom, his voice low and menacing. "If you weren’t such a constant liability, maybe I wouldn’t need to intervene. And a 'thank you' might be nice, considering this is the fourth time this month I’ve had to bail you out."

As they continued their verbal duel, Batman and Red Tornado exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of resignation and concern. The other team members exited the ship, their faces tense and weary, evidently disturbed by the ongoing conflict between their comrades.

"Report," Batman interjected, his voice cutting through the bickering with authoritative clarity.

"We neutralized Bane’s operation and apprehended him," Aqualad reported, maintaining a composed demeanor despite the slight twitch of irritation in his brow. "The mission was successful."

"Yeah, barely," Wally added, arms crossed, his tone dry. "He almost got away, thanks to Yin and Yang over there."

Aqualad shot Wally a sharp look, signaling him to tread carefully, but the damage was done. Batman’s gaze hardened, his attention now fully on the quarreling pair behind him.

"And what do you do besides scream like a monkey and throw tantrums?" Y/N shot back at Conner, his voice rising with each word. "If it weren’t for your so-called Kryptonian powers, you’d be less useful than my dog in a fight!"

"Don't compare me to a monkey," Conner growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "And last time I checked, these 'weak' Kryptonian powers kept your behind safe more than once. Like that time you hid behind me when those League of Shadow goons cornered you?" Conner retorted, his fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his arms bulging with restrained fury.

"You baffling monkey head, I was casting a spell, not hiding!" Y/N snapped, his aura crackling with magical energy, a clear sign of his escalating temper.

"A spell to boost your courage, perhaps? And stop calling me names," Conner growled, stepping closer until they were nose to nose.

"What are you going to do? Thrown another tantrum if I hurt your wee little pride?" Y/N taunted, floating a few inches off the ground to meet Conner’s height, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Enough!" Batman’s command reverberated through the hangar, silencing everyone. He swiftly positioned himself between Y/N and Conner, his presence alone demanding peace. Aqualad and Kid Flash pulled Conner back while Zatanna and Robin gently guided Y/N to the ground, their actions preventative.

"This is the third time your arguments have nearly jeopardized a mission," Batman stated coldly. "Resolve this conflict, or you’re both sidelined until you can act like professionals."

With a final, piercing glance at the two, Batman turned and strode towards the mission control room, Red Tornado following in his silent, measured steps. The rest of the team dispersed quickly, their looks of sympathy and frustration cast toward Y/N and Conner as they left.

Fuming, Y/N rounded on Conner. "This is all your fault!"

"How is this my fault? You’re the one who can't keep his mouth shut," Conner shouted back.

"You're the one who can't take a hint and leave me alone," Y/N countered, his aura flaring.

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have to intervene," Conner said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, is that what you call it? Intervening? Because I'd call it something you tried to describe me as earlier with your self-projecting ass. And if you don't learn how to stay out of my way, I'll show you just how much of a pain I can be," Y/N threatened, his eyes glowing with unspent magic.

"Is that a threat?" Conner asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Oh, please, I wouldn't waste a threat on you. Your primate brain might not be able to understand it. But, it's definitely a promise," Y/N replied, his voice equally low as he turned away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hangar.

"Whatever," Conner muttered, turning and stalking off in the opposite direction.

As Y/N headed towards the showers, his mutterings continued, a stream of insults and grievances pouring out, unheard by all but Conner, who paused to listen with a heavy sigh before shaking his head and walking away.

The tension between Y/N and Conner had been growing for months, and their teammates were becoming increasingly concerned. The two had never seen eye to eye, but their animosity had recently reached new levels and now the rest of the team was beginning to suffer from it as well.

A couple of hours later, Zatanna and Y/N were deep in their studies in one of the library rooms at the base, surrounded by ancient texts and spellbooks. Y/N was particularly agitated, aggressively flipping through pages and muttering curses under his breath about Conner. This was typical following their arguments; Conner would withdraw and brood, while Y/N became irritable and quick to anger.

Their dynamic puzzled their friends and mentors. Despite claiming indifference toward each other, Y/N and Conner managed to elicit intense reactions from one another, more so than anyone else on the team. Initially, Y/N had been keen to form a bond with Conner, driven by an attraction he barely acknowledged. However, Conner’s apparent disinterest only fueled a series of confrontations, worsening their interactions over time.

As Y/N's frustration grew, Zatanna decided a break was needed. “Hey, I’m going to grab a snack. You want anything?” she asked, hoping to ease the tension.

“Conner’s head on a stake would be nice. If not, then apple juice, please,” Y/N half-joked, half-serious, not looking up from his spellbook.

Zatanna rolled her eyes at his melodramatic response and headed toward the lounge, where the mood was lighter. M’Gann was baking cookies, filling the room with a warm, inviting aroma. Dick and Wally were engaged in a video game, with Artemis spectating, while Kaldur was absorbed in a book.

Upon noticing Zatanna, M’Gann offered a spoonful of cookie dough. “Hey Zatanna, want to try my new recipe? I’m hoping it’ll cheer Conner up.”

“Sure, who would ever say no to free cookie dough?” Zatanna smiled, taking the spoon.

Artemis, overhearing the conversation, commented wryly, “M’Gann, you’re too good for him. I’d only bring back lawsuits for my exes.”

“We’re not exes!” M’Gann protested, a blush coloring her cheeks.

“So, you guys are still together?” Artemis raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing.

“No! Well—technically yes, but it’s complicated. We haven’t talked about it, but we haven’t broken up either. It’s just... things are different now. I’m not sure what we are. I mean, we’re not dating, but we’re not not dating. Does that make sense?"

"Not really, but whatever makes you happy," Artemis shrugged.

Zatanna offered her a sympathetic hand while washing the spoon in the sink. “Just give him some time. Where is Conner, anyway?”

“Either in the garage hangar or the training room, letting off some steam after his fight with Y/N,” Dick answered, his attention briefly diverted from the game.

M’Gann’s expression soured at the mention of Y/N, prompting Zatanna to add, “That’s why I’m out here. Needed a break from all the mumbled threats and angry huffs.”

“What were they arguing about this time?” Artemis inquired, genuinely curious.

“Who knows? Those two bicker so much, I doubt even they remember what starts it half the time,” Wally chimed in, his fingers busily working the game controller.

“But seriously, is it just me or is the tension between Y/N and Superboy getting worse?” Wally interjected, pausing the game.

“It’s not just you,” Dick replied, setting his controller aside. “They’ve been at each other’s throats lately.”

Wouldn't it be funny if everyone were currently thinking of a memory where Y/N was literally at Conner's throat, trying to choke him out? Not that that actually happened or anything.

...

Okay, it definitely did, but Batman definitely did not have to get Zatanna and Zatara to magically restrain Y/N from trying to suffocate the half-Kryptonian with his powers.

...

Okay, he definitely did.

“I thought they were past this,” Zatanna sighed. “I mean, it’s been a year since their first big fight, and things seemed to have calmed down. But now, it’s like they’re back to square one.”

“I just want to know why Conner always seems to pick fights with Y/N for no apparent reason,” Artemis pondered aloud.

Zatanna noticed M’Gann mixing her cookie dough with more force than necessary and decided to distance herself from the counter, eyeing the bits of dough that were escaping out of the bowl.

“True, but Y/N can be just as provocative. He gives as good as he gets, which only escalates their conflicts,” Kaldur observed, not looking up from his book.

“It’s like a vicious cycle with them. Last week, Y/N cast a spell on Conner during an argument at school just to shut him up—literally removed his ability to speak temporarily,” Zatanna recounted, shaking her head.

“Yikes,” Wally winced.

“Yeah. Thankfully, no one was around to see it or the damage caused to the hallway in the aftermath. They should feel lucky I was there to clean up their mess,” Zatanna frowned, recalling the incident.

“Why are they so hostile towards each other? They’re supposed to be teammates, not enemies,” Dick wondered.

“Maybe they’re secretly into each other and are too stubborn to admit it,” Wally joked, earning a pillow thrown at his head by Artemis.

“Wally, that’s not funny,” M’Gann chided, her expression darkening.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just kidding,” Wally apologized, raising his hands in surrender.

“Why hasn’t Batman done anything about their constant fighting? Surely, he’s noticed how disruptive it is,” Artemis asked, her tone exasperated.

“He has, and he’s given them multiple warnings, but they haven’t listened,” Kaldur responded.

“Well, hopefully, they’ll sort out their issues eventually. For the sake of the team, and their own sanity,” Dick sighed.

“Yeah, those two getting along? Might as well be a sign of the apocalypse,” Wally joked.

No sooner had he spoken than the room was suddenly engulfed in a brilliant, searing light that pulsed like a living thing. It expanded rapidly, washing over everything in sight with an overwhelming glow, casting sharp shadows and making it impossible to see more than a few inches ahead. Zatanna stumbled backward, instinctively reaching out for the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening as she gripped it tightly while M'Gann covered her face with her arm and did her best to hold onto the counter.

It was an intense magical energy that felt thick, almost tangible, vibrating in the air as it intensified. Zatanna could feel it coursing through her, every hair on her body standing on end as the power surged from the epicenter while the others struggled to remain upright.

The force of the magic tugged at everyone, like an invisible hand trying to pull them closer to the blinding core of the disturbance. Papers flew off the table, books flipped open and fluttered their pages wildly, and the very air felt charged with potential—like the moment before a storm unleashes its fury. M’Gann’s telekinesis instinctively flared, her eyes glowing as she erected a weak barrier to keep the scattered kitchenware from hitting anyone. Dick dropped his controller and braced against the couch, feeling the gust of wind push against his frame, while Wally, ever the speedster, darted to the side and ducked behind Artemis, trying to shield her with his body.

“What the heck is that?!” Dick yelled out, though his voice was drowned out by the roaring sound that accompanied the light.

“I have no idea, but I’m not sticking around to find out,” Wally shouted back, grabbing Artemis and speeding her around to behind the counter where M'Gann was.

Zatanna, eyes squinting through the blinding light, reached out with her magic, trying to push against the force, but even her well-honed abilities struggled to contain it. It felt wild and potent—untamed, but also somehow new and pure, like a water source that never experienced the effects of pollution. “What is this?” she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of sound and energy.

“Everyone, get down!” Kaldur ordered, shielding his eyes.

As the light grew in intensity, it became almost painful to bear. Everyone was holding on to something—whether a counter, a chair, or each other—bracing themselves against the sheer force of the phenomenon. It was as if the very fabric of reality was being stretched thin, ready to snap at any second. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the light dimmed, the energy receding, leaving the room eerily quiet. The gusts of wind ceased, and the magic that had filled the space dissipated into the air, leaving only the scattered remnants of their surroundings in disarray. Everyone stood frozen in place, breathless, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

The team slowly emerged from their various hiding spots, still shaken by the unexpected display of magic. Dick was the first to stand, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear the spots from his vision. “Can someone explain why we just got hit by a magical freight train?” he groaned, squinting at the mess left in the room.

“Is everyone okay?” Kaldur asked, breaking the silence.

“I think so,” M’Gann replied, her voice shaky.

“What the hell was that?!” Artemis demanded, her heart racing.

Meanwhile, Zatanna stood frozen, her gaze fixed on something no one else seemed to notice. In the midst of the scattered books and overturned chairs, three new figures now stood in the room, looking completely out of place and, oddly enough, not at all concerned by the chaos around them.

“Uh, guys…?” Zatanna started, trying to catch someone’s attention.

Kaldur frowned, inspecting the room as though he could assess what had just happened with logic alone. “That was magic. Though, I've never felt anything like it. That energy felt…different. More raw than what we’re used to,” he noted, his brows furrowed. “It wasn’t one of Zatanna’s spells, was it?”

“No, it definitely wasn’t me,” Zatanna responded absentmindedly, her eyes still trained on the three figures. “But seriously, guys…”

M’Gann, still rattled, glanced around the room at the damage. “Do you think it was a new villain attack? It didn’t feel like a typical threat, but—”

“I don't think it was an attack,” Kaldur interjected, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece it all together. “At least, not in the conventional sense. The magic was too unfocused.”

“But, how could someone attack us here? It seems unlikely any villain would consider attacking here, knowing we know that they know about the Cave,” M'Gann added, clumsily repeating Wally's words from their first week in the Cave.

“No, but it isn’t the first time we were attacked here,” Artemis reminded her.

“Guys!” Zatanna said again, this time louder, but still no one paid attention.

Dick continued to rub his temples, his patience wearing thin. “Whatever it was, we need to figure it out fast. We can’t just wait for Batman to—”

“GUYS!” Zatanna practically shouted now, waving her hands wildly in the air.

“What?!” Wally finally turned, looking exasperated.

Zatanna pointed dramatically toward the three new presences in the room, who were standing in varying degrees of awkwardness and curiosity. One of them was casually flipping through a spellbook that had landed on the floor, seemingly unbothered by the team’s presence.

“Uh, guys… You see three random kids in the corner too, right?” Wally asked, bewildered.

Artemis, peering towards the corner, responded dryly, “Of course, genius. Why else would we all be looking that way?”

The one with the spellbook, seemingly the oldest, stood confidently in the center, observing with an amused smile as Wally and Artemis bickered. The second boy, positioned slightly behind, crossed his arms and frowned—a familiar gesture that sparked a sense of déjà vu among the onlookers. The youngest clung to the eldest’s hand, peering from behind with wide, apprehensive eyes at the array of new faces, a strong resemblance to someone they all knew catching Zatanna's attention.

“Uh...when did they get here?” Dick asked, blinking rapidly.

The one holding the spellbook glanced at the Boy Wonder, his bright, yet calculating smile like he knew you and everything about you with just one look. “Oh, we’ve been here for a while. Hope we didn’t interrupt anything.”

The rest of the team’s jaws dropped simultaneously.

Before anyone could react to the newcomers, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps reverberated through the space, and Conner barreled into the room. His usual brooding expression was replaced by a combination of panic and anger, his hands clenched into fists. "What the heck is going on in here?!" he demanded, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.

As the Kryptonian burst into the room, the youngest boy's face lit up with recognition. “DADA!” he exclaimed, releasing the eldest's hand and sprinting towards Conner with surprising speed.

Conner, caught off guard, froze, his eyes widening as the child collided with his legs and wrapped his arms around him.

"Dada, dada, dada!" the little boy repeated, his voice muffled against the older man's leg.

"What the...?" Conner mumbled, his brain struggling to process the situation.

"Um, Conner, care to explain?" Dick asked, his confusion evident.

"Explain what?" Conner shot back, his eyes darting between the team and the child clinging to him.

The team's faces registered a mix of shock and slight amusement as Superboy, taken aback, tried to gently remove the enthusiastic toddler clinging to his leg. The boy's laughter filled the room as he attempted to shake him off—unsuccessfully.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the eldest boy advised calmly. “That’s his favorite thing to do when you get home from work. The harder you try and shake him off, the longer he’s going to hold on.”

Conner stopped moving, and the child’s grip loosened slightly but remained firm. Frustrated yet curious, Conner looked around at the bewildered faces of his teammates. “Whose kid even is this?” he asked.

"Yours, apparently," Wally snickered.

"Not funny, Wally. Now, whose is it really?" Conner replied, his tone laced with irritation.

“Um... dude, judging from that kid’s reaction and the fact they seem to know you more than anyone, I’m gonna make an educated guess and say he’s yours too,” Dick replied, his voice filled with astonishment.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Conner snapped, his frustration growing.

"Language," the eldest boy warned, his eyes narrowing.

"Sorry," Conner grumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly, feeling scolded in a way only someone else ever made him feel. Who the hell were these kids?

Conner’s confusion deepened as he looked down at the smiling boy and then at the other children. Upon closer observation, their similar features became slowly unmistakable now, making it increasingly difficult to deny the reality: he was indeed their father.

Where was Maury when you needed him?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Conner groaned as the boy began climbing him like a playground.

“Welp, might as well continue down this crazy train since we're at full speed. So if we've summarized that these three random kids that just appeared out of nowhere are our resident Kryptonian's offspring, then who's their mom?” Wally asked, his gaze sweeping toward the female members of the team.

Zatanna raised an eyebrow menacingly, challenging him to continue, while Dick glared disapprovingly at the implication. Artemis watched the exchange with an amused yet intrigued expression.

M’Gann stood up abruptly, her voice ringing with a mixture of excitement and certainty, “Hello, Megan! If they're Superboy’s kids, there’s only one logical explanation.”

“They’re all clones made in a lab too?” Wally suggested, which earned him a round of exasperated looks.

“No, Wally. I was going to say that if they’re Conner’s kids, then I must be their mom!” M’Gann exclaimed, flying over to the three boys. Conner, looking increasingly overwhelmed, watched silently as she approached the children with open arms.

“Hi, little guys. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m M’Gann, or Megan here on Earth, but you can call me Mom. What are your names?” she asked with a warm smile.

The boys exchanged looks, seeming to communicate silently before the eldest responded cautiously, “Uhm, hi. Don’t know how to say this without sounding mean, but—uhm...”

“You’re not our mom,” the boy behind him said bluntly.

Everyone cringed slightly as that statement hit M’Gann like a physical blow, her face a mixture of confusion and hurt. But before she could gather her thoughts to respond, the room’s attention was diverted by more footsteps, these lighter but just as quick.

“What in the world is going on out here? Do you wombats not understand I’m trying to meditate? And where is my apple juice?!” Y/N’s voice, gruff with irritation, cut through the tension.

The youngest boy, still clinging to Conner, pointed excitedly at Y/N. “Papa!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent room.

“Does anyone want to explain why this random child currently playing monkey bars on Conner just pointed at me and called me Papa?” Y/N asked, his surprise evident as he stared at the child reaching out to him.

The team exchanged stunned looks, each as speechless as the next while M’Gann displayed a blend of horror and anger, Conner’s embarrassment and irritation at the "monkey bars" comment clear.

The heavy silence was finally broken by Wally’s incredulous remark, “Oh my god, the world is gonna end.”

Everyone gathered in the living room, with Conner and Y/N positioned centrally, while their three unexpected young guests sat casually on the couch.

“Okay, let me go over this one more time, just to make sure I’m not missing anything,” Y/N began, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he eyed the two oldest children exchanging knowing looks before turning his attention back to the group. “You three are from the future and used a magic spell that you're claiming I taught you to come back in time because you wanted to meet your parents?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re claiming,” the oldest affirmed.

“And you’re also saying that me and Conner are those parents?” Y/N gestured between himself and the Kryptonian, who was observing the children with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue.

“Yep,” the boy replied confidently.

“LIAR!” Y/N’s voice boomed suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at the child. The sudden outburst caused a stir among his teammates.

“Y/N!”

“Dude!”

“What is wrong with you?”

The children merely covered the youngest brother’s ears, though the little one giggled, oblivious to the chaos. Even Conner shot Y/N a disapproving look, though that wasn’t unusual.

“What? He claims I taught him that spell—something I would never irresponsibly share with a child, especially one that could cause all of this! Plus, that spell isn’t even in my book,” Y/N defended himself, his exasperation causing sighs and head-shaking among the team.

“Really?! That’s the part you find hard to believe?” Wally interjected incredulously.

“What? You don’t think they’re from the future?” Y/N retorted.

“Uhm, how about the fact they’re claiming to be your kids?!” Dick countered, his disbelief evident.

“Oh, right. Yeah, that’s not hard to believe at all,” Y/N responded dryly, drawing stunned looks from everyone, particularly Conner and M’Gann.

“This must be some sort of test by Batman, trying to teach me and Conner a lesson. Seriously, me and him? Together? Don’t insult me,” Y/N scoffed, dismissing the idea as utterly preposterous.

Conner’s expression shifted from confusion to anger, a storm brewing behind his eyes. He wasn’t the only one offended by the remark.

“Hey! You shouldn’t talk about Dad like that!” the middle child yelled at Y/N, mirroring Conner’s growing irritation.

“And what are you going to do about it, little boy?” Y/N taunted, only to yelp in pain as a blast of heat vision singed his thigh. “Ow! Did this little gremlin just fry me with heat vision? How does he even have heat vision when you don’t?!”

The room fell into shocked silence as the oldest child stood, calmly walking over to Y/N and healing the burn with a wave of his hand, leaving no trace of the injury. His powers were undeniable, as was the ever-clear fact that these kids were exactly who they claimed to be.

“Dude, Dad told you not to use your heat vision on people,” the eldest scolded his younger brother.

“Yeah, well, Papa warned you about snooping through his spellbook, and look where we are now!” the middle child shot back, waving his arms animatedly at the chaotic situation around them.

“AH-HA! Told you!” Y/N exclaimed triumphantly, though most of the team just rolled their eyes at his stubbornness.

“Dude, you’re focusing on the wrong thing. One kid just blasted you with heat vision, and the other healed you with magic that looks a lot like yours,” one of the others pointed out.

“I know, but I proved my point, and that’s what matters,” Y/N replied, his tone a mix of vindication and annoyance.

“As you should,” the oldest child agreed, earning a wary glance from Y/N.

“Okay, how about we start this whole thing over,” Zatanna suggested, cutting through the tension. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured extra seats for Y/N and Conner to sit across from their children. “Let’s try introductions first, and then sort the rest out.”

As everyone repositioned themselves, the youngest child sprang from the couch and darted back to Conner, once again climbing him like a jungle gym.

“Not this again,” Conner groaned, clearly exasperated.

“Told you, it’s his favorite thing. He loves when you come home from work or pick him up from daycare. He also loves tickle fights,” the oldest explained, pointing to Y/N as the little one began poking playfully at Y/N’s side.

“Tickle, tickle…” the young boy giggled, his tiny fingers eliciting the faintest smile from Y/N, despite himself.

Zatanna and Artemis both cooed at the adorable sight, and even the rest of the team seemed to soften at the moment. M’Gann, however, couldn’t hide her discomfort. Abruptly, she left the room, her departure noted by all but especially by those who understood the depth of her feelings.

“So, about those introductions again?” Y/N said, redirecting attention back to the children, who were now all grinning at the prospect of formally meeting their parents.

Conner Kent Junior, or 'CJ' for short, was the oldest of the three future children. Before he was born, his father had embraced the tradition of naming children after oneself, opting for 'Junior' rather than 'The Second.' Surprisingly, Y/N—usually stubborn six days a week and double on Sundays—had agreed to this tradition. Present-day Y/N found it hard to believe he’d relent on anything, especially to Conner. The idea that they were a couple in any reality was hard enough to swallow, let alone the fact that he would so easily give in to Conner’s whims.

Yet, here was CJ—living proof of their future union. The boy was a spitting image of Conner: the same eyes, the same jawline, and the same stoic demeanor in displeasing situations, so much so that one might mistake him for a clone. However, certain subtle traits also revealed the undeniable truth that Y/N was his other biological parent, such as the shared hair texture and, of course, the child’s inherited magical abilities.

But beyond CJ’s physical resemblance to Conner, his personality was a carbon copy of Y/N’s. His attitude, his way of speaking, and even his mannerisms echoed his magical parent so closely that it was both amusing and slightly disconcerting. Apparently, in the future, Y/N had become a powerful wizard—capable of rivaling entities and deities—which CJ mentioned with a hint of pride that threatened to inflate Y/N’s ego even more than usual.

CJ’s adeptness at magic was remarkable, something that nearly rivaled his father’s power. Zatanna had felt the raw and potent magic when they first arrived, and CJ explained that his abilities were tied to ancient magic Y/N had encountered in the past—or was it the future? It was confusing, but either way, it was clear this magic was the reason CJ and his siblings even existed in the first place. The revelation left both of his parents intrigued—and for Y/N, particularly, nervous.

CJ and his brothers had used his magical skills to travel back in time, doubting the stories they’d been told about their parents' rocky relationship. According to their Aunt Zatanna, their parents had not always been the most harmonious duo, and the kids wanted to see it for themselves. Zatanna had told them tales of Y/N taking away Conner's voice in the middle of an argument or using magic to strangle him (briefly) after Conner made a snarky comment about his weight.

"Isn't it ironic that Dad's the one with the temper, but Papa's the one prone to murderous behavior? It's always the quiet ones," CJ had mused with a smirk. "But we wanted to see it for ourselves. You wrote the spell that got us here, but you wouldn’t teach it to me until I was older, or unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Well, that explains why I don’t have a spell like that in my book. But you’re admitting that I didn’t teach you the spell and you went behind my back?" Y/N raised a brow.

"No, I’m not admitting anything. I’m just saying that you didn’t teach me the spell, but you did write it," CJ replied casually.

"That’s not the point, and you know it," Y/N huffed, crossing his arms.

"I’m not saying anything without my lawyer," CJ shot back, barely hiding a smirk.

The quick wit and smart attitude were unmistakably Y/N’s influence. Despite CJ’s striking resemblance to Conner, his magical aptitude and sarcasm were all Y/N—he was clearly his father's son.

Colin, the middle child, was the wild card of the bunch. While CJ bore Conner’s serious demeanor, Colin had inherited Y/N’s mischievous streak and free-spirited nature. He had his father’s hair and eye color, but he possessed all of Conner's powers and temperament. He could also perfectly replicate his father's neutral, glaring expression—his signature stoic face.

The earlier heat blast Colin had unleashed during their arrival was a clear testament to the volatile mix of his genetic heritage. Colin’s abilities, however, had raised a lot of questions, especially since he seemed to have powers that Conner didn’t. Before CJ could elaborate further on Colin’s abilities, Zatanna had quickly stepped in, cautioning them against discussing too much about the future. Revealing too much could damage the timeline—and Y/N certainly didn’t need any more ego boosts.

Colin had also made his feelings about M’Gann very clear when he spoke of a mysterious "green lady" trying to separate his parents, a sentiment that left everyone silently grateful that M’Gann had left the room.

The youngest sibling, Camden Kent, was a perfect blend of his parents. His dark hair and eyes were from Conner, while his skin tone clearly came from Y/N. Though Camden didn’t display any powers yet, his cheerful personality and playful nature brightened any room he was in.

Though there was an undeniable charm to the whole situation, it didn’t make it any less complicated. Y/N had been right about one thing—the spell the kids had used wasn’t supposed to be in their hands. Colin had graciously snitched on his older brother, explaining how CJ had managed to get his hands on the spell by sneaking into Y/N's study while he and Conner were distracted.

"It was all CJ! Papa was making dinner and yelling at Dad about being overprotective, and something about not wanting a repeat of the Phantom Zone thing. CJ snuck into the study, took the spell page, and we used it in his room. I think they heard us, though, 'cause before we zapped out, I heard them rushing upstairs," Colin had said smugly.

Y/N had chuckled, "Me mad at Conner for getting in my way and trying to play hero? Sounds about right."

Conner’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as Y/N’s words hit a nerve. The jab about playing hero had always been a sore spot, and hearing it now—especially in front of their potential future children—only made the sting sharper.

"Are you serious right now?" Conner growled, his blue eyes narrowing as the tension in the room escalated.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What? Did I lie?"

"You always do this," Conner bit out, stepping closer. "Acting like you’re above needing help. I was trying to keep you safe—"

"Safe from what? Myself?" Y/N scoffed, crossing his arms. "I can handle things without you jumping in and messing everything up. If you’d stop being such a—"

"Hey!" Zatanna’s voice sliced through the rising tension. "Reirrab." With a wave of her hands, a glowing barrier appeared between them. "Can we not start another fight in front of the kids? I know this is overwhelming, but we need calm heads here."

Conner glared at Y/N but stepped back. Y/N, though clearly annoyed, shifted his stance and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Y/N muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Before Conner could respond, a sharp hiss from the couch interrupted them. "You didn’t have to rat me out, you little brat," CJ growled at Colin, who grinned smugly.

"You’re the one who got caught, not me," Colin taunted, sticking out his tongue.

CJ opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp look from Y/N silenced him. "Enough," Y/N said firmly, making both kids sink into their seats.

The room, now charged with tension from the glowering parents and their children was silent. That is until  Wally decided to speak up.

"Man, it’s like watching a mini version of you two go at it," he snickered, glancing at the kids. "Like father, like son—times two."

Dick raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Yeah, except I always thought Conner would be the one laying down the law. Not Y/N."

Wally laughed. "Right? Seeing Y/N as the bad cop—"

"Are you kidding?" Artemis cut in, crossing her arms. "Y/N’s always been a strict little stick-in-the-mud. I’m not surprised."

Y/N, who had been pinching the bridge of his nose, finally looked up. "Excuse me, I have always been the responsible one. Conner’s the one who probably thinks letting kids jump off roofs builds character."

Conner scowled. "I don’t see why not. They need to know how to fall."

"Typical," Y/N shot back, grinning sarcastically. "And you wonder why I don’t leave you alone with the kids."

"He's right," CJ chimed in.

"Yeah, Papa never lets you watch us alone for more than an hour after that one mission," Colin added matter-of-factly.

"See! And they said I didn’t know how to make smart decisions," Y/N replied dryly.

Conner sighed in frustration. "I can’t believe this. You’re blaming me for something that hasn’t even happened yet."

"Well, maybe if you weren’t so reckless, I wouldn’t have to worry," Y/N snapped.

"Reckless?" Conner scoffed, his voice rising. "You’re the one always running off and putting yourself in danger!"

Before the bickering could reignite, Zatanna cleared her throat. "Look, we’re not here to debate your future parenting dynamics. We need to figure out how to get these kids back to their timeline."

CJ, who had been fuming after Colin’s betrayal, hesitated. "Uh, about that…"

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "What now?"

The oldest child shifted nervously. "There’s kind of a problem with that."

Wally grinned. "What? You didn’t plan for the return trip?"

CJ flushed. "No, we did! But…"

"But what?" Conner asked, his patience wearing thin.

Colin piped up, "CJ lost the spell page."

All eyes snapped to CJ, who raised his hands defensively. "I didn’t lose it! I just… may not have held onto it tightly enough."

Y/N groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"Yep, definitely your kid," Dick commented with a chuckle.

Zatanna’s lips twitched. "Let me guess, you didn’t memorize the spell before casting it?"

CJ shifted uncomfortably. "We didn’t think we’d need it right away. I was focused on making sure it worked, not the clean-up."

"You didn’t think that maybe—just maybe—you’d need a way to get back?" Y/N asked, his exasperation evident.

"I was going to figure that part out later!" CJ snapped, sounding just as defensive as Y/N usually did when backed into a corner.

Conner crossed his arms. "This sounds familiar."

Y/N shot him a withering look. "Not helping."

Artemis laughed. "So what’s the plan now? We can’t keep these mini-you’s hanging around."

Zatanna nodded. "I can try to reverse the spell, but it’ll take time. I’ll need to gather some materials and maybe consult our spellbook. If future Y/N made it, it shouldn’t be too difficult."

"Hey!" Y/N protested, his ego bruised.

"She’s right," CJ admitted, earning a glare from Y/N.

"So we’re stuck with them," Y/N sighed.

"Hey, we’re right here!" Colin interjected indignantly, crossing his arms. "And it’s not our fault! CJ’s the one who messed it up!"

"Quit throwing me under the bus you ill-brained bug," CJ hissed, his narrowed eyes practically throwing daggers at his younger brother. "Don't call me names! And you did lose it," Colin shot back, his tone equally venomous.

"Enough," Y/N said, eyes hard. "No fighting."

Conner, meanwhile, looked at Camden, still hanging off his arm. The situation was far from what he’d imagined for his future. A family? Kids? He had never pictured it. And Y/N… he never thought they’d become something together. Yet, here they were.

"I'll start working on the reversal spell. In the meantime, we'll have to find a place for the kids to stay," Zatanna continued, ignoring the wounded expression on Y/N's face.

"They’ll stay with us," Conner stated, his tone firm.

Y/N’s brow shot up. "Excuse me? Us?"

"Yes, us. Did I stutter?"

CJ and Colin exchanged quick glances before Colin smirked, nudging his older brother. "Did Dad just use one of Papa's lines against him?" he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. CJ grinned, nodding. "Yeah, and somehow he's still breathing. Must be a miracle."

The room erupted into soft laughter, with even Wally doubling over in amusement. Artemis gave Conner a playful nudge, her grin wide. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Kent."

Conner and Y/N stood there, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Conner clenched his jaw while Y/N crossed his arms, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"Okay," Kaldur intervened, saving them from further embarrassment. "We need to focus on getting them home. Zatanna, you and Y/N can both do research together. CJ can help since he's the one who used it so he may remember some things from it."

Zatanna smiled faintly. "Sounds good. I’m gonna look into a few other things first, though. In the meantime, you might want to prepare yourself for a lot of questions, especially from Batman."

Conner groaned, clearly dreading the inevitable debrief. "Great."

"I have nothing to answer for," Y/N retorted. "I didn’t bring a bunch of kids from the future into the past."

"Maybe not, but you made them," Conner shot back.

"Oh, please. Like you didn’t have a hand in that."

"More than a hand," Artemis snickered.

CJ narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"

The entire room, as if rehearsed, answered in unison, "Nothing."

Y/N and Conner had no choice but to let the kids bunk in their rooms until they could figure out how to replicate the spell and send them back to the future. The children, after all, had vehemently refused to sleep in the lounge. CJ had opted to stay with Y/N, while Colin chose Conner's room. Camden, at first, didn’t show a preference, but eventually made his decision clear by reaching for Conner. Despite wanting to wipe the smug grin off Y/N’s face, Conner gave in without much protest.

However, Y/N found no peace, especially with CJ bombarding him with questions about their relationship:

"Have you and Dad gone on a first date yet?"

"No."

"Have you guys kissed yet?"

"No—I... That’s a grown folks' question."

"So, when do you think you'll go on a first date?"

"Do you have an off button?"

"Do I look like a toy from Target to you?"

"Damn, you really are my son."

"Bad word."

"Sorry."

"Why do you guys sleep in separate rooms? You have your own room together back home."

"Uh... what did I say about grown folks' questions?!"

The questions seemed endless. Despite Y/N growing increasingly tired, he found himself surprisingly unbothered. Normally, anything that disturbed his rest would drive him mad, but for some reason, he found it hard to get annoyed by CJ’s relentless curiosity. Perhaps he understood. If Y/N were in the kid’s shoes, he’d probably be asking a million questions too.

"Hey, Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Does it ever end?

"Sure, kiddo," Y/N sighed, staring up at the rocky ceiling of his bedroom.

"What's the deal with you and Dad?"

Y/N froze, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as CJ’s innocent question hung in the air. He shouldn’t have been surprised, especially considering how sharp the kid was. This conversation was bound to happen at some point—though he would’ve preferred it to be later. He didn’t even know the answer himself.

What was the deal between him and Conner? That was the real question. The relationship was complicated, to say the least, and it was certainly not something Y/N was eager to explain to his future son. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he shifted on the bed, trying to buy himself some time. “That’s a... big question, kiddo.”

CJ, lying on his side, propped his head up on his hand, eyes wide with curiosity. “Yeah, but you guys love each other, right?”

Y/N gulped. Of course, the kid would jump straight to the heart of the matter. How was he supposed to answer that without messing up CJ’s perception of the future—or worse, letting his complicated feelings for Conner bubble to the surface in front of a child? He didn’t want to lie, but the truth... well, the truth was messy. And kids didn’t handle messy well.

“Well...” Y/N began, stalling as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Love is... complicated.”

CJ’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean by complicated?”

Y/N winced. Damn, these kids ask too many questions. He shifted again, trying to figure out how to tiptoe through this conversation. “I mean, sometimes people have... feelings for each other, but they don’t always know how to deal with them right away. Like, your dad and I... we argue a lot because we’re still figuring things out.”

CJ tilted his head, clearly not convinced. “But Auntie Z said you guys argue a lot in the future too. She said you love each other, but you’re both kinda... stubborn.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of his nose. Zatanna, I’m going to kill you. He sighed deeply, turning his head to look at CJ. “Yeah, that sounds about right. We’re both pretty stubborn. And when two people are like that, it takes them longer to... you know, get on the same page.”

CJ’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “So you do love each other!”

Y/N’s stomach flipped. He wanted to deny it, to downplay everything. But looking at CJ’s expectant face, he realized he couldn’t outright lie. He’d never been great at lying anyway. “It’s... complicated, like I said.”

CJ groaned, clearly frustrated with that answer. “You keep saying ‘complicated,’ but what does that even mean? Do you want to be with Dad?”

Y/N tensed, his heart racing. Okay, this is too much. “Uh... I think we should save this conversation for when you’re a little older, kid. Like, maybe a lot older. Or, you know, when you’re back in your timeline and it’s Future Me’s problem.”

CJ gave him an unimpressed look. “That’s a cop-out answer.”

Y/N snorted despite himself. “I... Who taught you that?”

“You did.”

“Of course I did,” Y/N muttered, shaking his head.

CJ wasn’t letting this go, and Y/N knew it. Y/N sighed, glancing back up at the ceiling, emotions stirring up that he wasn’t prepared to deal with. It wasn’t just complicated—it was a mess, a tangled web of miscommunication, stubbornness, and unspoken feelings that spanned the years since he joined the Team. He thought back to when he first arrived, how Dr. Fate had sensed the raw potential in him and demanded that he go under the Justice League's protection. Y/N didn’t have much of a choice back then, and neither did the Team when they were told he’d be joining.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Y/N got along with everyone easily, even found a mentor in Zatanna and Zatara who was still being used as a host by Dr. Fate which is how he found him in the first place.

 But Conner? Conner was different. It was as though the Kryptonian had built a wall the size of Metropolis between them, remaining cold and indifferent despite Y/N’s attempts to connect. Y/N hadn’t expected to become best friends overnight, but the sheer lack of acknowledgment hurt more than he let on. He remembered how Conner would barely look in his direction, like Y/N didn’t exist, even though he treated everyone else like family.

It was confusing, especially when Y/N noticed how Conner always positioned himself near him during missions—ready to intervene but never willing to share a word afterward. That subtle protectiveness should’ve been reassuring, but it drove Y/N mad. If Conner didn’t care, why hover around him like some kind of silent guardian?

After months of trying, Y/N finally gave up. He mirrored the cold treatment, stopped reaching out, and focused on the rest of the team. But then, something shifted. The moment Y/N stopped trying, Conner started. The once silent indifference turned into sharp comments and antagonistic behavior. It was like Conner needed to get a rise out of him, and no one could push Conner’s buttons the way Y/N could.

Pretty soon, they were constantly at each other's throats (sometimes literally), bickering over the smallest things. Everyone else just rolled their eyes and let them sort it out, but the tension between them was palpable.

Looking back now, Y/N wondered if something had always been simmering beneath the surface, something neither of them knew how to admit. Maybe Conner’s way of dealing with whatever feelings he had was to push Y/N away, to lash out. Y/N wasn’t sure what scared him more—the idea that Conner never cared or the possibility that he cared too much and didn’t know how to handle it.

And now, faced with a future version of himself that had apparently figured it out, Y/N was stuck in a mess of emotions that defined their present. The thought made his chest tighten, and he shook his head, trying to push it aside. He wasn’t ready to untangle all of that just yet, especially not with CJ watching him, waiting for answers.

He glanced over at the kid, still staring at him with a mix of confusion and determination.

“Look, CJ, it’s... complicated,” Y/N repeated, knowing it was a weak excuse. “Your dad and I have a lot of history, and a lot of that is... well, not great. It’s a work in progress.”

The room fell silent for a moment, and Y/N hoped the interrogation was over. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, but CJ’s voice cut through the peace again.

“So... if you’re not together yet, does that mean I could mess it up by being here?” CJ’s voice was quieter this time, tinged with genuine concern.

Y/N’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected that. “Hey, no, no—nothing like that,” he said quickly, turning to face CJ. “You being here isn’t going to mess anything up. Don’t ever think that.”

CJ’s big eyes looked up at him, full of uncertainty. “But what if Colin, Camden, and I being here changes things? What if you and Dad aren’t meant to be together because of us? I don’t want to mess up your future.”

Y/N felt a pang in his chest. He could see how much CJ cared, how much this meant to him. The kid didn’t want to lose the family he had, and Y/N couldn’t blame him. Hell, Y/N didn’t know what the future held between him and Conner, but seeing CJ so worried made him realize just how important that future was—to these kids, at least.

He placed a hand on CJ’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “CJ, listen. No matter what happens, you three aren’t going to change what’s meant to be, okay? Whether your dad and I figure things out now or later, that’s up to us. But you don’t need to worry about it.”

CJ’s expression softened slightly, but he still seemed unsure. “You promise?”

Y/N hesitated for a second, then nodded. “I promise.”

CJ studied his father for a long moment, then let out a sigh of relief and flopped back onto the bed. “Okay, if you say so.”

Y/N smirked, feeling like he’d defused the situation—until CJ spoke again.

“But seriously, you guys need to hurry up and kiss. You’re taking forever.”

Y/N groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god, please stop.”

CJ giggled, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, it’s true. You’re way more lovey-dovey in the future. Like, gross sometimes.”

Y/N pulled his hands away from his face, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

CJ shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face.

Y/N rolled his eyes, turning back to the ceiling. He tried not to think about the fact that his future self was apparently a lot more affectionate with Conner, or the fact that CJ was clearly comfortable with it.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across his cheeks. This was going to be a long night.

Just as the eleven-year-old finally appeared to be settling down, a knock at Y/N’s door pierced the growing calm. He couldn’t mask the annoyance in his grunt as he called out for whoever was there to enter.

The door opened to reveal Conner, struggling to soothe a fussy Camden, with Colin in tow. Both Kryptonians looked exhausted, their matching bed-heads and disgruntled grimaces completing the picture.

Y/N was caught off guard by the endearing yet disheveled sight of them—Conner in his casual home attire, with Colin standing by his side like a shadow, and Camden, a perfect blend of Y/N’s and Conner’s features, in his arms. The scene felt surprisingly right.

“He won’t stop crying and fussing,” Conner explained, his voice tinged with fatigue. “I’ve tried everything. I think he wants to sleep with you.”

Taking Camden into his arms, Y/N immediately felt the toddler relax. “What’s up, buddy? Is your Daddy keeping you up with all his grumbling?”

“I didn’t do anything! He was fine half an hour ago, then he woke up crying. When I tried to calm him down, he just got fussier and started calling for his 'Papa’ over and over.”

CJ, from his spot on the bed, chimed in, “He probably had a nightmare. It’s hard for him to go back to sleep afterward.”

“And how do we get him back to sleep?” Conner asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“He usually sleeps in bed with you,” CJ answered.

“He was already doing that, and it didn’t help,” Conner replied, clearly exhausted.

“With both of you,” CJ clarified.

Y/N and Conner exchanged stunned looks, the suggestion hanging awkwardly in the air. “Uh, are you sure there’s no other way to calm him down?” Y/N asked, his voice laced with hesitation as he and Conner avoided each other’s gaze.

“Nope. So, scoot over and make some room,” Colin said, settling the matter with a tone that brokered no argument. With a reluctant shuffle, Y/N and CJ made room on the bed, both Y/N and Conner still clearly uncomfortable with the closeness but willing to do what was needed for the youngest Kent.

As they settled into an awkward silence, Camden, now nestled between them, began to quiet down, his sniffles subsiding as he felt the reassuring presence of both his parents. The soft glow of the nightlight spell Y/N conjured cast gentle shadows across the room, softening the edges of the tense atmosphere.

“Well, ain’t this cozy,” Y/N quipped, trying to cut through the awkwardness with a bit of humor. Conner just grunted in response, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, clearly wrestling with the intimacy of the situation.

CJ and Colin, seated toward the middle of the bed between their parents’ legs, watched the scene with knowing looks. “You guys are really weird about this,” CJ commented, shaking his head. “You do this all the time back home.”

Conner sighed, his gruff tone betraying his discomfort. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly 'back home,’ kid.”

CJ shrugged, then finally settled down, his eyes growing heavier as the night’s events took their toll. Conner, still visibly uncomfortable, shifted slightly, turning on his side to face away from Y/N, while Y/N remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The room fell into a profound silence, the only sounds being the gentle breathing of the boys as they finally succumbed to sleep.

In the dim light, Y/N and Conner lay awake, each lost in their own thoughts. The physical closeness, necessitated by Camden’s need for comfort, forced them into a proximity neither had anticipated—at least not under these circumstances. As the minutes dragged into hours, neither spoke. The air between them was thick with confusion, unresolved tension, and an undeniable sense of familial bond that neither could quite embrace nor deny.

Y/N’s mind raced with a mix of future possibilities and present discomforts. He turned his head slightly, glancing at Conner’s back and noting the tension in his shoulders. The fact that they could be a family—a real family, with laughs, fights, bedtime stories, and morning cuddles—felt absurd. Yet, somehow, it also felt right, in a way that scared him.

It was a future that felt like a dream, one so vivid during sleep but absurdly distant upon waking.

Conner, for his part, was equally conflicted. The physical presence of Y/N so close yet so far in spirit was jarring. He was used to tackling problems head-on, not lying silently next to them. The warmth from Y/N’s body, the sound of his breathing, and the soft rustle of sheets each time he moved—all served as acute reminders of what could be—a future intertwined with Y/N, a man he had known as a teammate but never as something more.

As Camden shifted in his sleep, mumbling softly and curling closer to Y/N, Conner let out a soft sigh. This was what family felt like—messy, uncomfortable, yet filled with unexpected moments of tenderness.

Fate was a cruel thing to dangle something so perfect right next to him, knowing that once this night was over, it would be back to reality.

The night stretched on, and though sleep tugged at their eyelids, both Y/N and Conner resisted, each caught in their own whirlwind of thoughts. They remained awake, guardians of the quiet peace that had settled over their children, protectors of a future still unwritten.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn crept through the curtains, signaling a new day, Y/N and Conner allowed themselves a moment of rest. Their eyes closed, not out of comfort with each other, but from sheer exhaustion. The sun would rise on two men still unsure of their path forward, but for now, they were bound by a shared responsibility and an unspoken commitment to the well-being of the children who had started the process of slowly bringing them together.

The next morning, Y/N and Conner were greeted by three simultaneous realizations. The first was the peculiar sensation of being surrounded on all sides—Y/N found CJ and Camden clinging to him like koalas, while Conner awoke to the unpleasant surprise of a foot in his face and a toe nearly up his nose, courtesy of Colin.

The second realization came when they noticed how close they had ended up to each other during the night, their bodies naturally gravitating together as if seeking warmth in the pile of kids nestled between them. It was a proximity neither had planned for, yet somehow, in the night’s deep silence, it didn’t feel… wrong.

Didn’t stop them from trying to scoot away from each other, though.

The third and most jarring realization came when the sound of cooing and giggling shattered the morning calm. Y/N blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the bright lights, only to see Zatanna, Artemis, Dick, and Wally gathered at the doorway, barely containing their laughter, smartphones in hand.

“What the—” Y/N started, his voice groggy and laced with confusion.

“Morning, sunshine!” Dick greeted with a smirk, snapping pictures as quickly as possible. “Don’t you all look nice and cozy?”

“It’s not every day we see such a picturesque family moment,” Zatanna added, her tone dripping with mock sweetness.

Conner, fully awake now, grimaced as he gently removed Colin’s foot from his face. “Can you guys not?” he muttered, trying to salvage some dignity.

Y/N, who, like many others, was not a fan of being photographed first thing in the morning, shot a glare at the group. “You all better consider yourselves lucky I’m still half-asleep. Otherwise, you’d all be something I could swat at right about now.”

Artemis, unfazed, grinned. She knew Y/N wouldn’t hurt a fly (unless it was an actual fly), especially not his friends.

Dick, on the other hand, was not so confident and took a cautious step back, just in case.

Wally, always the instigator, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease one of his closest friends. He leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous grin on his face. “So, how was your night, lovebirds? Get up to anything interesting?”

Colin rubbed his eyes groggily, blinking up at Wally from his spot on the bed. “What do you mean by ‘interesting’?” he asked, his voice innocent but filled with curiosity.

Without missing a beat, everyone—Y/N, Conner, Dick, Artemis, Zatanna, and Wally—responded in unison, “Nothing.”

Colin blinked again, clearly not satisfied but too sleepy to push further. He shrugged it off, snuggling back into the blankets.

“Anyway,” Dick started, his tone slightly more serious, “Batman’s here. He’s waiting for you and your ‘guests’ in the mission room.”

Y/N groaned, the dread immediately washing over him. “Oh, come on. This early?”

“Batman doesn’t sleep, Y/N,” Zatanna quipped, smirking as she crossed her arms.

The kids, on the other hand, perked up at the mention of Batman. CJ’s eyes lit up with excitement, and he nearly launched himself out of bed. “Uncle Bruce is here?!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing in place. “We get to meet him in his prime!”

Colin’s face mirrored his brother’s excitement. “Yeah! We’ve never seen Uncle Bruce younger than when he was old and retired!”

Y/N winced, rubbing his temples. “Great. Because that’s exactly what I needed today. Batman in his prime.” He glanced at Conner, who was already starting to untangle himself from the bed and the web of blankets.

Conner met his gaze, both of them instantly realizing the same thing: one of them was going to have to explain this entire situation to the Batman. Neither looked eager to volunteer.

Y/N groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh... you're explaining this to Batman, right? Cool, great!” he said, trying to shift the burden onto Conner.

Conner shot him a sidelong glance as he finally freed himself from Colin’s grasp. “Why should I explain it? You’re the one who created the damn spell. This is on you.”

"Ah, future me did that. Present me, on the other hand, has done no such thing. So, therefore, this falls on you. See, math," Y/N said with his usual sarcastic tone. “And I didn’t bring three kids from the future back here. That’s not on me!”

“Oh, but I’m not their only father, am I?” Conner shot back, keeping his voice as low as possible but still sharp.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so when it’s convenient for you to use the father title, now you want to use it? Yesterday you were acting like it was some cosmic mistake!”

As the bickering continued, Wally leaned over to Artemis and muttered with a grin, "Man, they’re already nailing the divorced parents thing. Ten out of ten performance."

Artemis smirked, not missing a beat. “Yeah, all that’s missing is the custody battle.”

“I didn’t say—” Conner started, but CJ, who had been watching the whole exchange, interrupted with an amused but exasperated tone.

“You know, if you guys are trying to keep quiet, you’re not doing a very good job,” he pointed out, his voice deadpan as he hopped off the bed.

Both men stopped mid-bicker, realizing the volume of their conversation had escalated. They shared a brief, awkward silence before Y/N sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry, CJ.”

“Are we going or what?” Colin asked, looking ready to sprint toward the mission room, his excitement bubbling over.

Conner grumbled under his breath as he pulled his shirt on, shooting Y/N another look. “I’m still not explaining it.”

Y/N threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine! I’ll explain it to Batman. But if he glares a hole through my head, I’m holding you responsible.”

“Deal,” Conner muttered as he turned to usher the kids toward the door.

Wally, who had been watching the entire exchange with great amusement, shook his head. “You guys are so much fun in the mornings. Really sets the tone for the day.”

Y/N shot him a half-hearted glare. “Wally, if you don’t stop talking, I will personally turn you into a decorative garden gnome.”

Wally just grinned wider, following the group as they headed out. "Try me, magic boy."

As they all made their way down the hall, CJ and Colin buzzed with excitement at the prospect of meeting the Dark Knight in his prime, while Y/N mentally prepared himself for what was sure to be a long conversation with Batman.

When they arrived at the mission room, Batman stood with his arms crossed, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Superman and Dr. Fate flanked him, both with differing reactions already written across their faces. Superman wore a look of quiet curiosity, while Dr. Fate’s imposing helmet tilted slightly, as if analyzing every moment with critical intensity.

Y/N barely had time to feel the weight of their combined presence before a chorus of "Uncle Bruce!" filled the room, followed by the stampede of three excited children. CJ, Colin, and Camden rushed past Y/N and Conner, crashing into Batman with a level of enthusiasm normally reserved for holidays.

Batman barely moved, standing firm as three small bodies collided with him. His expression never wavered from his usual deadpan. He looked down at the kids clinging to his legs and tugging at his cape like it was any other Tuesday.

"Hello, boys," he greeted, his voice even, betraying no emotion.

"Uncle Bruce, you're so young!" CJ exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Yeah, you're not old and retired yet," Colin chimed in, his tone equally awestruck.

Camden, meanwhile, had attached himself to Batman's leg, refusing to let go. "Bat Bat," the toddler babbled, his voice muffled against the fabric of the suit as he began his usual routine of climbing up the grown man who, once again, was not fazed by the action.

A chorus of "Awws" echoed from behind Y/N, as Artemis and Zatanna both cooed at the sight of the two-year-old climbing all over Batman like a jungle gym. Meanwhile, Conner stood there, his arms crossed tightly as he watched his youngest son cling to the Dark Knight, not feeling a slight ounce of jealousy at the sight. Not one bit...

Y/N exchanged a glance with Conner, both of them unsure how to proceed. Batman’s piercing gaze and silent command made it clear someone needed to start explaining. But the Dark Knight simply looked back at the three of them, his expression unreadable, as if a trio of future children showing up out of nowhere was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Uncle Bruce! Can we see the Batcave later?" Colin asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

Batman merely raised an eyebrow under his cowl. “We’ll see.”

Y/N’s nervousness spiked. The fact that Batman was completely unfazed made him even more anxious. The Dark Knight was known for his cold efficiency and intimidating nature, but this calm acceptance of three kids who claimed to be the future children of his two protégés felt... ominous.

Superman, on the other hand, chuckled warmly as the boys shifted their attention to him.

“Uncle Clark!” Colin shouted, springing off the ground into the air toward the Man of Steel with just as much enthusiasm. “You still look the same, but somehow still young. That's so cool!"

Y/N, Conner, and pretty much everyone else in the room (except for Batman) stared in utter shock, watching the eight-year-old hover in the air next to Superman, who also looked a bit surprised.

"Is he—" Wally started, his eyes wide.

"Flying?" Artemis finished, her mouth hanging open.

"You can fly," Conner stated, his voice a mix of astonishment and confusion.

"Well, duh," Colin said, rolling his eyes. "Dad and Uncle Clark showed me how. Uncle Clark, look at this trick I learned," he added with an excited grin.

Before anyone could react, Colin rocketed upward, performing a flawless loop in the air, zipping in a spiral before descending slowly to hover near Superman. His face radiated pride, clearly relishing the opportunity to show off his flying skills. Superman watched him, still a bit stunned, but with a warm, amused smile on his face.

"Ta-da!" Colin shouted, floating back down beside him, his excitement undiminished. He began circling around Superman. "Do you not age because you're Kryptonian? Wow, I can't wait to be strong and ancient to!"

Superman chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Colin's hair. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. "So, this is what the future looks like for you guys, huh?"

Colin grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Yep! And you’re still the strongest! I can't wait to show you some more tricks."

As Colin continued to hover, defying gravity with ease, Conner stood frozen. He hadn’t moved, his gaze locked on his son as he watched him hover so effortlessly. A strange tightness formed in his chest, bittersweet and unspoken. Colin could fly. Not with the assistance of a shield like him, but on his own. Part of Conner felt immense pride, but another part couldn’t help but feel that uncomfortable tightness deepen—a sense of longing for something he couldn’t quite articulate.

"He can fly," Conner muttered, catching the attention of CJ, who was watching his brother show off with an annoyed expression that softened when he saw his dad's reaction.

"Yeah, we found out just after Colin turned about five. That was a fun day for you two, especially since you had to chase him around the house for hours. He thought it was hilarious, but you and Papa weren’t too happy," CJ explained, his voice softer than usual.

Conner, still a bit stunned, nodded slowly. "That sounds... fun," he said, his tone lacking enthusiasm.

CJ looked like he wanted to say more, but his Aunt Zatanna's warning and the thoughts from his conversation last night with his Papa loomed over him. Instead, he decided to change the subject.

"So, um, yeah, that's Colin—middle kid," he said, turning back to his uncles, hoping to shift the conversation.

"What about you?" Superman asked, turning his attention to CJ.

"I'm Conner Kent Junior, or CJ for short. I'm the oldest and the leader of our team," CJ replied, puffing his chest out a bit.

Everyone chuckled softly, except for Batman, though, for the smallest sliver of a moment, the corner of his lip upturned into a tiny smirk.

"And that's Camden, the youngest," CJ continued, gesturing to the toddler who was now perched on Batman's shoulder, playing with the pointed ears of his mask.

"Bat Bat," Camden repeated, his adorable smile plastered all over his face.

"Yes, I am," Batman said, his voice as flat as ever, but his expression softened just a little.

Y/N turned, catching Conner’s gaze, which remained fixed on Colin, who was still hovering effortlessly in the air. The look on Conner’s face—bittersweet and filled with a mix of pride and something else Y/N couldn’t quite place—tugged at him. It wasn’t often Conner wore his heart on his sleeve, but in this moment, the unspoken emotion in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Y/N found himself feeling something unexpected—a sudden, quiet protectiveness. It wasn’t just about Colin flying, but the realization that Conner was watching a part of his son that he could never truly share. There was no jealousy or bitterness in Y/N's own heart, only a desire to make sure Conner knew that he wasn’t alone in this, that Y/N understood.

He cleared his throat softly, stepping closer to Colin, who was still circling around Superman in excited loops. “Alright, Colin, time to come down.”

Colin, his face flushed with excitement, ignored him at first. “But Papa, I haven’t shown Uncle Clark the trick where I—”

“I said down, Colin,” Y/N interrupted, his voice taking on a particular tone. A tone he probably inherited from his own parent—the one that could stop him in his tracks as a kid, and evidently, one that worked on Colin too.

Colin froze mid-loop, his defiant expression faltering for a moment as he hovered a few feet above the ground. “But—”

“Now,” Y/N added, his voice firm yet still gentle, his gaze unwavering.

With a dramatic sigh that only an eight-year-old could muster, Colin slowly descended to the ground, landing lightly on his feet. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms and scowling slightly. “I was just having fun…”

Y/N smiled softly, crouching down so he was eye-level with his son. “You can show Uncle Clark more later, okay? Right now, we need to focus.”

Colin huffed but nodded, the defiance in his eyes giving way to a grudging understanding. He glanced up at Superman, who gave him an encouraging nod, and then back at his dad, the scowl easing from his face.

“Good,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Thanks, kiddo.”

As Colin sulked back to his brothers, Y/N straightened, his gaze shifting back to Conner, who had been watching the exchange silently. There was a flicker of something in Conner’s eyes—surprise, maybe? Or perhaps a quiet gratitude that Y/N had stepped in, that he understood without needing Conner to say anything.

For a moment, Y/N hesitated, feeling the weight of the unspoken between them. It was strange, this sudden need to make sure Conner was okay. Usually, they were too busy pushing each other's buttons, too wrapped up in their own frustrations. But now, seeing the vulnerability in Conner’s expression, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the tug of something... different.

“You good?” Y/N asked quietly, his voice low so the kids wouldn’t hear.

Conner blinked, as if caught off guard by the question. His eyes flicked from Y/N to Colin, then back again. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, though his voice was softer than usual, almost contemplative. “I’m fine.”

Y/N gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. He didn’t press further, didn’t want to push. Instead, he let the silence between them linger, a silence that felt strangely comfortable for once, even with all the chaos surrounding them.

For a split second, the air between them felt... less heavy. Less filled with the usual tension. There was no sarcastic retort, no biting comment. Just... an understanding.

But before either of them could dwell on the moment, CJ, ever the instigator, piped up with his usual boundless energy. “So, can we see the Batcave now?”

Batman’s stern voice cut through the room, as calm and composed as ever. “Later.”

CJ’s shoulders slumped dramatically. “Ugh, fine...”

After introductions were made, in true Batman fashion, he had DNA tests administered to confirm what Y/N, Conner, and all their friends already knew.

"The results are conclusive," Batman announced, his voice as stoic as ever. "Superboy and Y/N are both the paternal fathers to these children."

"Well, duh," Colin replied, rolling his eyes. "We told you that. But, what does paternal mean?"

"It means they're both our dads, dummy. And there's no need to be rude, Colin," CJ admonished, his tone exasperated. "It's not like we're lying."

"Stop calling me names! You're not the boss of me," Colin shot back, his cheeks flushing with anger.

"Actually, I am. I'm the oldest, so I'm the leader," CJ countered, his voice rising.

"No, you're not," Colin argued, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, I am," CJ insisted, his temper flaring.

"No, you're not," Colin repeated, his voice growing louder.

"Yes, I am!" CJ yelled, his voice matching his brother's volume.

"Boys," Y/N warned, his voice firm.

"Sorry, Papa," CJ and Colin replied, their voices instantly contrite.

"I can't believe this is my life," Y/N groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"It's not so bad," Conner offered, his tone surprisingly gentle. "At least they're not fighting anymore."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his face. “Fifteen hours ago, my life was normal. Now I have three kids from the future, and one of them’s trying to order around his brothers like he’s Batman.”

Superman chuckled warmly, offering Y/N a smile that somehow practically radiated paternal understanding. “It’s just the beginning, Y/N. You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

"You got a kid I don't know about, Clarkie?" Y/N responded with a raised brow.

Superman returned his own raised brow at the nickname. "Clarkie?"

CJ turned his head toward the two men. "He calls you that all the time. Though, you seem a lot more surprised and annoyed about it now than you do in the future."

Y/N groaned while Clark chuckled at the kid's sharp observation.

"If this is what my mother meant by my kid being the karma to me for what I was to her, I want a do-over."

"Too late for that," Conner remarked, his lips quirking into a small, amused smile.

"Would you hush?" Y/N grumbled, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

“Well, I can't wait to see how we survive this,” Wally chimed in, shooting a look at CJ and Colin. “I mean, you’ve got two kids who are basically replicas of their parents, with an equal level of emotional control. One's trying to play leader, and the other... well, let’s just say I’m seeing Conner 2.0 with a side of ‘no chill.’”

Conner shot Wally a flat look but remained silent, his arms crossed as he watched Camden poke and prod at Batman’s suit. The toddler was giggling uncontrollably, practically hanging off Bruce’s arm, tugging at his cape like it was a new toy. Meanwhile, Batman stood perfectly still, as if he didn’t even notice. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something—just a hint—that suggested he wasn’t exactly unhappy with the tiny human attached to him.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Y/N muttered, glancing at Bruce’s unflinching demeanor. “A kid hanging off Batman, and he’s... not scowling. And here I am, trying to make sense of how this is somehow my life now or going to be my life in the future.”

Zatanna stifled a laugh, leaning against the wall. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? One day you’re acting like the kid, and the next you’re trying to manage three kids.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Y/N responded, glancing down at CJ, who was still trying his best to act like the "responsible" one, even if Colin was clearly not having it.

Artemis smirked. “Maybe both. We could use the entertainment.”

Y/N groaned. “I’m not here to entertain, Artemis.”

“You’re doing a great job of it, though,” she shot back with a grin.

Just as Y/N was about to respond, the door slid open, and M’Gann entered the room, holding a tray of snacks. Her presence caused an immediate shift in the room’s atmosphere. She smiled, but it was tight, strained even, her eyes flicking toward Y/N and the kids with clear unease. “I, uh, brought these for the kids,” she said, her voice polite but distant.

CJ, who was always quick to pick up on tension, noticed M’Gann’s discomfort and shot a wary glance at his brother. Colin, oblivious as ever, simply perked up at the sight of snacks. “Snacks! Finally!” he shouted, taking a step toward M’Gann’s tray, only to be yanked back by CJ’s firm grip.

Colin pouted but didn’t argue, instead crossing his arms and muttering, “I hate it when he acts like he’s the boss.”

Y/N couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the exchange. “You’re not helping, CJ,” he muttered under his breath before his attention shifted back to M’Gann, who stood awkwardly near the doorway, the boys clearly unsure how to approach her.

Wally, noticing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “So, Camden looks pretty comfortable over there,” he quipped, gesturing toward the tiny toddler still clinging to Batman’s shoulder. “Who knew Bruce would be such a hit with kids?”

Camden giggled, poking Bruce in the cheek. “Bat Bat!”

Batman didn’t move, though Y/N could have sworn he saw the tiniest twitch of his lips. He wasn’t exactly scowling—and in Batman terms, that was practically a smile.

“I’ll be damned,” Y/N muttered. “Yeah, I’m definitely living in some weird alternate universe.”

M’Gann, however, remained tense, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. The kids seemed to pick up on her discomfort, and though Colin’s attention was still focused on the snacks, CJ’s eyes flicked nervously between her and Y/N. There was an awkward silence, the unspoken tension between M’Gann and the family hanging in the air.

Just as Y/N considered trying to say something, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, an intense, almost suffocating pressure filling the room.

"Ahem."

The weight of the room shifted, all eyes turning to Dr. Fate, his presence more imposing than ever with the golden cape draped over him, the helmet of Nabu gleaming ominously in the dim lighting. Giovanni Zatara's mortal voice was completely gone, replaced by the booming, ethereal tone of the Lord of Order. His deep voice reverberated off the walls, demanding attention.

"This situation is not to be taken lightly," Dr. Fate intoned, his words hanging heavy in the air. "The arrival of these children from a future timeline—brought here through magic—has the potential to disrupt the balance of time and space. The consequences of their presence could ripple through the past, present, and future, with devastating results."

The lighthearted energy in the room immediately deflated, the playful mood dashed away by Fate’s dire warning. Even Camden, perched on Batman’s shoulder, seemed to sense the seriousness of the moment, his babbling quieting as he curiously played with the pointed ears of Batman's cowl.

Superman’s easygoing smile faltered, his expression shifting into one of concern. “How bad are we talking?” he asked, his voice lower and more cautious now.

Fate’s helmet tilted ever so slightly, the glowing eyes narrowing. “Temporal magic is not only complex but perilous. The smallest disruption can lead to unforeseen consequences. The longer these children remain in the past, the more likely the timeline will fracture. Their very presence risks creating divergences—events that may never occur, or worse, events that should not happen but will.”

His gaze shifted to CJ, the weight of his words intensifying. “But of greater concern is the fact that a child of his age was able to perform such a powerful spell with no guidance or oversight from his father.” The glowing eyes behind the helm seemed to bore into Y/N, though the judgment lay with CJ. “No matter who taught him, such magic should not be wielded by one so young. It requires control, experience, and most importantly, restraint—qualities that take years, if not decades, to master. And yet, he succeeded in casting it.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his attention snapping to his son, who shifted nervously under Fate’s scrutiny. The weight of the implications settled over the room like a heavy fog. CJ, barely eleven, had performed a spell far beyond what should be possible for someone his age.

Fate’s voice remained steady, but there was a dark edge to it. “That a child of his age can even wield such power in casting a spell of that magnitude without proper teaching or supervision is concerning in itself. Magic of this level, cast without the necessary experience, is not only dangerous but reckless. The consequences of a misstep—of even the slightest deviation in its execution—could have been catastrophic.”

CJ bit his lip, his earlier enthusiasm fading under the weight of Fate’s words. He looked down, guilt flickering in his eyes, as Y/N’s stomach twisted with both concern and the unspoken pressure of responsibility.

Superman and Batman exchanged glances, the levity of the moment completely gone. Batman’s expression had hardened, though the toddler still clung to his shoulder, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“I didn’t mean to—” CJ began, his voice small, but Fate held up a hand, silencing him.

“Intent matters little when tampering with forces that defy time and space,” Fate continued, his voice resonating like an ancient echo. “The fact that you were able to do so speaks to an alarming raw power within you. A power that, without proper control, poses a threat to not only yourself but everyone around you.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, his heart heavy as he took in the full weight of what Fate was saying. His son—his eleven-year-old son—had tapped into something dangerous. And though Y/N had always known CJ had potential, this was... beyond anything he could have anticipated.

Fate’s eyes glowed even brighter, his voice growing more severe. “Raw power without discipline is more dangerous than any external threat. It is chaotic, unpredictable. You acted without full comprehension of the consequences, and that is not just reckless—it is irresponsible. Your abilities, if left unchecked, could tear the fabric of time itself.”

CJ’s shoulders hunched, his earlier confidence slipping away entirely. His eyes darted toward Y/N, then to the ground, his hands trembling slightly as he wrung them together. The weight of Fate’s words was pressing down on him, hard and unrelenting. He hadn’t meant to cause any harm, hadn’t realized just how dangerous his actions could be. The gravity of the situation—of potentially damaging the timeline and putting everyone he cared about at risk—was sinking in, fast.

Fate, however, didn’t let up. His voice echoed like thunder in the stillness of the room. “You are a child. A child with access to power that can upend entire realities. Do you understand the responsibility that comes with such abilities? You cast a spell beyond your understanding—beyond what should even be possible for someone your age—and in doing so, you’ve placed the timeline, and everyone within it, in jeopardy.”

Tears welled up in CJ’s eyes, his face crumpling as he tried to hold back the flood of emotions now overwhelming him. “I-I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to see you all... I just wanted to—” His voice broke, a sob escaping before he could stop it. He wiped at his eyes, trying to stay composed, but the guilt and fear were written all over his face.

Y/N’s heart clenched at the sight. Just the night before, he’d seen how worried CJ had been about messing things up, about somehow ruining the future for him and Conner. And now, Fate’s harsh words were doing exactly that—filling the kid with an unbearable sense of guilt. Y/N could feel it rising in him—an anger that came from a place deeper than usual, that soft protectiveness from before now something fierce he couldn’t ignore.

“That’s enough,” Y/N said, his voice sharper than anyone had heard it all day. He stepped forward, grabbing CJ and pulling the boy against him who immediately wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his side, desperately trying to hide his tears. “He’s just a kid, Fate. You’ve made your point.”

Colin made his way over to his brother to comfort him, a red hue in his irises as he looked ready to blow a hole through that helmet with his pointed glare at the sorcerer, matching the glowering expression on his father’s face as the Kryptonian also took his place beside the wizard and their two kids.

Fate’s glowing eyes bore down on Y/N, his voice unwavering. “A child or not, the consequences remain. The danger—”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, his entire body tense as he held CJ protectively against him. His tone, usually layered with sarcasm or lightheartedness even in stressful moments, was now razor-sharp, the edge of it cutting through the air. It was the kind of tone that made everyone freeze, even Batman, who stood stoic but noticeably more alert, his eyes flicking to Y/N as if assessing an emerging threat.

“A child or not?” Y/N echoed, his voice dropping into something deadly quiet. “He’s a kid. And you think berating him, making him feel like he's already damned the timeline to hell is helping? He’s eleven years old, Fate. Eleven. You might not care about that, but I do. And I’ll tell you this right now: you will not make him feel like a walking disaster just because he made a mistake.”

Fate, despite his unearthly power and presence, seemed to register the shift in the atmosphere. He held his ground but didn't move forward, the glowing eyes behind the helm unreadable. “I speak only of the risks—”

“And I heard you,” Y/N interrupted, his voice still steady but with a bite that could cut through steel. “We all heard you. Loud and clear. But let me make one thing perfectly clear to you: if anyone thinks for a second that they can make my son feel like he’s some kind of ticking time bomb, they’ll have to go through me first. I don’t care if you’re wearing the Helm of Nabu, a cape, or a bat on your chest—no one, and I mean no one, gets to treat him like that.”

There was a heavy pause, the weight of Y/N’s words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. Even Batman, who rarely showed hesitation or uncertainty, shifted slightly, his eyes flicking toward Superman as if silently communicating to be ready, just in case. Superman’s usually easygoing expression had hardened, though he was watching Y/N with a level of caution he typically reserved for far more volatile situations.

And Conner? His presence was something else entirely. If Y/N’s sharp, cutting words hadn’t been enough to put everyone on edge, Conner’s silent but simmering anger was enough to make the entire room feel ten degrees colder. His voice, when it came, was low—dangerously controlled. “You heard him,” he said, his hand resting protectively on the eleven-year-old’s shoulder. “He made a mistake, but he’s not going to stand here and be chewed out for something he didn’t fully understand. He’s our kid, Fate. Not one of your hosts that has to sit there and listen to you lecture them down.”

CJ looked up, eyes wide and brimming with tears, first at his dad and then at his papa. The anger in Conner’s voice wasn’t something he heard often—not directed like this. It was a quiet kind of anger, a controlled force that was all the more intense for how subdued it was. And that made CJ feel something else entirely: relief. Despite their obvious tense relationship in this timeline, his parents were standing up for him together, even in the face of someone as powerful as Fate.

Some things don't change even with time.

CJ sniffled quietly, his face still pressed into Y/N’s side, but it was clear the boy was taking comfort in the way both his parents stood there, a bit younger than he was used to, but still firm and unyielding. He knew the kind of power Dr. Fate held, knew that his presence alone could silence rooms, but right now, it was Y/N and Conner who were commanding the space.

Zatanna, Wally, Dick, Kaldur, and Artemis stood together, watching with bated breath as the tension in the room thickened. They had all felt a deep, instinctive protectiveness over these three since getting to know them—like an extension of their own makeshift family. But seeing Y/N and Conner, two of their closest friends, united in defense of their children? That was something else entirely. The raw intensity radiating from both men was a force of its own, sharper and more intimidating than any argument they’d ever had with each other. It was like watching two titans—formidable on their own—become unstoppable when their fury was aimed at a common enemy.

Even M’Gann, who had kept her distance from Y/N and the boys, couldn’t tear her eyes away. She crossed her arms, tension still visible in her posture, but the air crackled with something unspoken. Despite her unease, she couldn’t ignore the power shift happening right in front of them. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

Fate’s eyes glowed brighter, but there was a brief hesitation now, as if weighing the situation. Beneath the room's tension, he could feel it—a subtle but undeniable pulse of magic rising in Y/N, simmering just beneath the surface, like a storm waiting to break. The potential that had long been sensed in him, untapped yet dangerous, now crackled in the air around him. The last thing Fate wanted was to turn someone as powerful as Y/N—given how potent his son’s magic already was—into an adversary or even a rival.

“You misunderstand—”

“No,” Y/N cut in again, sharper this time, his hand tightening around CJ’s shoulder protectively. “You misunderstand. I won’t let you stand there and intimidate my kid, make him feel like he’s already done irreversible damage just because he wanted to see his family. I get it—you’re worried about the timeline. Guess what? So are we. But if you try to guilt him, shame him, or talk to him like a liability again, I promise I will show you just how reckless I can be with my magic.”

It was the threat in Y/N’s voice—delivered in a tone that wasn’t raised, wasn’t shouted, but was filled with so much venom—that made everyone pause. Even Batman, who rarely reacted to emotional outbursts, visibly tensed. Y/N’s presence right now wasn’t just a protective father; it was something else, something primal. A warning.

Fate, still unmoving, regarded Y/N for a long moment, the glowing eyes behind the helm unreadable. Finally, the Lord of Order spoke, though his voice had lost some of its earlier authority, now more measured. “The consequences remain, but I will refrain from further...discussion. For now.”

“You’ll refrain permanently,” Y/N shot back, the edge still there. “I’m not asking.”

Conner’s eyes flicked between Fate and Y/N, his expression still cold but tempered by a quiet pride in the way Y/N had stepped up. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Y/N to go full protective mode in a way that was somehow scarier than his own outbursts. But damn, was it effective.

After another long, tense silence, Fate finally stepped back, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as if in reluctant acceptance. “Very well. But understand this: time cannot be ignored. The longer they remain, the more unstable the timeline becomes.”

“Yeah, we get it,” Conner replied, his voice low but steely. “We’ll fix it. But don’t think for a second that we won’t protect them every step of the way.”

Fate’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before he turned away, his cape billowing as he floated back slightly, allowing the tension in the room to ease, if only by a fraction. Batman, still standing with Camden on his shoulder, exchanged a glance with Superman, made a motion for them to intervene now.

Superman cleared his throat softly, stepping forward with a more diplomatic tone. “Alright, let’s all take a breath. We’ve got a situation to handle, and we’re all on the same side here.”

Y/N didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on Fate for another moment before he finally exhaled, the tension in his posture easing as he turned his attention back to CJ, his voice softening instantly as he murmured to his son. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

CJ sniffled again, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, still clinging tightly to Y/N’s side. “I-I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, pulling him close. “I know you didn’t.”

Conner knelt down beside CJ, his large hand gently resting on the boy’s back. “You’re not in trouble,” he reassured him quietly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

CJ nodded, still visibly upset but calming under the combined presence of his parents.

And as the room began to shift back to a more measured tone, Y/N exchanged a glance with Conner, a silent understanding passing between them. For all their bickering and back-and-forths, they were united in this.

For now, at least, the storm had passed. But the underlying tension remained, and everyone in the room knew one thing for certain: you can poke at Y/N and Conner, but their kids? That was a line you should never cross.

After their little confrontation with Fate, and managing to calm CJ down enough, Y/N and Zatanna along with the eleven-year-old wizard headed off to their study to start doing research on the spell future Y/N created so they could send the kids back home. CJ was more than happy to be getting quality time with his magical father and aunt, completely forgetting his dour mood from before.

The rest of the group split off to the their own quests and whatnots while Batman and Fate stayed behind in the mission room to discuss a bit more. Meanwhile, Conner along with Colin and a giggly Camden who was now hanging off a Superman's shoulder, playing with his cape made their way to the lounge area so the kids could have some breakfast.

As they stepped into the living area, the atmosphere shifted slightly. It was still tense, but there was a quiet comfort that came with being away from the others, especially with the kids now more focused on food than the overwhelming situation they were all thrown into. Colin, his hair tousled and his eyes full of curiosity, plopped himself down at the dining table and immediately began stuffing his face with the nearest food he could find, which happened to be a stack of waffles. Camden, ever the cheerful toddler, giggled uncontrollably as he played with Superman’s cape, his tiny hands tugging at it like it was his new favorite toy.

Conner, however, was lost in his own thoughts. He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the kids. Colin’s carefree attitude was a stark contrast to the weight on his own shoulders, and he couldn't help but feel conflicted. It was strange—looking at these kids who were supposed to be his, knowing they came from a future that felt so far removed from his current reality.

Clark, noticing the heavy silence, walked over to the counter where Conner stood. His cape fluttered slightly as Camden continued to swing from it, but the Man of Steel didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered Conner a small, knowing smile.

“You seem quieter than usual,” Clark observed, his tone gentle but probing. “What’s on your mind?”

Conner let out a deep sigh, his gaze shifting to Camden, who was still laughing at Superman’s cape antics. “This whole thing... It’s just a lot to take in. I mean, I’ve barely figured out my own life, and now I’ve got three kids from the future showing up, acting like we’re some happy family.”

Clark nodded, his expression understanding. “It’s overwhelming, I’m sure. But they seem to know you—both of you—pretty well. You and Y/N. There’s... a lot of history there, and not just the tension we’ve all seen. There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Conner stiffened slightly at the mention of Y/N. He wasn’t ready to dive into that just yet, but Clark’s gentle prodding was hard to ignore.

“Yeah,” Conner muttered, his voice tight. “History.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “You want to talk about it?”

Conner hesitated, his arms uncrossing as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings, not even with Clark, but something about the situation—the kids, the unexpected future they were facing—made it harder to stay silent.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Conner admitted quietly, his eyes drifting to Camden, who had now taken a seat next to Colin and was trying (unsuccessfully) to eat a waffle without dropping syrup all over himself. “I mean... I had things figured out. M’Gann and I... We were good. Comfortable.”

Clark nodded slowly, letting him speak at his own pace.

“And then Y/N showed up,” Conner continued, his voice almost a whisper now. “Out of nowhere. And everything changed. I didn’t... I didn’t expect to feel anything for him. I thought I had my life planned out, you know? M’Gann and I... we were supposed to be the future. But then he came along and it was just...”

Clark’s gaze softened as he watched Conner wrestle with his thoughts. “Sudden?”

Conner nodded. “Yeah. And confusing. I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t even want to handle it.”

Clark remained quiet for a moment, letting the silence between them settle before he spoke again. “I know what it’s like to have everything you think you know shaken up. Feelings can be... complicated. And sudden, like you said. But that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

Clark remained quiet for a moment, letting the silence between them settle before he spoke again. “I know what it’s like to have everything you think you know shaken up. Feelings can be... complicated. And sudden, like you said. But that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

He paused, his gaze softening. "You know, when you first came into our lives, it was a shock—especially for me. No one expected it, the way you were discovered, and suddenly becoming a part of my life that I didn't know how to accept. And because of that, I wasn’t... exactly welcoming, was I?" Clark’s voice grew quieter, the regret in his tone unmistakable. "I didn’t handle it well at all. I remember Batman trying to have this talk with me about how I needed to be there for you, cause the transition you were going through was tough, but I didn't want to listen. It made me uncomfortable—angry even—and I let that get in the way of treating you the way you deserved."

Clark’s voice faltered slightly, the weight of those memories heavy. "I distanced myself. I barely talked to you, and when I did, it was cold, indifferent. And I know that hurt you. I can see now how much of a toll that took on you." He looked Conner in the eye, the sincerity in his expression clear.

Conner shifted uncomfortably at the memory, the wound of Clark’s initial indifference still raw even after all these years. His fists clenched slightly as Clark continued.

"And because of that," Clark added gently, "I pushed you away. I made you feel like you weren’t wanted, like you didn’t belong. That’s on me and I was wrong to do that. Now, this whole interesting scenario and being a witness to some of you and Y/N's expressive disagreements, I'm wondering if, in a way, you were doing the same thing to Y/N that I did to you." His tone wasn’t accusatory, but the weight of his words hung between them. "You and I... we’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? What I’m saying is, sometimes the most unexpected blessings come from the most unexpected places."

Conner’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting to the table where Colin was still busy devouring his waffles. The kid looked so carefree, so unaffected by the tension in the air.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Conner admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Being a dad... being with Y/N... It’s all too much.”

As if sensing the weight of the conversation, Colin paused mid-bite and glanced up at his dad and uncle.

Colin smiled, his eyes bright. "Dad, can I have some apple juice?"

Conner blinked, the question catching him off guard. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He turned, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with the apple juice from the fridge. He handed it to Colin, who took it eagerly.

"Thank you!" Colin chirped, taking a sip.

Conner watched Colin, his eyes narrowing as the boy eagerly drank his juice, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes. The kid was a near replica of Y/N—sharp features, the same mischievous grin, and that glint of playful defiance. But even with all of Y/N’s traits so clearly stamped on his face, Conner could see bits of himself too. In the way Colin held himself, a certain stubbornness, and the unmistakable spark of defiance in his eyes that promised trouble wherever he turned. The thought made him both proud, and a little nervous. It was like looking into a mirror, one that reflected not just his own past but Y/N's influence as well, creating something that was uniquely theirs.

As Conner’s thoughts swirled, Camden toddled over, his tiny feet padding against the floor as he made his way to his father. Without warning, Camden jumped up, grabbing onto Conner's arm with a delighted giggle. Conner caught him easily, his big hand wrapping protectively around his youngest son as Camden snuggled against him, giggling softly. The warmth of the moment momentarily pulled Conner out of his anxious thoughts, grounding him in the simplicity of Camden’s affection. Less than 24 hours and the move was almost instinctive—the way he cradled Camden close, his strong arms wrapping around the small boy like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Clark, standing nearby, observed the scene with a faint smile. The ease with which Conner held Camden, the tenderness in his normally stoic expression—it was a side of him Clark rarely saw. It was a glimpse of something deeper, something real and undeniable. "Well, I wouldn't use the word ready, seeing as you're still young and have a lot to learn, from this point of view, you seem just fine to me," Clark commented softly, his voice filled with pride and reassurance. Conner looked over at his mentor, the weight of his worries momentarily lifting as he realized, despite everything, this—being a father—might not be as overwhelming as it seemed.

Clark’s smile softened, and he straightened himself out from his crouched position over the counter, “No one’s ever ready. But that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of handling it. You’ve always been stronger than you think, Conner. And look at them—” He gestured to Colin and Camden, who were now both completely focused on the plate of food in front of them. “You’ve done something right if these two turned out this way.”

Colin, oblivious to the compliment, wiped syrup from his chin and glanced up again. “Dad, you think too much,” he said plainly, as if stating an obvious fact.

Conner blinked in surprise, and Clark let out a soft laugh. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

Colin, sensing he was being teased, shot a quick glare at his uncle before turning back to his plate. “Papa says the same thing. You’re always thinking and not saying how you feel. Maybe you should try that. Just... you know, say what you’re thinking.”

Conner stared at his son for a moment, the kid’s words sinking in. It wasn’t just a child’s naive observation—it was Y/N’s influence. Y/N had always been the one to push him, to force him to face things he didn’t want to. And now, even through their future children, that push was still there, urging him to stop hiding and start feeling.

“I’ll think about it,” Conner finally said, his voice softer now, more thoughtful.

Colin nodded as if that was enough, shoving another bite of waffle into his mouth.

Clark stood up, giving Conner a knowing look. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

Conner didn’t reply, but the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. For the first time since the kids had arrived, he didn’t feel completely overwhelmed. It wasn’t easy—nothing ever was when it came to his feelings, especially when Y/N was involved—but maybe, just maybe, he could figure it out.

The kids kept eating, and for the first time that morning, the tension in the air seemed to ease. There were still questions left unanswered, still emotions to sort through, but for now, Conner let himself breathe. Clark’s words, and Colin’s surprisingly wise insight, lingered with him.

Maybe he had been thinking too much. Maybe it was time to start doing.

Conner stood outside the study Zatanna and Y/N used to study and practice their magic, his hand hovering over the knob. He stood frozen just in front of the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he listened to the low murmur of voices from inside. His pulse quickened as he took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew he couldn't avoid Y/N forever, but the thought of facing him, of confronting the mess of emotions swirling in his chest, was almost too much.

It had been a few hours since his conversation with Superman and the advice from his middle son, and already it felt like his courage was slipping away, drowning under the weight of old insults, arguments, and uncertainty. The thought of facing Y/N, of peeling back the layers of resentment they had built up over time, felt like an insurmountable task.

He'd already been by 15 minutes earlier, coming to grab CJ so the kid could also eat before heading back to help his Papa and Aunt with the spell to return them to their original timeline. But something about seeing Y/N, the look he'd been giving him since this morning, made Conner hesitate in returning to the room to talk to him. There was an intensity in Y/N's gaze that rattled him—like the magic user could see right through him, past the facade of indifference, straight into the mess of emotions swirling beneath the surface. It wasn’t a glare, not exactly, but something sharper, more discerning. And it unnerved Conner in a way he wasn't used to.

Anger, frustration—those were familiar. He could work with those. They fueled him, gave him something to push against. But this? This nervous, anxious feeling? That was foreign territory. Normally, when he got anxious, he'd channel it into anger—yelling, snapping, getting into yet another argument with Y/N. But here, standing outside the door, knowing what he needed to do and how he should approach it... it made his stomach churn. Because as much as he hated to admit it, every time he reacted in anger, he realized it only proved Y/N right. And the last thing he wanted to do now was give the smart-ass a reason to smugly say "I told you so" over and over until who knows what end.

He may be irrational at times, but he wasn't dumb. And his pride could only take so much.

No, Conner needed to do this right. But how was he supposed to do that when it felt like his nerves were crawling under his skin, making it impossible to think straight?

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his nerves. Just as his hand tightened around the knob, ready to push the door open, his superhearing picked that moment to tune in on the conversation happening inside.

"Conner? Attractive?" Y/N’s voice cut through the muffled conversation, a sarcastic edge to his tone. "Yeah, I thought so. Once. You know, back before he treated me like I wasn’t worth his time. I don't understand how this seems funny to only me. How people can just… change their tune overnight. One day, I was just a nobody on the team to him, then when I start treating him the same way, suddenly, it's like I'm the only one on the team—but for all the wrong reasons."

Conner’s heart skipped a beat, his grip tightening on the knob, but he didn’t turn it. Instead, he leaned closer, his superhearing focusing in on the conversation and the harsh but strained sound of Y/N's words.

"Y/N..." Zatanna’s voice came through softly, as if she was trying to comfort him.

"No, seriously," Y/N continued, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You can't not admit how funny and ironic this whole situation is. Me and Conner, together? The universe could not come up with a more hilarious joke."

Conner froze at Y/N's words, his stomach knotting as he strained to hear more. His pulse quickened, the sarcastic bite in Y/N’s tone cutting deeper than he expected. That bitterness, though, the strain in it—that was what really threw him off. It wasn’t just sarcasm for sarcasm’s sake. It was the sound of someone who’d been hurt and was still trying to laugh it off, even when the pain was clearly bleeding through the cracks.

Inside, Zatanna’s voice came through, softer now but insistent, a mix of empathy and reason. “Y/N, come on. You’re not being fair to him—or to yourself. I know Conner wasn’t exactly Mr. Warmth when you first joined, but you gave it right back to him. And you have to admit, a lot of the time, you weren’t just defending yourself.”

Y/N snorted, and Conner could almost see the exasperation on his face. “Oh, really? What would you call it then, Z? I was supposed to just sit back and take it? Let him look through me like I didn’t exist? And then when I finally matched his indifference, suddenly, I'm the bad guy?” His voice grew more animated, like the floodgates of resentment had been opened. “I didn’t ask for any of this! I didn’t ask to feel anything for him. Hell, the attraction I had? I thought it was done the second he made it clear I didn’t matter. But then... now? When I’ve finally learned to put a wall up, he wants to start giving me these long and sad looks like I'm supposed to feel sympathy for him. Zatanna, we'd literally just got sidelined by Bats not even a few hours earlier because me and him could not stop fighting on the mission. Don't think I didn't see all of your tired and annoyed looks while me and him kept screaming at each other."

Conner’s stomach twisted painfully, a knot of guilt and frustration coiling tighter with every word. He wasn't even in the room and he could feel the weight of Y/N’s resentment settling on his chest, like Y/N was saying all of this directly to him, staring him straight in his blue eyes. It felt heavy and suffocating.

Hearing Y/N talk about his walls, about the way he felt forced to build them up—it stung in a way the Kryptonian wasn’t prepared for. He had always thought their arguments, their constant bickering, were just a reflection of their differences, not realizing how deeply he had hurt Y/N in the process.

Of course, this was the moment when he was reminded of Superman's words from before about how he’d treated him in the beginning when Dick, Wally, and Kal broke him out of Cadmus. It just made the sting feel worse, considering Conner knew exactly how Y/N was feeling because his mentor had once made him feel the exact same way, even if their circumstances were a bit different.

And now, to hear that Y/N had once felt something for him—attraction even—only to have it turn into this bitter, sarcastic shield... It made Conner feel like he had been blind to it all, and now he was paying for it, unable to untangle the mess he’d helped create.

Zatanna sighed. “I’m not saying he didn’t screw up, Y/N. We both know Conner can be... complicated, especially with his emotions. But you’re not being honest with yourself either.” Her tone was gentle but firm. “You built that wall out of your own fear too. You’re as stubborn as he is. He pushed you away, and you pushed back just as hard.”

Y/N groaned, clearly growing frustrated with the direction of the conversation. “Look, Z, I’m not saying I’m perfect, alright? But do you blame me? Every time I tried to be decent, I got shut down. Every time I tried to be patient, I got a door slammed in my face. And now—now we’re supposed to pretend like none of that happened? Like the past just doesn’t exist because we’ve got some kids from a future I can’t even picture?” His voice wavered for a moment, a crack in his bravado. “You, him, and everyone else must have a lot of faith in me if you think I want to sign myself up for something like that just because three little boys popped in from the future to tell us our fortunes! And you know what? You really shouldn't, because I don’t want to live in a world where I have to constantly wonder in the back of my mind if I’m worth someone’s time or if they’re suddenly going to change their tune at the drop of a dime because of this, that, and whatever the hell the third might be! I’m not going to live like that. And if that means walking away from all this, then so be it. The kids will get over it. Shoot, they won't even be here to see it!”

Conner’s hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles going white as Y/N’s words echoed in his ears. The frustration bubbled up inside him, twisting and coiling into something darker, something harder to control. Y/N’s dismissal of the kids—their kids, his sons—like they were some temporary nuisance, some fleeting inconvenience that would disappear once this whole mess was over, set Conner's blood boiling. He could feel the anger rising in his chest, threatening to burst out in a way that had always felt second nature to him, the way it always had when he and Y/N fought.

But this? This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just another fight between him and Y/N where they could trade barbs and insults like it was some kind of sparring match. No. Now it felt personal in a way that cut deeper than all their previous arguments combined. Y/N wasn’t just throwing him under the bus with his biting words and sarcastic remarks—he was dismissing the future that their kids came from, the life that, according to CJ, Colin, and Camden, they were supposed to build together. Y/N wasn’t just rejecting him. He was rejecting all of it—the family, the possibility, the kids—and that hurt worse than anything Conner had ever felt before.

He couldn’t tell if the anger in his chest was fueled more by his own pain or by the thought of the kids overhearing something like this. What would Colin think if he knew Y/N felt this way? The kid who loved his parents more than anyone. Or Camden? Did Y/N consider for one second how CJ would feel, knowing that boy practically looks up to and tries to follow every step his Papa takes? This would absolutely destroy all three of them, especially the oldest one. The thought of Y/N throwing them aside like a passing inconvenience tore at him, and Conner had to fight every instinct and nerve in his body telling him to march into that room and turn the whole conversation into an all-out brawl.

Inside, Zatanna’s voice softened, but there was a slight edge to it now, the first sign of her patience wearing thin. "Y/N... that's not fair to the kids and you know it. You already told me how CJ talked to you last night and how terrified he is of him and his brothers interfering. You know this will only break him. He, Colin, and Camden practically worship the ground you and Conner walk on. They didn’t ask for this any more than you did. And you’re right, you didn’t sign up for this, but you can’t just treat them like they're some temporary burden. They're your family too, no matter how far in the future it may be. You see how CJ looks up to you, how protective Colin already is of not just his brothers but his parents as well. A trait I'm sure he more than gets from his father. They’re real, Y/N, and they’re here. You can't just wish them away because you're scared of what this means for you and Conner."

There was a beat of silence, and Conner could almost imagine Y/N gritting his teeth, wrestling with the emotions he so desperately tried to hide behind sarcasm and bravado.

"Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to have my life turned upside down, Zatanna," Y/N shot back, his voice cracking just enough to betray the vulnerability underneath. "I didn’t ask for kids to show up and tell me I’m supposed to end up with someone who can’t stand me half the time! I didn’t ask to be put in a position where the second I feel like I can breathe, I’m right back at square one wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now."

Conner felt like he was suffocating, standing there just outside the door, torn between barging in and finally letting all the anger and hurt pour out or walking away before he said or did something that couldn’t be taken back. His heart hammered in his chest, the fury building alongside the urge to just smash something, anything, to release the pressure that was pushing down on him. But he couldn’t. Not like this.

Zatanna sighed heavily, the sound filled with both exasperation and empathy. "I get it, Y/N. I do. This situation isn’t fair to you. It’s a lot. And I don’t envy the position you’re in. But pushing Conner and the kids away isn’t the answer. You’re scared, and I get that too, but don’t let fear make decisions for you. You care about them—I know you do, even if you won’t admit it. And maybe—just maybe—you need to stop fighting against this so hard and try to see it from Conner’s side. You might find that you’re not as alone in this as you think."

Y/N let out a bitter chuckle. "Alone? You think I’m not alone? Have you seen how we’ve been? Every time I try to meet him halfway, I get shut down. Every single time. I’m done fighting for something that’s never going to work. He’s made that clear. Hell, if it weren’t for the kids being here, I wouldn’t even be considering any of this! Tell me, Z, in what world do you see me and Conner—two people who are always at each other's throats—sharing a bed for absolutely no reason at all. I'm surprised nothing in my room was broken or destroyed by the time the sun came up."

Conner’s jaw tightened. So that’s it, huh? The only reason Y/N was even still in this mess was because of the kids. That was the line. That was the breaking point. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the frustration turning to anger, sharp and hot. His vision blurred at the edges as he fought the overwhelming urge to kick the door down, to confront Y/N and make him understand how wrong he was.

But what would that solve? Another fight? Another shouting match that would just end with more resentment and more unresolved tension between them? He couldn’t do that again. Not now. Not after hearing everything Y/N had just said.

But walking away wasn’t an option either.

Zatanna’s voice softened again, but there was a weariness in it now. "Y/N, I get it. You're angry, you're hurt. But saying things like that—about the kids, about their future—it’s not fair to them or to yourself. You’re scared of getting hurt again, but pushing everyone away isn’t going to protect you. It’s just going to make things worse."

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other side of the door. Conner’s heart pounded in his ears, the conflicting emotions swirling inside him like a storm. Part of him wanted to scream, to let Y/N know exactly how wrong he was. But another part of him—the part that had heard the hurt in Y/N’s voice, the vulnerability behind the sarcasm—wanted to do something else entirely. Something that scared him just as much.

Before Conner could make a decision, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. He turned just in time to see Wally, Dick, and Artemis heading toward him. Wally raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between Conner and the closed door. "Uh... everything okay, man?"

Conner stiffened, his fists still clenched. "I... it’s fine."

Dick frowned, clearly unconvinced. "We need you in the mission room. Batman just got a hit on something. It’s big."

Artemis glanced toward the study door, her sharp eyes catching the tension in Conner’s stance. She gave him a knowing look before she stepped forward. "I’ll go get Y/N and Zatanna."

Conner wanted to protest, wanted to stop her, but he couldn’t find the words. Before he knew it, Artemis had already knocked and entered the room, leaving him standing there with his heart still racing and his mind still tangled in a web of conflicting emotions.

A moment later, Y/N emerged, his eyes immediately finding Conner's like a magnet. There was a flash of something in his expression, but it was gone before Conner could even begin to decipher it. Y/N brushed past him without a word, his shoulders tense and his jaw set.

Conner watched him go, the anger and frustration still simmering beneath the surface. And as they turned to leave for the mission room, the Kryptonian couldn’t help but glance toward Y/N in front of him, his retreating back a stark reminder of the distance between them. His anger hadn’t faded—it still simmered just beneath the surface—but there was something else now too. Something he couldn’t quite name. Something that made it impossible to walk away, no matter how much he wanted to.

And that scared him more than anything.

Batman’s gaze remained locked on the multiple video feeds displayed across the console, his usual stoic expression growing more grim by the second. "Late yesterday, our computers picked up on a surge of interesting reports," he began. "People reporting their cars stolen or missing, wild animal sightings, and sudden changes in temperature. At first, we thought they were isolated and random events. But we kept an eye on them just in case it turned out to be more."

Kaldur, ever the attentive listener, leaned in slightly. "They turned out to be more?"

"Much more," Batman responded, his fingers swiftly typing across the console to pull up a series of chaotic images and videos from Boston. The entire team turned to face the screens as footage of cars, objects, and even large pieces of buildings being torn apart and flung into the air played on the screen. More clips followed—animals that clearly weren’t native to the area running rampant through the streets, attacking anything in sight. The streets themselves seemed warped, as parks and intersections were transformed into different ecosystems—a tundra, a jungle, and even a volcanic landscape, each more out of place than the last.

"A small number of the Justice League was deployed early this morning to respond to these incidents," Batman continued, pulling up a map showing the spread of the chaos. "But the situation has only escalated. The environments are not only unstable, they’re... evolving. What started as small, localized disruptions has grown into widespread chaos. And they’re intensifying by the hour."

Artemis crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. "How bad are we talking?"

"Bad," Batman said, turning to face the team fully. "I believe the warning we received from Doctor Fate had more merit to it than we hoped." The mention of Fate caused a ripple of tension through the room. "He believes we’re dealing with an ancient magical anomaly, something that hasn't been seen in centuries, and that these chaotic events are due to the arrival of our... special guests." His eyes flicked briefly toward CJ, Colin, and Camden.

The kids stiffened at the mention, exchanging glances.

"Wait... you’re saying this is because of us?" Colin asked, his tone tinged with both confusion and worry.

Batman’s response was direct. "Yes. The random reports and strange events started just last night. We weren't aware at the time, but the beginning of these events coincides with the time you three arrived." His voice didn’t carry accusation, just facts. But the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

CJ’s expression remained strangely neutral, though Y/N noticed something in his son’s eyes—something like understanding, but not the kind of fear or confusion he would expect. Y/N’s gaze lingered on CJ for a moment, but he didn’t say anything.

"So, what do we do?" Conner asked, his expression hardening.

Y/N's eyes flicked to Conner, catching the hard edge in his voice, the tension unmistakable. It wasn’t just the situation weighing on him; there was something deeper, something personal brewing beneath the surface. And Y/N wasn’t the only one who noticed. Colin's gaze dropped, his usual mischievous energy dulled as the weight of responsibility settled on his young shoulders. CJ, however, remained quiet, still unreadable, though Y/N could feel the tension radiating from him like a coiled spring.

Batman didn’t miss the shift either. His voice remained calm, but there was an urgency to it now. "We need to stabilize the situation in Boston before it spreads. Many members of the Justice League haven’t reported back, and their silence is concerning. The biggest problem, though, isn't just the animals or the environmental disruptions." He pressed a button on the console, and the screen shifted to show a massive tear in the sky over Boston. A swirling, violent rift of dark energy hovered ominously above the city, crackling with magic. "A magical rift has opened, centered over Boston. That rift is the source of the anomalies."

The team stared at the image, eyes wide. The rift pulsed with a dark energy that made the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck stand on end just by looking at it.

"The entire Justice League was sent out to respond," Batman explained, "but we haven’t heard back from them for some time. There’s been radio silence from their end for the last thirty minutes."

"That’s not good," Dick muttered under his breath.

"No, it isn’t," Batman agreed. "I'm sending you all there immediately to investigate and intervene. But..." He turned his gaze to Y/N. "Zatanna will stay behind to continue working on the spell with CJ’s assistance. I believe sending them back home to their timeline may be the only way to stop these anomalies for good."

CJ’s expression remained passive, though Y/N noticed the way Colin stiffened at the mention of going home, his eyes wide and filled with guilt.

"We don’t want to mess things up," Colin whispered, his voice tight.

Y/N placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, this isn’t your fault, Colt. We’re gonna fix this."

Colin’s worried expression softened as a small smile crept across his face, and next to him, CJ’s lips curled into a matching grin. They exchanged a quick look before turning back to their father, the tension from a moment ago fading slightly. Y/N caught the change in their demeanor, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"What are you two smiling about?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious. Colin glanced at CJ before looking up at Y/N. "You called me 'Colt,'" he said, his grin widening. "That’s the nickname we came up with in the future. You always call me that." CJ nodded in agreement, his own smile reflecting the same fondness.

Y/N blinked at the revelation, a strange warmth spreading through his chest at the thought that, in some future timeline, he and Colin had this kind of bond. It felt oddly natural, like he was slipping into a role he hadn’t quite realized he was ready for. Colin and CJ were still smiling, their expressions lighter, and for a brief moment, Y/N let himself feel the weight of their affection. It was... nice, for a brief moment.

He opened his mouth to say something—maybe a teasing remark about how he should’ve guessed the kids would come up with such a cool nickname—but the seriousness of the situation quickly pulled him back. They were still in the midst of chaos, after all. His gaze shifted to the rest of the team, and that familiar, nervous tension returned to his gut.

Before Y/N could say anything further, Batman's voice sliced through the air, firm and commanding. "Alright, we can’t waste any more time," he said, cutting off any brewing conversations or potential arguments. "You'll be split into two teams based on your abilities. Here’s how this will work."

The room fell silent, everyone turning their attention to him. "Aqualad," Batman continued, locking his eyes on the Atlantean, "you’ll lead the first team to handle ground operations along with Superboy, Kid Flash, and Artemis. Your focus is handling the anomalies, managing the chaos, and protecting civilians. Also, locate any League members and assist them as needed. Keep them safe and minimize further damage. Use whatever resources you need."

The room remained tense as Batman continued, his gaze shifting toward Y/N. "Y/N, you’ll lead the second team with Robin and Miss Martian. Your task is to deal with the rift directly. It’s magical in nature, and based on what we know, you’re the only one with the necessary skills to close it. Miss Martian will assist with psychic communication, and Robin will handle any technical or tactical complications."

Y/N nodded, his expression serious. "Got it."

Before Y/N or anyone else could move, Conner’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unyielding. "No way. Y/N, you’re staying here with the kids."

Y/N blinked, standing up from where he knelt beside Colin, his brows knitting together. "Excuse me?"

Conner crossed his arms, his expression firm and unwavering. "You’re not going to Boston. You’re staying here."

Around them, the tension in the room skyrocketed. Zatanna and Artemis exchanged uneasy glances, while Wally shifted on his feet, clearly bracing himself. Everyone knew what was coming; the team instinctively prepared for another explosive clash.

Y/N narrowed his eyes, frustration building in his chest. "And why exactly would I stay behind when I’m one of the only people here who understands how to deal with magical threats?"

"Because I’m not letting you get caught in the middle of this while our kids are here!" Conner snapped, his voice rising.

Y/N’s jaw clenched. "I’m not some helpless bystander, Conner. I can handle myself, and right now, the rift is the priority."

"The kids are the priority!" Conner shot back, his eyes blazing. "I’m not letting you go out there and risk your life when our sons are—"

"Enough." Batman’s voice cut through the argument like a knife, sharp and commanding. He stepped between the two of them, his gaze stern. "Y/N is the only one who might be able to close the rift. His magic is directly tied to the arrival of CJ, Colin, and Camden. If the rift was caused by their presence here, then Y/N’s magic may be the only thing capable of closing it."

Conner glared at Batman, his fists clenched tight enough that his knuckles turned white. "Then I'm going with him."

Batman didn't flinch. His tone was calm but firm, the kind of authority that couldn’t be ignored. "No, you're not. You're needed on the ground, dealing with the environmental and animal threats. This is a magical anomaly, and the team needs someone with the expertise to handle that. That's Y/N."

"I'm not letting him go alone," Conner growled, taking a step forward as if challenging the decision.

Batman’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerously low register. "You're not the one who makes that decision, Conner. And Y/N won’t be alone. Robin and Miss Martian will be with him, along with any League members still on the scene. They'll ensure he has the support he needs."

Before Conner could respond, CJ stepped forward, tugging at his dad's arm. "Dad, it’s okay," he said, his voice steady in a way that was unnerving for a kid his age. "Papa's strong. He'll be fine. He’s got this." CJ’s quiet confidence washed over Conner like a calming wave, his blue eyes—so much like Conner’s own—looking up at him with unwavering trust.

Y/N noticed the subtle exchange, his gaze lingering on CJ. Something in the boy’s demeanor, that calm assurance, struck Y/N once again. But he held back from saying anything, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Conner, for his part, let out a deep breath, his posture softening slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Before anyone could take a step forward, a small voice broke through the tense silence. "Papa... Daddy..." Camden’s soft, trembling voice wavered as he looked between Y/N and Conner, his tiny hands clutching the hem of his father’s shirt. His wide eyes brimmed with tears, lip quivering as the realization settled in—both his parents were leaving. "No go," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "Stay wif me. No go."

Y/N immediately knelt down beside his youngest, his heart twisting at the sight of Camden’s tears. He reached out, gently cupping the little boy's cheek. "Hey, hey, it’s okay, Cam. Papa’s not going anywhere forever. We’re just going to fix the big problem, and then we’ll come right back. Okay?"

But Camden wasn’t having it. His small hands reached out, grabbing onto Y/N’s shirt as if to anchor him in place. "Noooo, Papa! No go! Stay wif Cam!" The words came out in hiccuping sobs, and before Y/N could even respond, Conner had already knelt down beside them.

"It’s okay, bud," Conner murmured, his voice softer than anyone had heard it in a while. He gently lifted Camden into his arms, holding him close against his chest. "We’ll both be back before you know it. Aunt Zatanna’s gonna take care of you while we’re gone, alright? You’ll be safe."

Camden buried his face in Conner’s neck, his tiny body shaking with sobs. "Nooo... wanna stay wif Daddy... Papa..." His babbles were barely coherent now, muffled by Conner’s shirt as his small fists clung to him.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the sight of Camden’s tears, the sound of his son’s soft sobs tugging at his heart in a way nothing else could. But he forced a reassuring smile, placing a hand on Camden’s back. "We’ll be back really soon, okay, Camden? Aunt Z can show you some new magic tricks while we’re gone. How does that sound?"

Zatanna stepped forward, her expression soft and understanding. She held out her arms toward Camden, her tone gentle as she addressed him. "Hey there, big guy. Why don’t you come hang out with me for a bit? We’ll have fun, I promise."

After a few more moments of coaxing from both his parents, Camden finally loosened his grip, his tear-streaked face still buried against Conner's shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, Conner passed him over to Zatanna, though the little boy still whimpered softly as she took him into her arms. "You’ll be okay, Cam," Conner whispered, brushing a hand through Camden’s dark hair before stepping back.

Y/N couldn’t help but watch the way Conner handled Camden, the tenderness in his touch, the quiet murmurs of reassurance, so different from the fire and stubbornness that had flared just moments ago. It was strange—how easily Conner shifted from the abrasive, hot-headed fighter to the soft-spoken, caring father. And despite all the chaos, despite the argument they’d nearly launched into, Y/N felt a tug of something deep in his chest. Fatherhood, it seemed, suited Conner more than Y/N would have expected. The Kryptonian’s natural protectiveness extended beyond just brute force; it was in the way he held Camden close, the way he whispered calm reassurances, like every word was meant to soothe the little boy’s fears. For a moment, Y/N almost forgot about the mission ahead.

He shook the thought away as Zatanna cradled Camden in her arms, the young boy finally quieting down, his hiccups slowing as Zatanna whispered softly to him. "I’ll keep an eye on them," she said to Y/N and Conner, her voice steady. "They’ll be safe here. Focus on what you need to do."

Y/N nodded, giving her a grateful look. "Thanks, Z." He turned to CJ and Colin, offering them a reassuring smile. "You two behave, alright? Help Aunt Z as much as you can."

CJ gave a small nod, his usual calm demeanor still present, though Y/N noticed the subtle determination in his expression. Colin, on the other hand, tried to put on a brave face, but Y/N could see the worry flickering in his eyes. "We’ll be okay," Colin said, though his voice wavered slightly. "Just... come back quick, okay?"

"Promise," Y/N replied softly, ruffling Colin’s hair before stepping back. He exchanged a final glance with Conner, their earlier tension still simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something unspoken between them—an understanding, however fragile, that they would both fight for their kids, for each other, even if they didn’t always agree.

Batman’s voice broke the moment, pulling them back to the task at hand. "Time to move. We’ve already lost too much time."

With a final look at his family, Y/N squared his shoulders and turned toward the zeta tube, the familiar swirl of light surrounding him as he prepared to confront the chaos in Boston.

The mission was a disaster before it even started.

The moment they arrived on the scene, it was like stepping into a nightmare—or worse, a magical hurricane on steroids. Boston wasn’t just in chaos; it was in pieces. Buildings hovered mid-air, entire streets warped into bizarre, shifting landscapes, and what looked like glowing neon vines were spreading across the city like it had been chosen as the set for an apocalyptic rave.

The team didn’t even have time to blink before they were hit with a wave of magical energy, the force of it sending shivers down their spines. Y/N, standing at the forefront, felt the familiar buzz of magic, but this was different. Wild. Unhinged. It was like a thousand magical threads all pulling in different directions, completely untethered. He could sense the power surging through the air, crackling with energy that had no business being there.

“What the hell is this?” Kid Flash muttered, staring at a car that was literally floating by like a balloon.

"Language," Robin chimed in, though he was just as unnerved.

Kid Flash shot Robin an unimpressed look. “Really? Now you’re pulling that?”

Robin gave a sheepish shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, force of habit. The kids, you know?"

Conner scanned the area, his jaw clenched. "This isn't just magic. It’s chaos."

Y/N grimaced, eyes narrowing. "It’s more than that. The magic from the rift is spiraling out of control and destabilizing everything. Warping reality all around us.”

"Three kids caused all of this?" Artemis asked, incredulous.

"Well, technically, they haven't been born yet," Kid Flash pointed out. "So, yep, sounds about right."

As they moved deeper into the city, it became clear that nothing was untouched by the rift. People ran through the streets, some of them glowing as if they'd been hit with magical radiation, others transforming into strange, otherworldly creatures. One moment, a guy sprinted past them, looking normal enough—until he sprouted wings and took off into the sky like it was a completely rational thing to do on a Tuesday morning.

“Is that dude... part bird now?” Kid Flash asked, not even bothering to mask the disbelief in his voice.

Y/N watched with a mix of panic and fascination. “Yeah, it looks like it. That’s the kind of magical chaos we’re dealing with. Try to keep up.”

The air crackled again, and with each step closer to the rift, the environment shifted more dramatically. It wasn’t just the people being affected—entire blocks were freezing over in seconds, only to melt and turn into jungles or deserts moments later. One building seemed to be trapped in time, flickering between its current state and what looked like a medieval fortress.

It was like reality itself had been thrown into a blender, and someone had hit the highest speed setting.

Aqualad’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and focused. “We need to split up now! Artemis, Kid Flash, Superboy—fan out. We need to get people to safety and keep a lookout for any members of the Justice League. Y/N, Robin, Miss Martian—head for the rift. We’ll cover your flank.”

Superboy hesitated, his gaze lingering on Y/N as he nodded. There was something in Conner’s eyes—concern, frustration, maybe both—but Y/N couldn’t focus on that right now. He had his task, and the last thing he needed was to get distracted by Conner’s protective streak. Conner opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but Y/N gave him a quick, determined nod before heading off toward the rift with Robin and Miss Martian in tow.

The team split off, each group moving with purpose through the chaotic cityscape. Superboy’s fists clenched as he watched Y/N disappear into the swirling madness ahead. "Be careful," he muttered under his breath, though Y/N was already too far to hear it.

As Aqualad led the others into the thick of the chaos, they dodged bursts of energy and tried to maintain a safe path for the civilians. Kid Flash darted from person to person, grabbing anyone who looked even remotely human and speeding them to the nearest shelter that wasn’t floating or shifting between realities. “Dude, this is like a magical acid trip gone wrong,” he muttered, dodging a glowing tree root that suddenly shot out from the ground.

“Stay focused, Kid,” Aqualad called over his shoulder. “We need to find the rest of the Justice League.”

Artemis fired a volley of arrows, knocking aside a swarm of neon-colored birds that were swooping down toward the civilians. As she reloaded, she glanced over at Superboy, who was busy punching a giant, glowing slug-like creature into the pavement. She watched as he ripped a car door off with far more force than necessary, letting the terrified people inside scramble out. "Hey, Supey, you doing okay?"

Superboy grunted, his fists clenching as the creature writhed beneath him. "Fine."

But he wasn't fine. Not even close. Every punch he threw was fueled by more than just the chaos around them. It was the gnawing worry at the back of his mind—twisting tighter with each passing second. The rift, the magic, Y/N out there somewhere—too close to the danger, too exposed. And then there was the conversation he'd overheard earlier, still simmering beneath the surface like a hot ember he couldn’t put out. Every word Y/N had said, the sarcasm and bitterness, how he had basically dismissed everything that had happened like it was nothing, felt like salt in an open wound.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen, and the thought of being away from Y/N while he faced that rift felt like trying to fight with one arm tied behind his back. Worse, part of him was still angry—angry at Y/N for throwing up those walls, for acting like none of it mattered. But what made it worse was that Conner couldn’t tell if he was more furious at Y/N or at himself for not realizing how deep those scars ran.

His anger and worry mixed into a volatile blend, and every punch, every kick was a release he desperately needed. But none of it made him feel better.

"You sure?" Artemis pressed, her tone cautious as she loosed another arrow. "Because you seem a little tense."

"I'm fine," Superboy repeated, though his jaw tightened with each word, his voice a little more clipped than before. He slammed the slug creature into the ground again, more aggressively than necessary, trying to focus on the task at hand. But no matter how hard he hit, it didn’t stop the weight pressing on his chest—the same weight that had settled in the moment Y/N disappeared into the chaos.

Conner just wanted to get this over with, to punch his way through every problem and make sure Y/N was okay. But magic wasn’t something he could punch. And that made him feel powerless. Useless.

"Uh-huh." Artemis wasn’t convinced, but she knew better than to push him when he was like this. She pulled back another arrow, this time aiming for a cluster of glowing tentacles slithering toward a nearby building. But she could see the tension in Conner’s stance—the way his fists stayed clenched even when there was nothing left to hit. He wasn’t fine. He was worried.

Meanwhile, Y/N’s team moved swiftly, the eerie glow of the rift growing stronger with every step. The air was thick with magic, the kind that sent chills up Y/N’s spine. He could feel it as they got closer—something ancient, powerful, and very, very angry. The energy was wild, and the closer they got, the more erratic it became. Sparks of light crackled in the air, and the ground beneath them shifted as if reality itself was struggling to hold together.

“We’re close,” Robin said, his eyes scanning the distorted environment with a mixture of curiosity and unease. “But, is it just me, or does something feel really off? It feels like…”

“Like we’re being watched,” Miss Martian finished, her voice steady but tense. She hovered a little higher, her green skin glowing faintly as she reached out with her mind, trying to get a sense of what was ahead. But she quickly pulled back. “There’s something... someone near the rift. I can’t tell who, but their presence is overwhelming.”

Y/N's heart raced as the sensation grew stronger. He felt the energy around him tightening, like a binding rope or python trying to squeeze him. “Whoever—or whatever—it is, they’re using the magical energy from the rift to fuel themselves. We need to be ready for anything.”

He could feel his own magic stirring, a rush of energy he didn't recognize but still somehow felt humming through his veins. It was a strange sensation, like a muscle flexing, preparing for a fight. His fingers tingled, and the air around him seemed to shimmer, almost imperceptibly.

"I can feel it," Y/N murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "The energy. It's... it's like nothing I've ever felt before."

Robin frowned, his eyes darting around the area. "That's not good, is it?"

"Nope, probably not," Y/N answered.

The closer they got to the rift, the more oppressive the energy became, like walking through thick, suffocating fog. The sky above them was torn open, swirling with dark, crackling energy, but it wasn’t just the rift that was the problem anymore. The presence Miss Martian had sensed—it was stronger now, looming over them like a shadow just out of reach.

As they approached the clearing near the rift, the ground shifted again, this time pulling away as if something massive was displacing the air itself. The sky above them darkened, the swirling mass of the rift glowing with an intense, unnatural light. And that’s when they saw him.

Y/N’s breath hitched as a figure began to emerge from the rift, hovering above the ground. At first, it was just an outline, a silhouette against the chaotic sky, but as the glow of the rift illuminated it, their worst fears were realized. Cloaked in dark, swirling magic, Superman floated in the air, his eyes glowing an unnatural, eerie green.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong. His normally calm and composed face was twisted in a snarl, his eyes glowing with that eerie, unnatural glow. Tendrils of dark energy spiraled around him, almost like chains, binding him to the rift.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Oh no...”

Superman’s gaze locked onto them, but it wasn’t the familiar gaze of the Man of Steel. It was something else—something darker. And then, as if pulled by some unseen force, Superman’s attention shifted directly to Y/N.

Without warning, he shot toward them like a bullet, fists clenched, eyes blazing with magical energy. Y/N barely had time to react, throwing up a protective shield just as Superman’s fist collided with it, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. The force of the impact knocked Y/N back, his shield flickering as he struggled to hold it in place.

“Uh, guys. I think something's wrong with Superman,” Robin yelled, eyes wide with shock.

"Oh really, you think so?" Y/N shouted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I couldn't tell!"

Miss Martian, her eyes glowing white, tried to reach out to Superman, hoping to break through the haze of magic. But, the moment she touched his mind, she recoiled, her expression pained. "It's like his mind is screaming. I can't get through."

Y/N gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he held up the shield.

“Y/N, can you—?”

“Working on it!” Y/N grunted, his magic straining against the overwhelming power of Superman’s attack. He could feel the dark energy coiling around Superman, like some kind of dark spirit or entity was latched onto him, controlling him. And worse—it looked like it was focused solely on the young magic user.

The rift above them pulsed violently, feeding the entity’s strength as it drove Superman forward again, his fists glowing with that same dark energy. Y/N braced himself, sweat trickling down his forehead as he prepared for another onslaught.

But, before Superman could strike, a blur of black and red shot past, tackling him mid-air with an angry shout.

Superboy.

The half-Kryptonian slammed into Superman, the force of his impact sending both Kryptonians crashing into a nearby building. The structure shook, but thankfully it held. Superman barely seemed fazed, his glowing eyes snapping toward Superboy as he regained his balance mid-air. The tendrils of dark energy flickered around him like an agitated beast, coiling tighter as if preparing for another assault.

Superboy landed in front of Y/N, fists clenched, his breathing heavy. His jaw tightened, his gaze locked on Superman, who was hovering ominously above them. "Stay behind me."

He didn’t even flinch as Superman’s eyes narrowed, a fresh wave of dark energy coiling around him. But Y/N was already bristling, his frustration bubbling over. “Are you insane?!” Y/N snapped, scrambling back to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger. “Do you know what you just did?”

Superboy didn’t tear his gaze away from Superman, his muscles coiled like springs ready to launch again. “Yeah, I saved your behind.”

“No, you didn’t!” Y/N’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp with anger and panic. “You’re supposed to be with Aqualad, helping the others! Not throwing yourself into a fight you cannot win. Superman’s juiced up with magic, Conner—he’s stronger than ever. You’ll get yourself killed!”

Superboy’s eyes flared, his own frustration boiling over. “And what, I’m supposed to just stand by and let you handle this alone? I’m not leaving you out here to face him by yourself!”

“I’m the one who can actually deal with this!” Y/N snapped, his fists clenched in frustration. “You’re only making it harder! I swear, you pull this stunt every time.”

“What, care about you?” Superboy shot back, his voice strained with a mix of anger and desperation.

“No, you put yourself in danger because you think you have to protect me,” Y/N hissed, his eyes flashing with fury. “Like I can’t handle it.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so reckless and actually stayed at the Cave like I told you, we wouldn’t even be in this mess!” Superboy countered, his jaw tightening as his temper flared.

“Who do you think you are?” Y/N scoffed, his frustration peaking. “And I’m not the one who just launched myself at a possessed Superman. You do realize that’s the textbook definition of reckless, right?”

Superboy’s growl deepened, his fists clenched so tight they trembled. He stepped closer to Y/N, frustration etched in every line of his face.

“If you two lovebirds are done, we’ve got bigger problems,” Robin cut in sharply, his voice tinged with urgency.

Y/N and Superboy froze mid-argument, their eyes snapping up toward Robin. Whatever anger had bubbled between them fizzled away as they realized what he was pointing to.

Superman hovered menacingly above them, his eyes glowing an even more vivid, unnatural green. Tendrils of dark energy coiled around his body like a living shadow, pulsing with an eerie power. His once-familiar face was a mask of pure malice, the heroic expression they knew replaced with something far more dangerous—predatory. His gaze locked onto them with a chilling intensity, his posture tense, ready to strike.

“Focus, guys,” Miss Martian urged, her voice tight as she floated beside them. “He’s about to attack.”

Superboy’s jaw tightened, and Y/N’s heart raced. Whatever had taken hold of Superman wasn’t letting go, and it had them squarely in its sights.

Back at the Cave, the quiet hum of the lights overhead was the only sound filling the air as Zatanna sat with CJ and Colin, keeping a watchful eye on the youngest Kent. Camden was currently asleep on one of the couches in her and Y/N’s study, wrapped in a blanket. It had taken some time to calm him down, especially since he had gotten more antsy after not being able to see Conner and Y/N before they left, but CJ had been a big help.

Speaking of CJ, Zatanna, ever perceptive, had noticed the strange and quiet behavior from the oldest Kent, something that Y/N had picked up on as well before they left for Boston. Y/N had even reached out through their magical connection, asking her to check on CJ and make sure everything was okay. There was something about the way he acted—like he knew something the rest of them didn’t.

“CJ, is there something on your mind?” Zatanna’s voice was soft, coaxing without pressuring.

CJ, sitting beside her, barely glanced up from his phone, his expression guarded and unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Zatanna offered him a kind smile. “You’ve been pretty quiet since the others left. Is everything alright?”

He hesitated, a flicker of conflict crossing his face before he sighed softly. “I’m fine. Just... worried about Dad and Papa.”

Zatanna watched CJ closely, noting the way his eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place—hesitation, maybe. There was something more behind the boy’s silence than just the usual concern for his parents.

"Your fathers are strong, you know that, right?" Zatanna offered with a warm smile, hoping to ease whatever tension was weighing him down. "Whatever they're facing, they’ve got each other and the team to back them up."

CJ nodded, but it was clear her words weren’t doing much to lift the cloud hanging over him. His fingers drummed lightly against his phone, his eyes distant. "I know they’re strong. I'm not really worried about that," he muttered.

Zatanna leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed. "Then what are you worried about, CJ?" Her tone softened further, sensing there was something deeper at play. "You’re holding something back, I can tell. If you’re worried about more than just the fight, you can talk to me. I’ll keep it between us."

CJ glanced at Colin, who had been quietly sitting cross-legged on the floor. The younger boy looked equally conflicted, like he knew exactly what CJ was thinking but wasn’t sure how to express it. After what felt like forever, CJ sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not the fight. Not really."

Zatanna waited patiently, giving him the space to continue.

"It’s just... the green lady," CJ said, his tone carrying more weight than she expected. "I don’t trust her. Neither of us do."

"The green lady?" Zatanna’s confusion was brief before realization dawned. "You mean M’Gann?"

Zatanna’s mind raced as she connected the dots. She had noticed it too—the way the boys interacted so easily with most of the team. They had a natural rhythm and rapport with nearly everyone, treating them like family. To them, everyone was either an Aunt or Uncle. They were always joking with Dick and Wally, learning fighting moves from Kaldur, and laughing at Artemis’ stories. Even their comfort around Superman and, surprisingly, Batman had caught Zatanna's attention. They had slipped into these relationships as if it was second nature.

But with M’Gann, it had been different. The boys were distant, almost cold, and while M’Gann wasn’t unfriendly, she too seemed hesitant. Zatanna had chalked it up to natural awkwardness, considering their sudden appearance, but now, hearing CJ refer to her as "the green lady" in such a cold tone, it was clear something deeper was going on.

"I’ve noticed you two keep your distance from her," Zatanna said carefully, studying both CJ and Colin’s faces. "And... she tries to get close, but there’s always some wall. Do you mind telling me why?"

CJ glanced at Colin again, and this time, it was Colin who spoke, his voice soft but steady. "She’s... different where we’re from. Really different."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow slightly. "Different how?"

CJ shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping to his hands. "She... doesn’t like us much. Not really. She doesn’t like the idea of Dad and Papa together, and she’s—" He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words without revealing too much.

"She tries to keep them apart," Colin finished quietly, his eyes trained on the floor. "She says things, does things... to make them fight sometimes. We’ve seen it."

Zatanna frowned, her heart aching at the weight these boys were carrying. She leaned in a little closer, her voice gentle but firm. "That sounds... complicated. But remember, this is a different timeline. People here aren’t the same as the ones you know. You’ve seen that, right?"

Colin nodded, but his eyes remained downcast. "We don’t mean to be mean, but she’s very different from the one we know with our parents. We’ve tried to find ways to tell Dad and Papa... but we don’t know how. Every time we try, something stops us. It feels like something is stopping us from interfering, and I don’t know how to make them see what we see." His voice cracked slightly, and he glanced at CJ for support.

CJ picked up where his brother left off, his voice steady but filled with frustration. "The M’Gann from our timeline, she’s... worse. She always tries to come between our parents, always messing things up for them. Sometimes she makes them fight each other. We’ve seen her do it so many times, and it always makes Papa and Dad upset. Sometimes at each other."

Zatanna’s eyes widened slightly, the pieces falling into place. "So, that’s why you two act so strange around her. You’ve been calling her 'the green lady' because you don’t trust her."

CJ nodded again, his expression darkening. "Every time I look at her, I see everything she did to hurt them in our time. And now, with us here, it feels like we’ve managed to do the one thing she’s been trying to do for as long as I can remember—keep them apart. What if we really messed things up? What if Papa never forgives Dad for everything that happened? I see how Dad looks at Papa, but... it doesn’t feel like Papa feels the same way. Especially when Dad’s around. It scares me. Like we’ve made things worse, just by being here."

Zatanna sighed softly, her heart aching for the boys. She could see how much they were carrying—fear, guilt, and the heavy burden of a future they weren’t supposed to interfere with. She knew they were holding back more than they were saying, but she also knew the dangers of knowing too much about the future. They were in a precarious spot, balancing on the edge of what they could share and what had to be kept hidden.

“CJ, Colin," she began gently, leaning forward to meet their eyes, "you’re not responsible for your parents’ lives. It’s easy to think that because you’ve seen so much, but love is complicated. There’s a lot of history between your Papa and Dad—some of which you haven’t seen yet, and some you might never need to see. What matters now is that they’re both strong, and they’re both fighting for what’s right. You being here... I don’t think you’ve ruined anything. If anything, I think you've actually opened their eyes.”

Before they could respond, the air in the room shifted—a crackle of magic filling the atmosphere, a familiar, tingling sensation that made Zatanna straighten immediately.

The atmosphere grew thick with energy, and a bright light bloomed in the corner of the room, just like when the boys first arrived—though this time, it was focused in one spot, far more controlled than the chaotic arrival from before. Zatanna’s senses heightened immediately as she recognized the magical aura, though there was something different about it. It was familiar, but stronger, more commanding, like CJ’s presence magnified, though this one carried with it a weight of experience.

As the light dimmed, Zatanna turned around, her eyes widening at the sight of two figures standing in the room—one taller, broader in the shoulders, still wearing a shirt that looked a size too small, while the other carried the same mischievous glint she knew all too well, tempered now by time and wisdom. Her breath caught in her throat as CJ and Colin’s faces lit up with pure joy.

“Zatanna, are you telling my kids stories again?” His voice was unmistakable, carrying that signature teasing, sarcastic tone.

"You are such a freaking idiot."

The words came out in stuttered breaths, each one sharp and ragged as Y/N lay pinned beneath the weight of Conner. His chest heaved with exhaustion, every breath a reminder of the strain his magic had taken on him during the battle. Conner didn’t move, his broad form pressing down heavily against Y/N, arms still wrapped protectively around his middle as though the fight wasn’t over yet. His grip was firm, almost too tight, as if letting go would mean surrendering Y/N to the chaos that had just unfolded.

They were both breathing hard, lungs burning as they tried to recover. The wreckage of the building around them was a brutal reminder of what they had just been through. The entity that had possessed Superman had been relentless, breaking free from the rift, driven by an insatiable hunger for power—magic, specifically. It had been searching for the source, seeking something ancient, something it believed would restore it to full strength. It had sensed CJ’s magic first, the magic that had torn the rift open. But when it found Y/N’s magical presence, something familiar, it zeroed in on him with a terrifying, singular focus.

Y/N could still hear the chilling words the entity had spoken through Superman’s lips, his voice distorted and twisted with malevolence:

"Ah, now it makes sense..." The entity’s voice slithered out of Superman’s mouth, twisted and unnatural, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine. "The power I felt... that magic I sensed, so potent, so ancient... it called to me, even from within my prison. A power like that could only belong to someone with blood like yours." The entity's voice dropped, dripping with venomous amusement, each word laced with a cruel edge. "Yours is different from what I felt before... refined, controlled. But the first pulse I sensed was raw, untamed—much like you once were. A child, then. A child with blood like yours."

Superman’s—no, the entity’s—eyes gleamed, glowing with an eerie green light, filled with a malice that made Y/N’s stomach churn. "Your child, I assume. Familiar, yes... a direct descendant. How fitting." The thing let out a low, sinister chuckle that felt like nails on glass. "I will enjoy watching your line fall. I’ve waited so long... and today, both you and your whelp will suffer for what was taken from me. What your bloodline stole so long ago will finally be mine again."

The words hung in the air like a curse, dark and twisted, and Y/N felt his heart lurch in his chest. His hands shook, both with fear, but also a surge of protectiveness so strong it nearly overwhelmed him. He’d known CJ and Colin for less than 24 hours, but the very idea of anything harming them lit a fire inside him that burned brighter than any magic he’d ever wielded.

His jaw clenched, his breath quickening as he stared down this ancient evil wearing Superman’s face. The entity’s words echoed in his mind, its chilling threat against CJ ringing louder than the chaos of the battle around him. His magic flared to life, sparking at his fingertips. Not his kids. Not today.

Y/N wasn’t ready to be a parent—hell, he wasn’t sure he ever would be—but that didn’t matter right now. This thing, this twisted, malevolent force had come here looking to destroy his child. And no matter how outmatched he was, no matter how much stronger this entity might be, Y/N wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d take on anything—demons, gods, even Superman himself—if it meant protecting CJ.

"You’re not touching him," Y/N growled, his voice low and dangerous. Magic surged around him, crackling like wildfire. "I don’t care what you think you’re owed. You’re not getting past me."

Even as the odds stacked against him, Y/N felt something unshakable in his core. A new kind of strength, one that didn’t come from spells or incantations. It came from the protectiveness he felt for his son—the child who had come from some future he barely understood but who he was already willing to lay everything on the line for.

The entity grinned, the malice in its expression deepening. "Brave words for a dead man. You will watch your child fall before I take you next."

Y/N didn’t respond, his entire focus shifting to the battle ahead. His fear was there, gnawing at him, but so was something more powerful. For CJ, Colin, and Camden—for his sons—Y/N would fight until his last breath.

The battle had been nothing short of a nightmare, each moment a desperate attempt to stop the possessed Superman while keeping the team safe. Y/N had thrown every ounce of magic he had into protecting them—shields, energy blasts, containment spells—but none of it had been enough. The entity had twisted Superman’s powers, amplifying them with its own dark energy. Magic that would have at least slowed Superman down had no effect. And if they hadn’t been able to handle Superman without magic, how could they hope to stop him with it?

Still, it hadn’t stopped Conner. He fought like a man possessed himself, throwing everything he had between Y/N and the corrupted Kryptonian. Blow after blow, Conner absorbed the hits, bloodied but undeterred, keeping Superman distracted just long enough for Y/N to work out a plan. The rest of the team, alongside a few Justice League members Aqualad and the others had managed to find, had joined the fray. They'd been overpowered early on, knocked out when the entity first took control. The dark magic amplifying Superman’s abilities had caught them completely off guard.

But he never wavered.

Y/N quickly realized that fighting head-on would be a losing game. The entity's power, amplified by Superman’s, was far too overwhelming. But the rift—the thing that had brought it here in the first place—was still open, pulsating with chaotic energy, tearing the fabric of reality apart. That was when Y/N knew what had to be done. If he could close the rift, the entity would lose its anchor to this dimension. And with any luck, that would drive it out of Superman’s body.

It was a gamble, and a long shot at best.

Throwing himself into the task, Y/N channeled every ounce of magic he had left, weaving a spell to close the rift. The entity sensed it almost immediately. It directed Superman’s relentless attacks toward Y/N, trying to stop him. But Conner—bruised, battered, yet still standing—fought tooth and nail to keep Superman at bay, taking hit after punishing hit to buy Y/N just enough time.

Y/N could still feel the power surging through him, every part of his body alight with the energy required to seal the tear in reality. But it drained him. The spell needed everything he had, and in those final moments, just as he forced the rift to close with a deafening crack, he felt his consciousness slipping away. The world blurred, the sounds of battle fading as he fell from the sky, too exhausted to keep himself afloat.

That was when Conner leaped. He caught Y/N mid-air, his powerful arms wrapping around him as they fell into the wreckage of the collapsing building below, shielding him from the worst of the impact.

The rift sealed, and with it, the entity’s hold on Superman shattered. It was pulled back into the prison from which it had escaped, leaving Superman himself unconscious but finally free from its control.

And now, here they were—lying in the rubble, both too exhausted to move, trying to catch their breath. Y/N groaned again, the full weight of Conner pressing down on him, his body too heavy and too warm against Y/N’s aching frame.

"You do realize you're crushing me, right?" Y/N rasped out, each word strained and breathless, still pinned under Conner’s weight. His chest was heaving, trying to catch up with the breath that had been knocked out of him. Conner, on the other hand, didn’t budge. His arms remained locked around Y/N, his breath still hot against Y/N’s neck, and while the battle was over, it felt like the two of them were still fighting... something.

"Don't care," Conner murmured, his voice rough and strained. "You're not going anywhere."

Y/N groaned, the exhaustion creeping into his bones, mixing with the heat of Conner’s body pressing against him. "Dude, in case you didn't notice, the fight's over and you're kind of heavy. Please, get off me," he managed to huff between labored breaths.

Conner made no move to shift. "You’re fine," he said, though the protective edge in his voice didn’t waver. His arms still refused to let go, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of Y/N slipping away, even for a second.

"Seriously, man, I’m suffocating here." Y/N squirmed a little, not so much because he couldn’t breathe, but because the warmth and proximity were... uncomfortable. Not physically, but in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about. "Get off already."

"No." Conner’s voice was unyielding, a stubborn refusal that sent an involuntary shiver down Y/N’s spine.

"Are you serious right now?" Y/N craned his neck to glance at him. "This is ridiculous."

"I’m serious," Conner replied, his voice low. "I’m not moving until I’m sure you’re okay."

Y/N narrowed his eyes, irritation flaring up despite the exhaustion. "I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I? Now get off me before I hex you into next week."

Conner snorted softly, but his grip still didn’t loosen. "Like I’d let you."

Y/N bristled at the arrogance in his tone, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was hammering a little too fast. "What’s your deal, huh? Why are you always trying to play hero?"

"I’m not—" Conner’s voice was rough, and he shifted just enough to catch Y/N’s eyes. "I’m not trying to be a hero. I’m just trying to keep you safe."

Y/N’s temper flared at that. He shoved at Conner’s chest, trying to push him off, but of course, it was like shoving a brick wall. "I don’t need you to keep me safe, Conner. I’m not some fragile little flower. I’ve been dealing with stuff like this long before you ever decided to—"

"That’s not fair," Conner cut him off, his voice hardening. "You’re the one who’s always putting yourself in danger. What am I supposed to do, just sit around and wait for you to get hurt?"

"I can take care of myself," Y/N snapped, eyes flashing. "I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me. I’m not a damsel in distress."

"That’s not what I’m saying—"

"Then what are you saying?" Y/N challenged, his voice rising.

Conner’s jaw clenched, his breath coming in heavy, frustrated bursts. His eyes locked with Y/N’s, something dark and stormy flickering in their depths, and for a split second, it looked like he was about to argue back—like they were going to keep bickering until one of them snapped.

But then something shifted in Conner’s gaze, something that made Y/N’s breath catch in his throat.

Before Y/N could get another word in, Conner’s hand shot up, his fingers gripping Y/N’s jaw with firm but careful pressure. He tilted Y/N’s face up, his grip unyielding, and Y/N’s heart raced, heat flaring in his chest as he realized what was about to happen.

"Conner, I swear—"

The rest of Y/N’s protest died in his throat as Conner’s lips crashed down onto his, cutting off any words that might have followed. The kiss was sudden, fierce, filled with a rawness that felt like all the frustration and tension that had been building between them was finally boiling over. Conner’s mouth moved against Y/N’s with a desperation that sent a jolt of fire through him, the heat between them blazing in an instant.

Y/N’s first instinct was to shove him away—to push back against the overwhelming intensity of it all—but his body betrayed him. His hands, which had been pushing against Conner’s chest moments ago, faltered, fingers curling against the fabric of Conner’s shirt as he fought between wanting to resist and wanting to melt into the kiss.

Conner’s other hand slid down, wrapping around Y/N’s waist, pulling him even closer—if that was even possible—until there was no space between them. Y/N felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of Conner’s body and the sheer force of the kiss, and yet... he didn’t hate it. In fact, the heat of it, the possessiveness, the way Conner’s lips moved against his like he couldn’t bear to let go—it was enough to make Y/N’s mind spin.

His breath hitched, a small sound of protest caught somewhere in the back of his throat, but it was swallowed by the heat of Conner’s mouth. Y/N’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears that it drowned out everything else—the rubble, the aftermath, the fact that they had almost died. None of it mattered. Not in this moment. Not with Conner’s lips moving so fiercely against his, like kissing Y/N was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Y/N should have been angry. He should have shoved Conner away, demanded an explanation, demanded they talk it out like they always did. But as Conner’s fingers tightened their grip on his jaw, forcing Y/N’s lips to part just slightly, and as his tongue brushed against his bottom lip with an insistent hunger, Y/N’s thoughts scattered.

Every nerve in Y/N’s body was alight, buzzing with the sensation of Conner’s touch. He felt like he was being burned alive from the inside out, his skin tingling, his heart racing so fast he thought it might explode. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout at Conner for being such an idiot—for making everything so complicated—but at the same time, he wanted to drown in the heat of the kiss, in the way Conner’s hands felt like they were made to hold him.

The push and pull inside Y/N warred with itself, but the kiss—it was relentless, pulling him under, making his mind go blank. It was overwhelming, suffocating, but in the best possible way. Every time he tried to pull back, Conner’s hand would tighten just a bit, his lips pressing harder, like he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go.

And maybe Y/N wasn’t ready to let go, either.

When they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, Y/N’s head was spinning, his lips tingling from the bruising intensity of the kiss. Conner’s forehead pressed against his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, both of them panting like they had just been through another fight.

"That’s what I’m saying," Conner murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against Y/N’s lips.

Y/N blinked, his mind still trying to catch up to what had just happened. His heart hammered against his ribcage, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he stared up at Conner, wide-eyed and completely disoriented. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words got stuck in his throat.

All he could do was stare at Conner, his thoughts a chaotic mess of confusion, anger, and something else—something warm and dangerous, something he didn’t want to admit he felt. His lips still tingled from the kiss, his skin still burning from where Conner’s hands had touched him, and Y/N had no idea what to say.

"I couldn’t just... stand by," Conner said, his voice a rough whisper, his forehead still pressed against Y/N’s. "I couldn’t lose you."

Y/N swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he stared into Conner’s eyes, the weight of everything between them pressing down like a storm about to break.

"You can be so damn reckless," Conner continued, his voice low and strained. "I can't stand it."

Conner’s chest heaved with every breath, his forehead still pressed against Y/N’s. His heart was pounding, louder than the chaos around them, louder than his own thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, and for once in his life, Conner Kent wasn’t sure where to start. His hands, still gripping Y/N’s waist and jaw, felt like they were the only things tethering him to reality.

"You can be so damn reckless," Conner finally muttered, his voice low and strained. "I can’t stand it."

Y/N was about to snap back—about to say something sharp or sarcastic, probably both in response—but Conner wasn’t done.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Conner’s voice cracked, a rare vulnerability leaking into his tone. His fingers tightened their grip on Y/N’s waist, his breath shallow as he tried to piece his thoughts together. "From the moment you joined the team, I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t understand why I was so... drawn to you. It scared me and I just tried to avoid and ignore it and you. But then when you started avoiding me, ignoring me... and I didn’t know how to deal with."

Y/N’s lips parted to respond, but Conner shook his head, not letting him interrupt. "It irritated the hell out of me. Every time we argued, every time you shut me out, it just made me... angrier. But not in the way I was used to. I wasn’t just mad—I was hurt. And I didn’t know how to handle it, so I lashed out. And then I’d regret it. Every damn time."

Conner’s voice softened, his forehead pressing even more firmly against Y/N’s. "You always pushed back, fought me at every turn, and instead of backing off, I wanted to fight harder. Because... I hated how much I cared. It didn’t make sense to me, not at first. I didn’t want to care."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, his pulse quickening as Conner’s words sank in. But still, he remained silent, letting Conner get it all out.

"And then these past 24 hours... I don't know, Y/N." Conner’s voice cracked again, this time from the sheer weight of everything. "Since CJ, Colin, and Camden showed up... I didn't know what to make of that and I just tried to ignore my thoughts and feelings harder. Seeing them, knowing what could be... it scared me. But it also made me realize how much I couldn’t stand the idea of losing you. I don’t care about the past or the arguments or the crap we’ve been through. All I care about is the fact that... I can’t imagine my life without you in it."

Y/N’s breath hitched at those words, and Conner’s gaze softened, his thumb gently brushing against Y/N’s jaw. "I know I hurt you. I know I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to deal with it—hell, I still don’t, but I can’t keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than just... a teammate or a friend. I tried to ignore it for so long, but now, after everything, I can’t."

The tension in the air shifted, the weight of Conner’s words pressing down between them. Y/N’s chest felt tight, his mind spinning as Conner continued, his voice softer now.

"At some point, it started to feel like you didn't—like you don’t want me around, and it ate away at me. I get it, because I’ve been there too. But every argument, every stupid fight we had... it wasn’t because I hated you, Y/N. It was because I was terrified of how much I... cared."

Conner’s forehead finally lifted from Y/N’s, and their eyes met, the intensity between them crackling like static. "I’m sorry for all of it—for making things harder on you. But I need you to know... I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore."

Y/N’s heart was hammering in his chest, his head spinning from everything Conner had just laid out in front of him. He wanted to say something—anything—but for once, Y/N was at a loss for words. He stared up at the Kryptonian, wide-eyed and dazed, trying to make sense of the flood of emotions coursing through him.

But he wasn’t done yet.

"You’re important to me," Conner whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "More than I’ve ever let on. More than I’ve ever let myself admit. And if you need space, if you need time, I’ll give you that. But I can’t pretend anymore, Y/N. I can’t act like I don’t want you in my life. Because I do. I always have."

Y/N swallowed hard, his pulse still racing as Conner’s words finally sank in. Everything—the tension, the arguments, the hurt—it all clicked into place. This wasn’t just some pent-up frustration or tension from the battles they’d faced. This was something deeper. Something neither of them had fully understood until now.

Conner’s hands tightened their grip on Y/N’s waist, his thumb brushing softly against his jawline. "You’re not alone in this," he said quietly. "I’ve felt everything you’ve felt. I just didn’t know how to say it. Until now."

Y/N’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Conner could hear it. The rawness of Conner’s confession, the vulnerability in his voice... it was overwhelming, but also something Y/N hadn’t realized he needed to hear. Now, at least, he couldn't use the excuse that he didn't understand Conner anymore.

He'd probably still use it though if it helped him win an argument but that's just a toxic habit that will have to be unpacked later at some point.

Y/N blinked up at Conner, his heart still thundering in his chest, his mind racing to catch up with the sheer weight of everything Conner had just laid on the table. He wasn’t used to this—being the one someone poured their heart out to. And hearing all of it, laid bare like that, especially from someone as guarded as Conner, it was... overwhelming. Too much, almost.

And as much as Y/N wanted to take a moment, to gather his thoughts and sort through what he was feeling, the weight of the situation was all too literal.

"Wow," Y/N finally managed, his voice breathless, though not just from the emotional onslaught. "That was... deep. Really deep. And you know, I’d appreciate it more if I wasn’t currently suffocating under the weight of your muscled chest."

Conner blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed Y/N’s words. The tension broke for just a second, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh, right." He shifted, his body easing off Y/N’s a little, though he still didn’t let go entirely. His arms remained locked around Y/N’s waist, as if he wasn’t ready to fully separate just yet.

Y/N groaned as the pressure eased, the slight relief allowing him to take a proper breath. "Thanks. You’re built like a tank, you know that?"

Conner’s smile was small, but there was a warmth in it that made Y/N’s chest tighten. "I’ve heard that before."

Y/N felt the corner of his own lips twitch, the sarcastic comment easing some of the tension between them, but only for a moment. He glanced away, his gaze flickering to the wreckage around them, trying to find something—anything—to focus on other than the sheer vulnerability hanging in the air between them.

But Conner was relentless. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling Y/N’s attention back to him, grounding him in the moment. "Y/N..." Conner’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I’m serious. I meant what I said."

Y/N swallowed hard, his chest tightening again as he forced himself to meet Conner’s gaze. "I know," he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. "I... I get it. And... I hear you. It’s just..." He trailed off, his mind scrambling for something to say that didn’t feel too raw, too exposed. Vulnerability wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to force some humor into his voice, though it didn’t come out as smoothly as he hoped. "Look, I’m not exactly great with... feelings, okay? You know that. You’ve seen that. And honestly, this whole thing is... a lot. It’s a lot to take in."

Conner didn’t say anything, just watched him with those intense blue eyes that made Y/N feel like he was being seen in a way he wasn’t used to.

Y/N’s fingers fidgeted slightly against Conner’s shirt, his mind still racing as he tried to find a way to explain how he felt without completely losing his nerve. "I’m not saying I don’t feel the same way," he continued, his voice softer now, more serious. "I’m just... I don’t know, Conner. I don’t know how to deal with this. With us. I didn’t exactly expect to have you drop... all of that on me right after we nearly died, you know?"

Conner’s lips quirked into a small, almost sheepish smile. "Timing’s never been my strong suit."

"Yeah, no kidding." Y/N let out a breathy chuckle, but it was laced with something deeper—an edge of vulnerability that he couldn’t quite mask with his usual sarcasm.

The smile faded from Conner’s face, replaced by that same look of quiet intensity, and Y/N felt his stomach flip. "You don’t have to have it all figured out," Conner said softly, his voice steady. "I don’t, either. But... I just needed you to know. I couldn’t keep pretending like I didn’t... care."

Y/N’s throat tightened again, and he struggled to find the right words. "You’ve... definitely made that clear," he muttered, his voice catching just slightly. His heart was pounding again, that uncomfortable mix of emotions—fear, warmth, something close to hope—tugging at him.

There was a long, heavy pause between them, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. Y/N’s hands, still resting against Conner’s chest, flexed slightly, feeling the steady thrum of the Kryptonian’s heartbeat under his palm. It was steady. Strong. A quiet reminder of the man who had just thrown himself straight into danger, quite recklessly if it may be noted, just to keep Y/N safe.

"I’m scared," Y/N admitted before he could stop himself, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t easy to say, but it was the truth. And if Conner could lay everything bare like that, then maybe Y/N owed him the same. "I’m scared of... this. Of what this is and means. Scared that at some point, you'll change your mind and go back to ignoring me and pretending like I don't exist. I'm scared of getting hurt, but, I also am really scared of... losing you as well. Don't let that go to your already ginormous head."

"I’m scared," Y/N admitted before he could stop himself, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t easy to say, but it was the truth. And if Conner could lay everything bare like that, then maybe Y/N owed him the same. "I’m scared of... this. Of what it means. Scared that at some point, you’ll change your mind, go back to ignoring me, and pretend I don’t exist. I’m scared of getting hurt. But..." He hesitated, his voice faltering for a moment. "I’m also really scared of losing you. And don’t let that go to your already ginormous head."

Conner’s grip tightened around him, his eyes softening with an understanding that made Y/N’s heart stutter in his chest. He leaned in, their foreheads brushing lightly as Conner spoke, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion. "You’re not gonna lose me. Not ever." The conviction in his words made Y/N’s chest tighten even more.

"I’m scared too," Conner continued, his voice gentler now, like a confession he hadn’t meant to voice aloud. "But we can figure this out. Together. We don’t have to rush into anything. Just... give me a chance. Please."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, his throat tight as his fingers curled into the fabric of Conner’s shirt, gripping just a little harder. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t simple—far from it. But hearing Conner lay it all out there, hearing him say the things Y/N hadn’t even realized he needed to hear... it made the fear a little less overwhelming.

For a long moment, Y/N didn’t respond. He just stared at Conner, the weight of everything settling in his chest, heavy but somehow comforting. "Alright," Y/N finally whispered, the tension in his voice easing, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "But seriously, don’t let that big head of yours get any bigger."

Conner chuckled softly, the sound sending a warmth through Y/N that he wasn’t quite ready to deal with. But for now, it was enough.

As the group stepped through the Zeta tube, the familiar whirring and beeping of the system was the only sound filling the otherwise tense silence. The battle had left everyone exhausted, and the weight of what they’d just faced hung heavily over the team. Wally, always one to lighten the mood, was the first to speak up.

“Okay, but can we just take a moment to appreciate how insane it was to see Y/N go full-on wizard against Superman?” Wally said, his eyes wide with lingering awe. “Like, I knew magic was cool, but that was next-level.”

Kaldur nodded, though his expression remained serious. “It was a battle none of us could have prepared for. The entity’s power... it amplified Superman in ways we couldn’t have predicted.”

“Yeah, but Y/N went all Gandalf on him,” Wally continued, gesturing wildly. “I thought he was going to pull out a staff and scream ‘You shall not pass!’ any second.”

Conner, walking silently behind the group, shot Wally a sidelong glance. “It wasn’t funny, Wally. That thing nearly killed him.”

Wally raised his hands defensively. “I know, I know! I’m just saying, it was impressive. You have to admit it.”

“Yeah,” Artemis chimed in, her voice quieter but no less impressed. “He held his own. I don’t think any of us expected him to hold off a superpowered Superman for that long.”

Before anyone could respond, the Zeta tube beeped again, signaling their arrival back at the Cave. As they stepped forward, though, what they saw waiting for them froze everyone in their tracks.

Standing there casually next to the console as if this was completely normal were two very familiar figures—familiar, yet slightly more older, their features more mature, their presence commanding. The older versions of Y/N and Conner were standing side by side, along with CJ, Colin, Camden (perched on his dad's shoulders of course), Zatanna, and Batman, all waiting for them with expressions ranging from amused to unreadable.

The team stood frozen, eyes wide as they took in the sight of their future counterparts. Wally’s mouth dropped open, and his head darted between the two older men and their younger selves. His brain scrambled to process what he was seeing, but Future Y/N’s casual greeting broke the silence.

"Hi, kids, welcome back. Did you have fun?" Future Y/N asked, a smirk playing on his lips, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal.

Wally blinked, raising a hand and pointing between the two Conners and Y/Ns. "Uh... you all see the duplicate Y/N and Conners too, right?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.Artemis rolled her eyes, though she was just as stunned as the rest. "Yes, Wally, we all see them. They're not clones."

Wally, ever the wise-cracker, couldn’t help himself. "Well, technically, Conner still is," he quipped, flashing a grin. Both Conners, in perfect sync, rolled their eyes at the comment, their shared exasperation almost comical. Before Wally could revel in his joke, Artemis delivered a swift smack to the back of his head.

"Ow!" Wally yelped, rubbing the spot. "What? It was accurate!"

Future Y/N chuckled at the playful banter, casually crossing his arms over his chest. "Ah, some things never change," he remarked, his tone light and teasing. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned his gaze to his past self, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So... how was that first kiss, huh?"

Present Y/N froze, his face instantly flushing a deep red as he stammered, completely caught off guard. "W-Wait, what—who said anything about a kiss?!" His voice cracked slightly, and he cast a panicked glance at Conner, who wasn’t faring much better. Conner’s cheeks were quickly turning a shade of pink that rivaled Y/N’s, his eyes darting anywhere but at the group, avoiding everyone's curious stares.

The room fell into a stunned silence as the rest of the team blinked in disbelief, their gazes bouncing between the two. Artemis raised an eyebrow, Kaldur seemed momentarily at a loss for words, and even Batman shifted ever so slightly, though his expression remained as stoic as ever.

CJ and Colin, on the other hand, exchanged grins—CJ’s particularly smug, mirroring the exact cheeky smirk their father wore. The boys’ amusement was palpable, clearly enjoying the show unfolding before them. Little cheeky bastards indeed.

This story concludes on Archive of Our Own.

☀️ | Conner Kent/Superboy | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

[kaminocasey]

Joyride

Summary: You and Hunter have been ignoring your feelings for each other for a year, but can't any longer when you're sent on a mission together.

Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Angst, Enemies to Lovers, SMUT, Sex on a speeder bike, unprotected p in v (wrap it up friends), Cid (lol)

WC: 3.2K

A/N: OKAY don't be mad at me for having Cid in this bc I started writing this way before that finale and before we knew that Cid was a traitorous asshole, so I'm sorry about that. BUT sex with Hunter on a speeder bike should make up for it, right?? (Also, if you saw me post this earlier on my main, no you didn't lol.)

TAGLIST FORM │Bad Batch Masterlist

“Dark and Broody, Mopey… You two will be going on this one alone.” Cid points at you and Hunter.

That’s what Cid calls you, Mopey. Even though she’s known you your whole life and absolutely knows your name. You moped about Hunter to her one time and now the name has stuck.

“What?” You and Hunter ask, simultaneously and then look at each other uncomfortably.

Crossing your arms, you glare. “We don’t do alone missions.” 

“That’s not my problem. I need a couple who won’t stick out too much.” Cid starts to walk away toward her office, knowing you’ll follow. “It’s easy. In and out. Get the drive. Bam. You’re done.”

“A couple?” Hunter asks, still trying to catch up. 

“Yeah, a couple. Ever heard of the word?” Cid sits at her desk, rummaging through her drawers. “Two people who are together.”

“We aren’t together, though.” Hunter glances at you as you lean in the doorway with crossed arms, looking at you as if you have some sway here.

You’ve known Cid your whole life. She apparently used to run with your mom back in the day and when your mom passed, Cid took you in. She looks up at you, knowingly and you shake your head, walking out so you can leave Hunter to argue with her. It was a lost cause arguing with her. You learned that long ago. 

“Good luck.” Echo tells you, smirking from the bar. 

You flip him off and then look to make sure Omega wasn’t watching. Thankfully, she and Wrecker are in a heated Dejarik game while Tech watches over Wrecker’s shoulder. You can’t help but be grateful for this little group that you and Cid found a year ago. 

“You know, you’re pacing.” You tell Hunter from the co-pilot’s seat as the ship travels through hyperspace.

It’s quiet without the rest of the Batch, you notice. Too quiet. It occurs to you how little time you and Hunter have been around each other without any of the others around. 

“Yeah. And?” He snips.

You prop your feet up in the seat in front of you, your dress slipping up to your thigh slightly. He looks down only for a second and walks off to the bunks to do something. With a roll of your eyes, you pull up your datapad and send off a message to Echo.

You: He’s impossible.

Echo: What do you want me to do about it? 

You: Just complaining I guess?

Echo: You mean being mopey?

You: Fuck you.

Echo: LOL

You sigh and toss your datapad back into the seat, groaning in frustration.

“What is it?” Hunter stands in the doorway.

“Nothing.” You turn your seat around to look out at the blue hues of hyperspace. 

“Right…” Hunter disappears again until right before you come up on Coruscant. 

“So the plan-” Hunter stands in front of you when you land.

“I know the plan.” You stare up at him.

“Right. Okay then.” He sighs as he hands you your ear piece, giving you a curious look as he stares down at you.

“Okay.” You nod and open the hatch.

You leave the ship together, coming up on the speeder that one of Cid’s people left for you. He looks at the speeder bike. 

“Don’t even think about it.” You grumble and point at your outfit. “Dress, remember?” 

He chuckles. “Right.”

With a slight roll of your eyes, you get in the passenger side of the speeder. As he takes off, you try your hardest to not look at him in his nice outfit. He’s wearing a dark red collared shirt, the top two buttons undone, slightly revealing his tattooed chest, dress pants, and a gold chain you didn’t know he had. 

You find yourself wanting to ask him about the chain and about the tattoo that was clearly a continuation of the half skull on his face. You’re tempted to question him if it goes all the way down… 

“What?” Hunter picks up on your staring.

You go warm in the face instantly and look out your side of the speeder as he continues to drive. “Nothing.” He chuckles. “If you say so.”

Arriving at the casino, Hunter starts to get out but you stop him, leaning on the edge of the door. “What are you doing? Keep the speeder running in case I run into trouble. Thought you’ve done this before?” You smirk.

“I have.” He scowls at you. “You’re gonna go in alone, dressed like that?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? We’re gonna have this conversation?” 

He thinks about it for a second. “Look… I know you can handle your own-”

“Great, then I’ll see you in a few minutes. Keep it running, I’ll be in and out.” You ignore him and walk away into the casino. 

“Nothing wrong with backup, you know?” He grumbles in your ear as you walk up the steps to the second floor.

“Hush.” You tell him, smiling at the coat check person, politely.

You can feel some eyes on you as you walk onto the casino floor. 

“You’re breathing heavily.” Hunter complains in your ear on the comm as you make your way through the casino full of people. 

“No I’m not.” You roll your eyes. “You just have supersonic hearing.” 

He chuckles. “I think you mean ultrasonic.”

“Maker, you’ve been hanging around Tech too much.” You shake your head to yourself.

Stars, why does his voice sound like that? It sounds like pure sex and it feels like he’s practically purring in your ear. And it’s going right to your-

“You good?” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Yep.” You take a wine glass off a waitresses tray and gulp it down in one go, trying not to think about what Hunter’s voice does to you.

“Please try not to get wasted.” He warns you.

“How did you know-” You put the empty glass on a passing tray and keep moving through the crowd of people who were clearly rich and well off. 

“‘Supersonic’ hearing, remember?” He teases, lightly. “You… ahem… swallow loudly.” 

He coughs and you try to not think about what he could be thinking of. 

“Focus, Sarge.” You smirk, just trying not to argue with him for once. It’s really not a secret that you two don’t really see eye to eye, but that’s not your problem. It’s his. He’s the one who always starts the arguments. Like now, complaining about your breathing and your swallowing. If anyone deserved to complain, it’s you. You’re in this ridiculously snug dress and stupid heels and you’re ready to peel them off. 

“Miss?” You hear a man’s voice behind you.

When you turn around, you find a handsome, young gentleman with a blue scarf that you’d been looking for. He’s supposed to be the one who gives you the drive. 

“Hi. Luc?” You smile.

Easy mission, thankfully. In and out just like you told Hunter, making him wait out in the speeder. 

“That’s me.” He grins. “They didn’t tell me that a beautiful woman was supposed to be meeting me. Could I buy you a drink first?”

You try to not roll your eyes as you keep a fake smile plastered on your face. 

“Wow. What a tool.” Hunter’s voice fills your ear.

“That’s alright, thank you. Just the drive please.” You start to hand out your hand.

“Pity… Well in that case, I’m supposed to tell you,” He suddenly pulls a blaster out, keeping it low. “Cad Bane sends his regards.” 

Kriff. Of course.

Acting quickly, you shove his hand away at the same time that he releases the trigger, sending blaster fire up into the air. You elbow him in the throat, making him double over in pain, gasping for breath, as you try to knock the blaster out of his hand. Suddenly, more blaster fire starts coming your way and you realize you’ve been set up.

All around you people scream as they scramble for safety in the casino.

“What’s happening?” Hunter’s voice is in your ear, panicked.

“Don’t worry about it. Keep the speeder running.” You grunt as you make for the balcony across the room, just hoping your heels hold up, pulling one of your blasters out and shooting at the people that are shooting at you.

“Don’t worry about it, she says, as blaster fire is literally firing around her.” Hunter mutters. 

“Will you please shut up?” You snap as you start to climb over the side of the balcony, shooting toward the top of the building. 

You look down for Hunter in the speeder but see him on a speeder bike instead.

“Where’s the speeder?” You yell.

“This is quicker!” He calls back.

With an annoyed groan, you stick your blaster back into your thigh holster and slide down the rope landing in Hunter’s lap, straddling his thighs while facing him. He lets out an ‘oof’ and takes off as people come running out of the lobby, shooting at the two of you.

“You could have let me climb off to get behind you.” You glare.

“No time. Hold on.” He revs the bike and starts going even faster through the undercity of Coruscant, causing you to press yourself to his chest. 

You roll your eyes. “We were set up.”

“Yeah, no kriff.” Hunter rests his chin on your shoulder so you can see.

It almost feels natural… having him against you. You quickly push that thought away as you go to argue with him again. 

“You know what-” You’re cut off as you realize people in speeders are after you, still shooting at you. 

“A little help here would be nice.” He grunts, taking a sharp turn, trying to buy you some time so you can grab your blasters. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” You pull your blasters out of both thigh holsters. 

When you try to situate yourself so you can shoot better, you only realize you accidentally brush up against Hunter’s crotch when he lets out a soft groan. 

“Sorry…” You try. “Just shoot.” He says, through gritted teeth.

You immediately start to take out each shooter, precisely hitting each person so well that you can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Crosshair would be so proud of me right now.” You compliment yourself.

“I’m sure.” Hunter grumbles as he shoots through an alley and then takes a hard right up into some sort of abandoned warehouse. When he thinks the coast is clear, he finally leans back, breathing heavily. You can’t even tease him about it, because your chest is heaving against his. With the deep glare that he’s giving you, his hate for you becomes evident. 

“You know, you may hate me… and still not trust me… but I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for the long haul.” You shrug, tucking your blasters back into your holsters. 

“I don’t hate you.” He rolls his eyes.

“Then why-” You start but he crushes his lips to yours, shutting you up. 

Every nerve ending in your body stands straight up and you fight between the urge to shove him off of you and also wanting more of him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer and he grips your hips, grinding you against his hardened length, straining in his pants. 

“You feel what you do to me?” He rasps against your lips, his voice full of need. “So, I don’t hate you, I’m-”

Without another word, your hands fall down to his zipper and pull his length free. His sentence is cut off as you rest your foreheads together, watching your hand expertly start to pump his cock. He’s thicker than you imagined he’d be. You’re definitely not complaining though.

“Fuck, mesh’la…” He groans, gripping your hips tighter. 

The rumble of the speeder sends vibrations to your core and you can’t help the wetness that gathers in your panties, begging to coat Hunter’s perfect cock. 

You raise up slightly, moving your panties to the side as you sink down on him and he lets out an incredibly loud groan while he grips you so tightly that you know you’re going to bruise. Maybe that’s what he’s going for. To remind you of today, no matter what happens when you get back to Ord Mantell. 

You let out a soft gasp when his hands roam down to your ass and start to raise you up just to pull you back down onto his cock harshly. You’d been lying to yourself… You don’t hate him. You want Hunter just as bad, if not more. 

He pulls your body flush against his, kissing your shoulder. “Been waiting for so long for this.” 

You can’t help the needy whimpers that escape your lips for this man. The two of you had been fighting your urges for so long that you’d been convinced you hated each other. But now… 

“Feels so fucking good… So perfect… made for me.” Hunter babbles incoherently and you grind against him as much as you can. You pull away to make sure you’re not slipping but he grips your chin and pulls your gaze back to his own. “Keep your eyes on me. I’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere.”

And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing a man’s ever said to you…

He takes your fingers and pulls them to his mouth, taking them in his mouth. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. He knows exactly what he’s doing because he smirks around your digits before guiding your fingers down to your clit. 

“Fuck… Hunter.” You groan, keeping your eyes on him, lips parted as the sounds echo off the metal walls of the warehouse as you rub your clit for him. 

“That’s it, mesh’la… need you to cum for me so I can fill this pretty little cunt up.” He whispers gruffly and you nearly come apart just at those words alone. “If… if that’s okay with you.”

“Please.” You gasp with a desperate nod.

You’d never known Hunter had this side to him. Sure you called him dark and broody as a joke, but this was something else entirely. He’s looking at you with such voracity, that you don’t think there’s any coming back from it. You want him to look at you this way forever. 

Pulling Hunter back in for a kiss so vehement, while still rubbing your clit, you near your edge. Your mind goes back to what he was saying earlier about not hating you. He didn’t give you a reason for acting the way he did.

“Hunter…” You whimper.

“What?” He rests his forehead against yours, still fucking you amorously. 

When he looks at you, it’s with such a softness that you can’t help but melt. 

“What…” You groan as he pushes you back on the speeder, reaching deeper into you with his cock. “What were you going to say… you don’t hate me… and?” 

“Right now?” He asks, looking down between you with a breathless chuckle. 

You nod as that familiar heat pools toward your warmth. “As… good a time… as any, right?” 

The way he’s fucking you is absolutely ethereal. You don’t think you could go back to how things were before even if you wanted to. And you definitely don’t want to, right?

“Maker…” He grits with a breathy chuckle as you clench around him. “I’m- fuck… I’m in love with you, okay?” 

As if that’s all you needed to hear, you cum, making his name sound like an entire prayer. Because that’s what coming around Hunter’s cock feels like. Absolutely spiritual. 

He grins down at you and pulls you back up into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, fucking into you mercilessly, overwhelming both of you. 

When his hips falter as he grips your sides, digging his fingers into you as he fills you up so fully that you spill out over the both of you. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh and then he lets one out as well.

“If I knew you’d react like that when I declared my love for you, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks and you playfully slug him. 

“You’re very lucky I don’t actually hate you.” You lean in closely and the breath in his throat hitches.

“I’ll say.” He agrees before crushing his lips to yours.

Neither of you are sure what’s next for you, but you’re already feeling more hopeful. Maybe it’ll help that you won’t be arguing for once when you break the news to Cid that the mission failed. 

“I uh… actually wanted to show you something while we’re on Coruscant.” He coughs, awkwardly. 

“Okay?” You look at him curiously.

He grins as he helps you off the bike to sit behind him again. You feel the slight run of cum start to drip down your thigh. 

“Oh…” You look down and Hunter looks at your thighs as well, his grip on the handlebars tightening. 

“Do you want to run by the ship and clean up before I show you the surprise?” He smirks.

“Please.” You nod, going warm in the face as you hop on the back of the bike. “I’d also like to change. These heels are the worst.” 

He chuckles and relaxes into you when you wrap your arms around his waist and then takes off back toward the Marauder. It’s a strange feeling being so close to him after having so much distance between the two of you the past year. 

“So, what is it with you and speeder bikes?” You ask him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” You start to release his waist but he quickly grabs your arms and pulls them against him again. 

“I’ve always wanted one. Since I saw one of the Alpha’s with one on Kamino when I was, you know, a “kid”.” He admits with a shrug.

“That’s sweet.” You kiss his shoulder. “We’ll get you one, one day.” 

He pulls one of your hands up to his lips and kisses it and you can’t help but smile.

When you pull back up to the Marauder, Hunter helps you off the bike, like a gentleman.

“Didn’t know you had such a sweet side to you.” You tease as he pulls you against himself, looking down into your eyes with his own warm brown ones. 

He smirks as he kisses you again. “Maybe we can shower… together… before I take you to that surprise.”

You find yourself desperate to have his mouth somewhere else.

“Yes please, Sarge.” You wrap your arms around him and he starts to lift you up but pauses as his ears perk up toward the Marauder and then pulls away to grab one of your blasters out of your holster, pointing it toward the hatch. 

“Hunter, what is it?” You whisper. 

All of a sudden, you hear a blaster shot come out from behind you and feel a bolt of electricity travel throughout your body. By the time you drop, you realize it’s too late and you’ve been stunned. The last thing you see before you pass out is Hunter going into attack mode.

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @misogirl828 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @agenteliix @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @quigonswife8 @idlenesses @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @brownstalebread @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms

[literaphobe]

btw. i resent the assumption that adrigriffe ONLY liked toxinelle once he realized she was emonette. in fact i think he was actively attracted to her, but since they met after he fell for marinette, it was hard for him to comprehend that -> he’s a One Woman type of person! he’s a romantic!

so like. it made him lash out at her More as a coping mechanism. it Helps that toxinelle is rather abrasive towards him usually, so he can retaliate AND also convince himself that he Doesn’t Like Her At All, since they’re being Mean to each other

BUT a lot of the hater-core shit he does to her is either a) a direct mimicry of things she’s done to him -> stealing miraculous, blaming, shoving OR b) a bid for ATTENTION, which he likes obtaining. he pushes her buttons on purpose because he enjoys her responses. if he gets ignored, he gets bored and stops. he plays his ‘disdain’ for her in the most theatric, ostentatious manner BECAUSE it gets him the biggest reactions eg. pretending to catch her in a fake voice of concern only to side step at the last second when he could’ve Not Done All That

just like how chat noir would take ladybug’s lead regarding what romantic shit he could get away with -> griffe is doing the same with toxinelle, but he’s been learning what sort of behavior CAN ignite her WITHOUT actually separating from her

we see this in his hesitant attempt to take her miraculous -> the best thing would be to remove her earrings SWIFTLY, using both his hands to take Both earrings away at the same time. however, he does it cautiously, almost like he’s toeing the line, but doesn’t want to cross it. doesn’t want to rid her of her miraculous, because it would mean she wouldn’t be around him anymore. in contrast, when she removed his miraculous to attempt to make a wish, she did it very quickly before he could retaliate

furthermore! when he argues with her about miraculous theft, he doesn’t have his own nefarious motives for wanting to take toxinelle’s earrings aside from -> you started it!!!! she on the other hand, can come up with reasons why she would benefit, whereas he is just upset that she has those reasons

it’s like. when he wants to open the hatch in marinette’s room, and she tells him to stay and help. he decides to stick around and be a nuisance -> but that’s the thing. He Stays. he’d rather be in a room screaming his head off with her than alone in a pit of silence

tl;dr when they identity reveal he’s able to reconcile all his complicated feelings and realize all these intense emotions he’s felt are all for The Same Girl, not -> oh my enemy’s my crush! guess i like her now!

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 263

TL;DR - Letao and his daughter are unaware that they're sacrifices too. Cale meets Letao and dominates him with DA. Cale and Letao agree to work together.

The Chapter Not much happened today. Cale was still angry, and even became angrier when he heard the old mage muttering that Letao and his daughter would be sacrifices too.

Letao had no idea about that, so Cale revealed himself and told him about it. Letao was initially wary of Cale, so Cale used his DA to subdue him. After some discussion, the two agreed to work together because "the enemy of my enemy is a friend."

Oh yeah, there's the part about dragons getting 'married' too. Letao's wife suddenly went missing, so he ended up raising his daughter. Which brings the question, is this specific to Aipotu dragons though? We never hear about the dragon dads of Raon and Dodori. And the Korean word used was "wife", so dragons get married to each other too? Or do they just call their mate as wife/husband? At least, with this information, we can now cross out that fan theory about dragons reproducing asexually... 😂

As for how Letao ended up here, his daughter just hatched from her egg when the great upheaval happened. He stayed neutral when the dragons split into factions, and lived in hiding. But he got caught when his daughter was captured by Ryan while she was playing with her beastkin friends.

Ending Remarks There weren't any funny moments today, perhaps to reflect the graveness of the location. With his business with Ryan temporarily on hold (because he still had a week left before the last execution), Cale set off to meet the emperor (with King Dennis). Hehehe, I'm excited to know what the destructive trio had done to the temple. 🤣

[aventurine83]

Lilia Vanrouge x Reader

✿Briar's Secret [PART 1] ✿

Notes: Angst, slight fluff? Fae-human war era, Meleanor's little sister!reader, Chief strategist!reader.

Includes my twst OC Midnight. [Might post him soon]

Shallow sunlight streamed in through the enamoring quartz balcony of the throne room, which, draped in curtains of velvet and obsidian, failed not to pay worthwhile tribute to the dweller of the grey, marbled throne. The crown princess of the fae, her hair as raven as the night sky and eyes emerald as the sea- Meleanor was her name, tapped a clawed finger on the throne impatiently as the General of Briar Valley entered the hall. 

Her younger sister [Y/N], who had eyes in a glistening shade of [e/c] and only a single horn wrested on her head, immediately wasted no time in absorbing the General's features and etching them into the depths of her essence. General Lilia Vanrouge. Her lifelong love. He took off his mask, which had met with many a worn out tear during the intensity of his numerous battles on the front lines, to reveal a set of precious ruby red eyes set under long eyelashes that fluttered open as if to endeavour the commemorative moment that marked the reveal of his beautiful irises. His dark lips were pressed in a thin line, his black hair messy from being on the front lines, yet to her, it was perfect from all angles, with those conspicuous red streaks that only accentuated his beauty further. Behind him, trailed his trusted aide, Baul Zigvolt.

"YOU'RE LATE, LILIA!" Meleanor roared, the echoing thud of her staff sounding in the room as she slammed it against the ground. 

"My apologies, Princess." Lilia bowed courteously, remembering to be formal to the future queen of his nation. [Y/N] found it quite adorable, in all honesty. "There has been quite the miscalculation in our strategy." He glared at [Y/N], who only shrugged in response. Not even she had the ability to bring about prediction on every outcome. "The enemy has surrounded Ibara Castle. We must leave immediately." 

"Leave? Due to those petty humans that squander on our land?" Meleanor scoffed as she crossed one leg over the other. "Never. I thought they were but mere pigs yapping outside. I shall not leave this castle." 

"Quit being stubborn!" Lilia yelled, in his familiar tone. [Y/N] chuckled, remembering those days when she had endeavoured to put Lilia in dresses and play house with him as kids. He'd always raise his voice at her and she'd end up crying. Those were the days. Innocent ones, of fun and play. "We have to leave! We aren't kids anymore! When have I ever been wrong?!" Lilia yelled, his voice hoarse and desperate. 

"Take my sister and my child. And leave." Meleanor commanded. [Y/N]'s eyes widened before a small smirk broke out on her lips. They were really alike, the two sisters. Always so self-sacrificing. Not that she would allow a sacrifice from Meleanor's end. 

"The hell?! No way! All of you are coming with me! Thats you included, Meleanor!" Lilia protested, but Meleanor threw her egg at him. He managed to catch it in just the barest of timescales, a scowl etched on his face as he turned his nose up at her. 

"What the hell are you thinking?! What if the egg broke?!" Lilia clutched the egg tightly, embracing the pitch black covering holding the future prince tightly to his torso. 

"I entrust it to you, Lilia." Meleanor smirked. [Y/N] crossed her arms over her chest. In her mind, there was only one plan as the chief strategist of the royal court. One that certainly did not involve the sacrifice of the future queen of Briar Valley. Rather one that included the sacrifice of a singular, expendable pawn titled the 'second princess of Briar Valley'. 

"Hell no, you don't. Besides, the egg won't hatch without its parents' love! I can't love anyone!" Lilia barked. How untrue his words were, how vile a thought that Lilia was not capable of loving. A mild ache spread in [Y/N]'s heart. 

"You love me, though, don't you? Or was that all a lie when you proposed to me? Besides, you love Raven too. You guys spent more time together than married couples." Meleanor chuckled. [Y/N] forced a smile on her face. She knew Lilia loved her elder sister. She'd never be a choice. All she cared for most was the smile that decorated Lilia's face. So for him, she would . . . 

"THAT WAS WHEN I WAS A KID, 200 YEARS AGO! It doesn't mean anything now!" Lilia shot back. Ah, but how difficult it was for [Y/N] to believe the raven haired General's words when he so clearly preferred the company of her elder sister. [Y/N] felt the leader of the Midnight Solstice, her personal assassin Midnight, tug at her sleeve. His pleading azure eyes bore into hers. He defied none of her orders, yet at this moment, he showed a single sliver of wavering hesitance. She gave a light pat to his short jet black hair before walking towards the General. 

"I am telling you, take [Y/N] and my egg and leave-" Meleanor was interrupted when [Y/N] cleared her throat. Meleanor's brow rose in slight curiosity as she gazed at her little sister. 

"You have it backwards. Big sis Meleanor, you are going with them. And I am staying here with Midnight to defend the castle." She announced with a slight wave of her hands to gesture her intentions. 

"DON'T BE CRAZY! YOU'RE NOT EVEN STRONG, YOU'RE JUST THE GODDAMN STRATEGIST! You're a weakass princess who's never been on the front lines! You're not even half as strong as Meleanor is! No, not even a damn tenth of it!" Lilia scowled harshly at her, his crimson eyes glinting with a raging fury that rivaled the embers of fire. How his words dug daggers into her heart. His comparison of her wretched nature to that of the benevolent and strong image of her elder sister pained her to the core.

"Lilia is right. You can't stay here, [Y/N]. It would be much too dangerous." Meleanor frowned, with a look that only displayed concern for her younger sibling. 

"I am the chief strategist. I have a plan." [Y/N] murmured as she tapped her foot in slight frustration on the ground. 

"Oh yeah?! Most of those damn plans involve a low survival rate for you! Even your new strategy led to the enemies surrounding us! Explain that!" Lilia growled, his fists clenching as he tried hard to suppress his anger. [Y/N]'s heart further shattered, she knew deep down that every soldier's death on the front lines was only the result of her damned strategies. Lilia didn't need to say that out loud for the Sevens' sake. 

"I plan to use my unique magic." She finally revealed. A look of shock crossed the looks of every person present in the room, save for Midnight. 

"You don't have one!" Lilia scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at her icily. 

"I do. But it can only be used once. I was saving it for a moment such as the one currently upon us." [Y/N] answered sternly, glaring back at the furious General. "It has power enough to take out every single troop out there." 

"Then I shall permit you to use it. However, we shall remain in the castle." Meleanor offered gently with a smile painted upon her dark lips. 

"No can do. It is too powerful a magic. You must escape or you will face the brunt of it as well. Only someone so capable of defense magic as Midnight could survive it. Hence why I plan on taking him with me." [Y/N] replied, a serious expression on her otherwise laid back face. The one horned princess was serious, which was not something out of the ordinary, yet at the same time, it was excruciatingly new. 

"Then I shall permit it. I trust you to not lie to me. I shall escape with Lilia and the others." Meleanor nodded. Something was off, it was not that difficult to sense, yet the frustrating reality of the situation veiled Meleanor's eyes with a blindfold of hope. 

"You're not telling us something." Lilia snarled. As always, the General was quick to pick up on things out of the mundane, his fists still clenched in an effort to rein in his anger. 

"I will return alive. This, I promise. Please, Lilia. I beg you, trust me." [Y/N] implored as she looked at him pleadingly. Despise was all she felt on lying to her beloved General, yet it was all she could do to convince his stubborn intellect to run away to a place of safety where harm had little to no reach. 

Lilia gazed at her, his crimson eyes scanning her expression for anything he could use against her. He took a moment to think before he finally relented. "And your chance of survival?"

"Guaranteed." Lie after lie exited [Y/N]'s mouth. "I'll regroup with you guys after I'm done with those nuisances outside. I promise. We will meet again." . 

Lilia groaned before tousling his hair with his hand. "Fine. I'll leave it to you, Chief Strategist. Even Meleanor believes you, so I have no reason to doubt you." She knew why Lilia trusted her this much. She'd never once lied to him. 

Her thoughts only raced thus:

Sorry, Lilia.

Please run away.

Please don't look back.

Please don't feel sad.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

NOTE: DO NOT REPOST OR PLAGIARIZE MY WORK.

[meltedmush]

how long does it take you to draw your sketches/doodles? also do you have any tips to draw faster? 🙇‍♀️

I generally take 30 - 60 minutes a sketch,,,, but honestly really depends on how detailed it is.

Like a Chibi will be done in 20 - 25 minutes (Counting in the extra time I spend on minute details like a perfectionist 😭)

I for some reason really like spending egregious amounts of time on random objects too??? Unless it’s the in the background, I’ll spend 40 minutes refining it.

Random characters that are fully colored and rendered with take like 80 minutes.

The comics take usually take an hour or two per page. (If I decide to cross hatch it, my entire day will be gone with 4 pages… so I’ve been trying to find shortcuts. But not without sacrificing the quality for time lol)

I don’t think there’s any trick or magic to drawing faster. It’s really about weaponizing your artistic knowledge, and finding what’s comfortable or convenient for you!

There was a period of time where I would spend 11 or 12 hours on an illustration, and it wASS UGLYYYYY. (Some of these artworks are still available on my tumblr,,, but it’s SO LONG AGO, AND IT WAS MY 1ST OR 2ND YEAR GETTING INTO DIGITAL ART)

Overtime I learned what worked best for me, and practiced till I felt more comfortable with what I was drawing. Eventually I managed to shorten the time to 4 hours or less! Ambition was my biggest enemy but at the same time my biggest motivator. (And it still is LMFAO) 😭

EDIT (bit more to my way too long tangent): ALSO??? BRO DON’T BE AFRAID TO USE YOUR MESSY SKETCH AS LINEART OR DRAW ON TOP OF IT. I’VE DONE IT FOR YEARS NOW AND IT ADDS SUCH A GOOD EXTRA BIT OF TEXTURE,, AT THIS POINT I DON’T EVEN USE LINE-ART ANY MORE UNLESS IT’S A COMMISSION,, (IT’LL ADD LIKE AN 2-4 HOURS TO MY WORK)

[moremaybank]

hi darling, can you make a very cute imagination where klaus is hatching a plot against an enemy, and he is making a plan with some witches and suddenly a witch sees klaus's phone and looks at his wallpaper which is a picture of y/n and the witch asks klaus who the girl in the photo is and klaus tells her that it's his girlfriend and starts talking about her non-stop, going completely from conspiring to talking about his beloved.

POUR YOUR HEART OUT — k.m

pairing klaus mikaelson x gf!reader

summary klaus is working with a certain coven of witches in new orleans in an attempt to protect you from esther. the leader of the coven wonders if helping him is worth it. to quiet her doubts, she takes matters into her own hands, and this causes klaus to gush over his girlfriend.

warnings new orleans!klaus but hope doesn't exist, fluff, slightly drugged!klaus (truth serum made by a witch), mentions of murder and violence (it's klaus, what'd you expect)

author's note kinda changed some of the details, i hope that's okay! this wasn't a fic i planned on posting today, but i had the inspiration for it sooo yeah

klaus masterlist

"i don't want any excuses. if we aren't prepared, esther will take any given opportunity to strike against me or my family."

"we are working as fast as we can, klaus. these things take time," calliope, the leader of the coven klaus had been plotting with, stated. it was clear from the tone of her voice that she was beginning to grow annoyed with klaus's constant pestering.

"well, we do not have time. there are people i must protect, even more so when the protection is against my vile mother," klaus replied, pacing around the room as he gesticulated impatiently. "you're forgetting i can kill all of you without blinking."

"and you're forgetting that all it takes is one word from me for my entire coven to turn on you and side with your mother and the ancestors. back off," calliope replied, standing her ground.

"just work faster," klaus grumbled in response, pulling out his phone from his pocket to find a text from you.

everything okay?

the corners of his lips turned up, his dimples threatening to peak through.

yes, love. everything is fine. i'll be home in an hour.

okay. just remember to be nice to the witches. the coven is risking a lot to help us. i love you.

klaus shook his head as he chuckled. it was almost ridiculous how well you knew him and his behaviour.

i'm always nice. and i love you too.

klaus was halfway to putting his phone back in the pocket of his jacket when calliope caught a glimpse of his lock screen.

"who's that?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed in inquiry.

"none of your business. stay focused on the task at hand," klaus responded.

"wow. why so cagey?"

klaus avoided her gaze. the longer he remained silent, the more clear it became to the young witch. klaus wasn't just fighting to protect his family. he was fighting to protect her.

he was doing it for love.

"ah, i get it now. you're in love. heh, who would've thought that the big, bad hybrid was capable of love?" calliope smirked, crossing her arms as she stepped closer to him.

"what makes you think i am?"

"oh, please," calliope scoffs, "it's so obvious. your face turned bright red at the mere sight of a text message. tell me about her."

"what is it to you?"

"she must be special if the klaus mikaelson is working like a dog — no pun intended — to protect her. i'm just curious to know what she's like," calliope explained.

"did i not tell you to mind your business? we're wasting precious time even talking about this. get to work. there are lives at stake, calliope," klaus ordered, traces of his slight grin long gone from his features.

"exactly. her life is at stake. that's the reason you're fighting so hard to get this done. i want to know why. what makes her so important that you'd risk waging a war between the covens of new orleans?"

klaus sighed begrudgingly, knowing full well that calliope would not drop the topic.

"tell me, or i'm shutting this whole thing down. you know i will," calliope said.

klaus rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. there really was no getting around calliope and her antics.

"you're right. she's special, calliope. that is why it is so dire for me to protect her, alright? now drop it," he grumbled once more. to tell you the truth, he was ready to get the hell out of there if it weren't for the plan he was putting in motion.

calliope, on the other hand, knew klaus was not going to make things easy for her. still, she needed to understand why klaus would go to extreme lengths for his girl because she wondered if helping him was worth it. picking a fight with one of the most diabolical witches known to mankind in the name of her hybrid offspring was one thing, but if she learned that she was working her coven tirelessly to help protect the female version of klaus...let's just say it would absolutely tank the plan.

so, calliope needed to take action. lucky for her, she knew just what to do.

"okay, then. do you want a drink? i can pour you a bourbon," calliope asked klaus. please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, she thought.

"if it'll get you to leave me be, then sure," klaus huffed in response.

calliope rolled her eyes at him, but internally, she was smiling like a fool.

she made her way over to the makeshift bar, taking out two glasses and pouring the whiskey into both of them. when she was sure klaus wasn't looking, she pulled out a small vile containing a truth serum of her own design and emptied it into klaus's glass. then, when she was finished, she made her way back to klaus and handed him his glass.

"cheers," calliope spoke, downing the contents in her glass. klaus raised his own, before doing the same.

about ten minutes passed, and calliope returned to klaus after checking on her witches.

"remember how you asked me about my girlfriend?" klaus asked, a slightly dopey grin now plastered on his face. "she really is remarkable."

"how so?" calliope questioned, pulling two chairs for them to sit on. she watched klaus slump onto the chair, his hands clasping in his lap as he threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. his expression was dazed, and calliope wanted to laugh. it was odd to see him act this way, but funny, nevertheless.

"she's beautiful, a kind of beauty that in all my years, i've never encountered even once. when i look at her, it's as if the entire world goes quiet. all i can focus on is the bright sparkle in her eyes and her gravitating smile. if angels really do exist, then she is one. without a doubt," he muses.

"is that why you're so enamoured by her? because of her beauty?" calliope questioned.

"do i seem that shallow to you?"

"do you really want me to answer that?"

"...right. well, anyway, the answer is no. yes, she's stunning beyond belief, but that's not why i feel so strongly for her."

"then what is it about her? what was it that forced the truly wicked klaus mikaelson to care about someone other than himself for once?"

klaus sat up, leaning forward to rest his arms on the tops of his thighs as he zoned in on calliope.

"she's never seen me as evil," klaus states. "she took a single look at me, and instantly knew in her heart that there was more to me than an immortal hybrid whose greed and thirst for power outweighed everything else. and that's not to say that she excused my actions because she didn't. she held me accountable, and she gave me grief. but she also cared enough to dig past the facade i'm so used to putting up in the face of my enemies. she cared enough to search for the real me."

calliope listened to him, truly taking in his words and letting them sink in. she'd been brought up with the stories of klaus mikaelson: the great evil. she'd heard about the never-ending list of the towns he'd slaughtered and the way he daggered his siblings when they did not please him. from the legends, he never seemed like the type of person to contain even one percent of goodness within him.

so for someone to see that in him, someone as good as the girl he was describing, it spoke volumes to her.

"i struggle to believe that she exists sometimes. that a girl with so much compassion could even take a chance on someone like me. she has the biggest heart i've ever known. she gives so much of herself to my family and our community. she's brave in the face of my enemies. she fights tirelessly for my family, who she treats as her own. she's not afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in...god, there are so many bloody things to love about her. she's perfect. much too perfect for me, but perfect all the same. i don't know what i did to deserve her, but i thank the stars every day that i found her."

calliope exhaled, still in awe of what she was hearing. she'd known that klaus was poetic, but she assumed that she just did that for dramatic flair in true klaus fashion.

"wow. i gotta say, i never thought i'd hear you talk about anyone in that manner. it's...weird," she said, chuckling slightly.

"yes, well, it's not every day you're given a truth serum by the very witches who are supposed to be on your side," klaus replies, giving her a knowing look.

"to be fair, i am on your side. especially now that i know i'm not helping you protect the female version of you."

"normally, i would be quick to retaliate given the circumstances, but she is the most precious thing to me. if you need to see how highly i regard her in order to provide protection for her, then that's all that matters. this is bigger than me," klaus responds. "she's not just good. she inspires goodness within me, and i need that. so i will do whatever it takes. but make no mistake, if you double cross me, you and your coven will cease to exist on this earth."

calliope chuckled in response to his threat, "i thought you said she inspires goodness in you?"

"she does, but that doesn't mean that i won't go to great lengths to make sure she's taken care of."

~

klaus tag list (join here!): @princess-charming-01 @maybankslover @trenchmaniac @techlipse @the-kaya-aa @catmikaelson20 @hopesdadswife @amournoir @skydisneylover @kittyqrt

[crepes-suzette-373]

Ichiji can "fear" (or panic)?

A while back I said that something feels funny that Ichiji was visibly sweating when Sanji freed the Vinsmokes from the candy.

Another thing that caught my attention is that Ichiji's face was heavily shaded in that scene, and it's a scene didn't seem to warrant heavy shading for lighting effect.

So, I checked through the artwork for comparison. Here's my artwork related hyperthink.

I'm noticing that when characters are in panic/in distress/experiencing turbulent emotions, sensei draws them with cross hatching on their face. Sure, sometimes the hatching is just "lighting effect", but when there's no intense lighting that warranted that kind of shadow hatching, the hatching means strong emotional reaction.

There's also dark shading for intimidation/horror effect, but based on context that's not what this is either.

Usually the "distress shading" is on the eyes, but sometimes there's more shading on the other parts of the face too. Below are examples of that on characters when in distress, panicking, nervous, or tense:

Well, Ichiji's eyes can't be seen, so my guess here is that sensei chose to cross hatch a large portion of his face (maybe to make sure you can see it?). In these instances, he's the only one whose face has that kind of intense shading when nobody else does, so it's not because of "lighting".

Also, I want to point out again, in the left picture, it wasn't just one or two drops. It was drawn in a way that implies he was sweating very profusely (the drops were dripping off his face). That seems rather intense, if it's not meant to be anything.

Example of comparison:

The only other ones with "stressed out faces" in that scene are Sanji, Bege, and Judge, so Ichiji's oddly shaded face is not lighting. Those three people I specified are feeling emotional pressure/tension in that scene.

(Also, might there be a significance in choosing to also screentone-shade Yonji there? We know that Yonji is rather openly emotional, so this might be something to scrutinise as well)

And if you apply that reading to other scenes it feels appropriate. For example, this part here:

The distress lines being drawn there probably meant that he was also concerned, but he's gritting himself to not linger and stay on track.

He may say "leave her for being weak", but I think that's not what he meant. He's prioritising "the mission" (covering for Caesar and Bege, so the Straw Hat crew especially Sanji can escape) over their individual safety.

Even if it had been himself who was knocked down, I can bet that he'd say the same thing. Stop getting distracted, get going with the mission.

Once Caesar made it out safely with Bege, you can see him also having sweat droplets and sighing in relief.

In the scene when he commands the ship to go, my read of it is that he's feeling the tension of knowing they're going to fight a tough enemy:

He's probably not sure they'll come out of it unscathed, and he's concerned for their safety, but still determined to step in to help. Just like how he's making that same face when saying to leave Reiju and keep going.

The "proof" is that Niji and Yonji don't really do this. Yonji sort of made that face after he did Winch Danton, and he and Niji somewhat do it too when Big Mum screams. Both are contexts of "physical strain" stress, from pain and exerting energy.

Otherwise, they don't have that distressed shaded face even when clearly showing concern:

In that third picture, you can even see that Reiju has the "distressed hatching" on her forehead, in comparison to Niji and Yonji who both don't at all (in the second picture).

Ichiji was making those faces when not under any physical strain, and was actually not making that stress face when Big Mum screams (even though Reiju has that same distress hatching on her forehead then).

My tentative guess is that, while Ichiji might not have empathy/sympathy like Reiju or Sanji do, what he might have is the ability to feel "fear". Maybe adjacent feelings too, like panic or very intense worry that's beyond just concern (Niji and Yonji can still be "concerned" too, as shown above), as well as "relief" in response when the fear is alleviated.

It somewhat fits with what I had dissected in the "thug Ichiji" analysis. He seems angry despite what looks like a smile on his face (I argue it's a sneer, and not a smile like Niji and Yonji were doing). Sometimes, people lash out in anger when they are scared.

Edit: Just wanted to add, to be clear. Yonji has been given the "shaded face", but I meant that it's rather clearly the intimidation one, when he was telling the Straw Hat crew he doesn't want to help Luffy. And I said in the context, Ichiji's shaded face don't seem to suggest intimidation.

The only possible counter I could think of for Ichiji is that "Oh, it's not fear/other emotions, he's just really angry the whole time".

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 12

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11

Chapter 12 summary: The Batch make a plan for infiltrating the villa.

Hunter glanced up at Dara’s dozing form curled on top of the Marauder and shook his head. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he and Echo returned from their surveillance shift, and he could hear the chattering of the planet’s small woodland creatures all waking up at once. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know why Dara was sleeping outside. If it had been one of his squad, whose quirks were innumerable and often incomprehensible, he wouldn’t even bother to find out. As it was, he couldn’t be sure of the right approach to take with this temporary member about whom they knew so little.

Entering the ship to find the others wide awake, he thought maybe they’d have a better idea. “Any clue why Dara slept on top of the ship last night?” the Sergeant asked.

Tech and Wrecker looked pointedly at Crosshair. “She did not seem very pleased when they returned from town,” Tech observed.

Hunter crossed his arms. “What did you do now?” The sniper only shrugged, a smirk lurking dangerously at the corners of his mouth.

Wrecker elbowed him and grinned mischievously. “Hey! Be nice to her. Dinner was so good last night I think I might ask her to marry me.”

Crosshair’s expression quickly turned to a scowl. “The mission went fine. We got the intel. It’s not my fault if she wants to sleep on the roof.”

“Maybe she’s just sick of us,” Echo speculated. “Sounds like she spends a lot of time alone. It’s probably an adjustment to be cramped up in the Marauder with five men day in and day out.”

“Can’t say I blame her,” Hunter muttered.

Tech looked at Crosshair curiously. “How did Dara do, by the way?”

The sniper met his gaze with shared understanding. His brother may not have been as hostile as he was, but he was smart enough to know that something was off with her. “A little too well.”

For once there was no bickering on the subject, only a thoughtful silence from the group of clones before Hunter sighed heavily. “We’ll keep a close eye on her tonight. Wrecker, go wake her up so we can make a plan.”

Wrecker popped out of the hatch and returned a short time later, followed by Dara, who was blinking blearily. She seemed out of it as she undertook the painstaking ritual of preparing her tea. Not for the first time, Crosshair’s eyes were drawn to her hands: the patient tap of her fingers against the pouch as she tipped the herb into her mug; the way she fiddled with the metal straw, arranging it just so; the curve of her grasp as she poured the water. He watched her mouth as she took her first sip, noticing the bags under her eyes and the way she rubbed, absentmindedly, at the purple and reddish blotch he’d left on her neck.

“Sleep well?” he taunted.

She pursed her lips and passed the beverage along to Hunter. Finding the Sergeant also watching attentively for her answer, she shrugged.

“Was looking at the stars for a bit before bed and fell asleep by accident. Wasn’t too comfortable but I’ve slept on worse.”

Wrecker laughed heartily. “Us too. Remember that time with the leeches on Nal Hutta?”

“Don’t remind me,” Echo shuddered. “I still have nightmares about it.”

“Fortunately, I do not believe there are any leeches on this planet. Although it does appear that Dara may have been bitten by a large insect overnight,” Tech observed. Crosshair looked at him closely, finding a hint of amusement in his eyes; Tech could miss a lot of subtlety, but he certainly wasn’t naïve. He knew that what he was looking at on Dara’s neck wasn’t an insect bite.

And everybody thought Crosshair was the shit-stirrer.

By the way Dara’s jaw tightened nearly imperceptibly, she hadn’t missed his brother’s tease. “Got hit by a branch walking home in the dark, actually,” she countered, daring him to call her out on the lie.

Hunter turned a thoughtful gaze to her. “Are you alright? You seem…”

“I’m just a little concerned about the mission,” Dara interrupted, eagerly redirecting the conversation. “Something the director of the lab said last night made me think that Prium is developing a project for the Empire. And if that’s the case, the security protocols might be tougher to break through than we expected.”

“Not for us,” Wrecker asserted confidently.

“Hmm. We’ll keep it in mind,” Hunter mused. “Right. Let’s share intel and start making a plan.”

Dara gave them a rundown of what she had gleaned from her conversations in the market and the bar. In turn, the others reported their discoveries from the past day and night of surveillance, which had revealed plenty about the villa’s security protocols, the guards’ schedules and paths of their rounds, and possible entry points.

However, as Dara had voiced, breaking in wouldn’t be without its complications. “Unfortunately, it appears that I will be unable to replicate our trick for disabling the proximity sensors and outside cameras from our last job,” Tech admitted. “The security systems here cannot be accessed remotely. I will need to do so from the control room inside of the villa.”

“What are our chances of sneaking in undetected while those systems are still active?” Hunter mused.

“Very low,” Tech replied matter-of-factly.

Wrecker cracked his knuckles with enthusiasm. “So we rush the guards, stun them all, and break in by force!” he proclaimed.

Echo placed a stern hand on his largest brother’s shoulder. “Hate to burst your bubble, but if we do that and they send for reinforcements from town, we could wind up having a lot of trouble getting out of there. Not to mention how much harder it will be for Tech and I to break into the lab if they initiate a security lockdown. And if the Empire’s really invested in this guy’s work, we can’t rule out that we might draw Imperial attention before we can get off planet.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Dara’s still-weary mouth. “Tech, could you load everything you need to override their security systems on a datapad so that somebody else can just plug in and run it? Then only one person would have to make it in, get to the control room, and the others can sneak through an accessible entry point.”

Tech blinked owlishly behind his goggles. “Of course.”

Hunter furrowed his brow suspiciously. “Are you suggesting one of us poses as a guard to get in there? I thought you said all the guards are locals—we won’t be able to slip past, the others will know we’re not one of them.”

Dara shrugged. “All the guards and other villa workers are locals. But Raab said that a lot of the scientists at the lab come from off-world.”

Wrecker grinned. “Tech sure could pose as a scientist.”

In response, Dara dug into her pack, pulling out a white lab coat and a key card. “He could, but I don’t think this will fit him. Sorry.”

Crosshair’s eyes glittered almost admiringly before he remembered to scowl. “Now how did you manage to steal those, burk’yc?”

She glared back at him. “Some of us were actually doing our jobs last night. Obviously you weren’t paying very close attention.”

He leaned forward. “Is that what you were doing? Could’ve fooled me. Maybe I was too busy keeping an eye out for your sorry shebs during your pathetic flirting.”

“Whose keycard is that?” Tech interrupted. His nose was buried in his datapad, no doubt already preparing the programs necessary to dismantle the villa’s security.

Dara gave Crosshair one more angry squint before looking away. “Raab’s. I’ll say I work for him and that he sent me to get something important. I get in, get the rest of you in undetected, and then we rendezvous at the lab and take it from there.”

Everyone looked towards Hunter, waiting for his approval. Finally, the Sergeant nodded. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 7: The Escape II

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

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Several flights of stairs and hallways later, Sawyer felt like her calves would fall off. It didn't help that her muscles were sore from trying to outmaneuver the Saber that came close to biting her head clean back in the locker room. Running from danger was something she had grown accustomed to over the years, but at this point, it was getting old--almost unbearable, until Luis and she came to a junction and stopped. She took this moment to catch her breath while combing her body of bruises. There were several on her arms at this point. She felt the wound on her head as well, noting that it didn't feel as swollen as when Luis checked it out in the basement.

“Gracias Christo, yes! We're going the right way!" Two Legs exclaimed in between panting, having moved from Sawyer to double-check a sign on the wall. He was so ecstatic that he didn't feel the sudden daggers Sawyer sent straight to his back. (1)

"Hold up," Sawyer furrowed her brows, meeting his gaze as he turned around. "You mean to tell me this whole time you didn't know where the hell we were going?" 

"I--" Two Legs hesitated, biting his lip nervously as he let out a giggle. "Okay, maybe I've been improvising just a little bit…" He made a pinching gesture as if that would take the edge off the situation. 

"Luis, are you fucking serious right now!?" 

"Hey! Hear me out!" Two Legs defended himself, gesturing with his arms out toward her. "I know for certain there is a waste hatch. I told you, I could smell it! When we find the bronze tunnel, I'm sure it's at the end waiting for us!"

Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "You're not exactly inspiring confidence right now. This place is huge; for all we know, there could be a hundred bronze tunnels!" 

"My nose has never failed me!" Two Legs confidently retorted. "Yes, I've been making things up as I go, but we're on the right trail! I caught the scent, and I've seen this sign before! We just…took a little detour, is all!" 

Guess he is a goddamn dog after all… Sawyer recalled her earlier banter with him in the basement before she continued to criticize him. "Y'know, you could've said something sooner before getting my hopes up!" 

Two Legs frowned, his earlier confidence waning. Luis's memories of comforting others failed him in this situation. Telling half-truths backfired, and the plaga didn't understand how his actions had been inappropriate. At the very least, he thought she'd appreciate the humor of the situation—people quickly forgave Luis of his trespasses because of his wit. 

"But…" he hesitated, fumbling over his thoughts. "Earlier, weren't you upset?"

"So what if I was?" Sawyer balked.

" So what? " Two Legs mimicked. "Are you really going to condemn me for trying to soothe you?"

"I'm going to condemn you if we both end up dying because you forgot which way to go! You should've been straight with me!" 

Discomfort nestled in Two Legs, the memory of failing to predate on Sawyer the previous night resurfaced. While entertaining the thought of attempting that again—given her attitude—his nerves from his spine to his feet began to tingle, dancing alongside his knotted stomach. 

He realized he was enjoying this tension. 

"Harsh words from someone so ungrateful," he grinned, suppressing a laugh. "You can't damn me if we're both corpses, now can you, senorita ?" (2)

"Last I checked, hauntings haven't been disproven," Sawyer remarked sarcastically. She stepped closer into his space, her voice low and intense. "I'm not great at Spanish, but I know you're trying to undermine--!"

"Shh!" 

"You're the human equivalent of a twig with feet, don't you shh me!" 

Two Legs suddenly clamped his hand over her mouth. Sawyer's eyes widened in protest, but she quickly noticed what had alarmed him: low snarls from the left. 

A mutual silence fell between the two, and Sawyer's gaze slowly traveled up to Luis, watching his nostrils flare and his chest rise steadily. The stillness in his eyes reminded Sawyer of a professional sniper, honing in on his target before taking a shot. Luis didn't seem the type to be someone of that ilk, but the strangeness of his behavior faded when she spotted movement from ahead. 

Three Dires emerged, their canine human forms slinking from the darkness underneath fluttering lights. As they advanced, their yellow eyes carried an eerie glow, sensing a disturbance within their territory. The large humps on their upper backs flexed with every step they took, showcasing powerful muscles underneath the flesh. 

"The meth wolves," Sawyer whispered under her breath as Two Legs removed his hand from her mouth. She immediately thought of Kari, how she was alone facing a horde of these creatures or worse--these were the survivors, and she was dead. "Oh shit…"

"How good is your aim?" Two Legs asked, his voice tense as he kept his eyes on the BOWs. 

"Decent. Why?" 

"Cover me." 

"What?!"

Without further explanation, Two Legs grabbed a discarded metal panel and threw it against the wall with a loud clang. The Dires turned towards the noise, momentarily distracted as Two Legs ran forward, waving his hands to draw their attention while he shouted. 

"Hey, over here!" 

The Dires released a series of snarling clicks like hyenas alerting one another and proceeded to advance on him. At first, the creatures were in a sprint as Two Legs began to run backward, keeping his eyes focused on them. But then he saw the look of familiarity as the BOWs paused, getting on all fours as they precariously inched toward him. Their noses twitched as the growls became deeper.

Seizing the opportunity, Sawyer aimed her handgun. Her hands shook while she sharpened her focus. Luis was insane for doing this, but with the BOWs' backs turned to her, Sawyer had a clear shot at their heads and assumed vital spots. The air became stiff as she narrowed down her first target, feeling startled when the creature's tactics changed. It was almost as if Luis had them hypnotized. She couldn't believe it, much less process what she was looking at.

Two Legs felt conflicted as he slowly backed up further, sensing through vibrations that the parasites within these entities had difficulty telling if he was a friend or foe. He sensed Sawyer's gaze and let out a yell toward the BOWs. It was enough to break the trance, and the leader took a shot at him--swiping its powerful right arm toward his direction, narrowly missing his abdomen as Two Legs jumped back. 

The first shot echoed through the corridor, dropping the nearest Dire with a headshot. Four more shots took down another, striking the head and legs. Realizing the secondary threat, the third Dire spun around and ran at full speed toward Sawyer. Just as it leaped into the air, its jaws open wide, she fired several shots--the bullets piercing through the mouth and skull before the body toppled to the ground with a thud.

Sawyer exhaled sharply. Although the encounter lasted only seconds, the adrenaline made it feel longer. Her grip on the gun relaxed.

Two Legs whistled in approval as he backtracked, kicking the Dire at Sawyer's feet to ensure it was dead. He chuckled amusingly, trying to cover up his mixed feelings about the creatures and his relation to them.

"Nice shooting!" he muttered, a hint of a smile on his lips. "For a second, I thought you were gonna let them eat me."

"It did cross my mind," Sawyer replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart. She reloaded her weapon and gestured for Luis to lead the way. "Keep going. I'll follow."

"Oh, really now?" Two Legs looked at her, eyebrows raised. "I thought you were angry with me?" 

"Oh, believe me, I still am," Sawyer replied mockingly, a nervous laugh escaping her. "But I can't be mad at you if we're both dead, so let's move."

"So, does that mean I won our argument?"

"Shut up, Luis."  

Two Legs grinned, nodding as he gestured with his head to follow. 

They continued down a narrow hall, leaving the fallen Dires behind. As they neared their destination, Two Legs's nose twitched at the sudden stench of sour milk and rotting vegetables. He paused, gagging as the smells hit his olfactory system like a train.

"Did you swallow a fly mid-run?" Sawyer quipped as she came to his side to check on him.

"Good one," Two Legs huffed with a laugh, shaking his head. "No, it's the waste hatch. We're getting close! See?" 

A bronze tunnel came into view ahead of them. They rounded a corner and rushed toward the exit. Ultimately, Two Legs and Sawyer entered a large sterile room with faded walls and a high ceiling. The space resembled a testing site where Soldado's monsters no doubt took their first breaths, its haunting imagery further exemplified by the scent of chemicals and something raw that neither Two Legs nor Sawyer could place. Sawyer furrowed her brows and licked her dry lips, not wanting to imagine the other horrors that had transpired here.

"Where's the hatch?" She asked, trying to take her mind off her thoughts. 

Two Legs placed a hand on her shoulder as he quickly walked past. "I'm gonna find it! See if you can find a gun for me in the meantime, eh? Don't wander too far!"

Before she could protest, Luis was out of sight. There was no point in arguing with him to stay put or offering to help. Accepting her lot, Sawyer began to look around, rubbing her eyes as they watered from the bleach and mildew scents in the lab.

Rows of large glass tanks lined the area, some shattered and others intact. A few flickered with faulty lights, casting gloomy shadows on the ground and illuminating the turquoise water that filled each capsule. Inside the intact tubes, remnants of creatures were visible—mangled limbs, disembodied organs, and twisted spines—floating in a viscous fluid. How each piece moved against the glass reminded Sawyer of an undeveloped fetus hanging onto the placenta, and she nearly gagged at the thought. Finding a gun for Luis was the furthest thing from her mind as her eyes widened with disdain, realizing the depth of Soldado's operations. It seemed he had never left Umbrella behind, unlike how he bragged about it back at the Plaza. She couldn't fathom why people like Soldado pushed the envelope all in the name of progress. The gallery of grotesque creations didn't seem worth whatever he had been trying to accomplish.

As Sawyer pondered the what-ifs, cautiously navigating through the labyrinth of tanks, she stopped at one in particular--unable to tear away as she peered into it. A mass of organs and spider-like legs floated in the fluid, pulsating as if still alive. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising nausea, memories of the locker room incident flooding back—how the Sabers mandibles had protruded from its cheeks and the insect-like mannerisms of the Dires formation. These things—plaga, or whatever they were—seemed obsessively revered by Soldado. She wondered how he had developed such a twisted fascination with them and where the hell they had come from in the first place. There had to be more to the story than just the caves Soldado had mentioned in passing.

He sure had a kink for bugs if there ever was one, that's for damn sure…

Just as Sawyer was about to turn away, something moved. A bloody hand lunged at the space between the tanks right at her.

"Whoa! Whoa! Fuck--!” Sawyer yelled, stumbling back in shock, nearly knocking over a desk. The sound bounced through the room, amplifying the eerie atmosphere. She struggled to regain her composure, her gun trained on the bloodied appendage.

"Kiddo," a hoarse voice called out. "It's… it's me. Put the gun down."

Sawyer hesitated, her hands shaking slightly, but then took a deep breath and peered further as the figure behind the tanks rose. Covered in blood and grime, Samuel grunted as he managed to limp around and stood before her. There was no mistaking the familiar face as Sawyer met his pained stare.

"Samuel?" Sawyer gasped, lowering her gun. She couldn't believe her eyes. "How...?"

"Surprise," Samuel feebly chuckled, his voice barely audible. He winced and fell onto his knees, his body battered and sore. Eyes unfocused and hazy, he struggled to push himself up. "Shit..."

Sawyer knelt beside him, and she gently cupped his face, careful not to touch the bruises and cuts scattered across his skin. 

"Sam, what happened to you?" Her voice shook with relief. "Are you okay?"

"Kiddo, I…." Samuel coughed, wincing as he tried to sit up. "I…I got separated from Mobley. We were ambushed…by an elephant man."

"Elephant man?" 

"Big…elephant BOW. It came out of nowhere…knocked me on my ass." His words were halting, each breath labored. Samuel glanced down at his side, where a makeshift bandage was hastily wrapped around his abdomen. Blood had seeped through the fabric, staining it a dark red. "I woke up...in an office. Found a first aid kit and...tried to patch myself up, and crawled here."

Sawyer's eyes softened, and she let go of his face, whispering an apology as he grimaced from her touch. "There's a waste hatch that leads out of here, Sam. We're gonna get out of this damn place."

Samuel smiled weakly, his voice muffled. "I missed your cursing."

"And I missed when you weren't bleeding to death," Sawyer countered playfully, trying to lighten the situation for both their sakes.

"This has been…one hell of a bust, Kiddo."

"You don't say," Sawyer quipped playfully, then tried to give him some hope to latch onto. "We can bitch about it over drinks, I promise." 

"I'll…make sure those are…both teas," Samuel grinned, straining the muscles in his mouth. "I wouldn't want...to break your streak."

Not far from the pair, Two Legs had been watching the exchange; he had arrived shortly after hearing Sawyer scream. Confusion bloomed in his eyes. This Samuel and his quarry weren't related by blood—Two Legs could smell their differences from their sweat alone—but their connection was significant nonetheless. An unfamiliar feeling roosted under his ribs as he observed them—a mix of covetousness and something else he couldn't quite place. Whatever was going on with his body deeply unsettled his composure as he finally forced himself to approach the two.

"Hey! I heard you yelling, are you good?" Two Legs called out, pushing the emotions down while pretending not to notice Samuel at first. 

Samuel's gaze shifted to Two Legs, and a sense of recognition crossed his features. "Who's...this fella?"

"This is Luis. He's been helping me," Sawyer answered quickly, her voice steadying as she gestured toward him. "Luis, this is my good friend Sam I've told you about."

"Hola!" Two Legs grinned, giving a slight wave with his hand. He felt the weight of Samuel's scrutiny. Though clouded with immense pain, the man's eyes held a clarity that unnerved him. It was as if Samuel was seeing through the facade, sensing something that even Sawyer hadn't fully grasped.

Two Legs lowered his hand and made a fist.

"Let's get you out of here," Sawyer gently touched Samuel's shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Samuel nodded, though he clearly struggled with his wounds and feelings toward Sawyer's companion. With their help, he slowly rose, wincing with each movement. All the while, the expression of Two Legs remained unreadable as Samuel studied him.

"How far is the hatch, Luis?" Sawyer asked.

"Oh, it's on the other side of these gestation tanks! I don't think your friend here will struggle getting to it once he finds his feet."

"How comforting of you…" Samuel muttered, followed by a rough cough.

Two Legs felt a strange, awkward sensation as he stared at Samuel.  He realized it wasn't just his obvious connection with Sawyer that bothered the plaga, but something else. One thing was sure: Two Legs didn't like how it made him feel, almost on edge—his false display as Luis threatened to lift with each passing breath because of it.

"You're pretty tough for an older guy. It sure looks like you've seen better days, eh?" Two Legs gestured toward Samuel's injury. He couldn't help but try to pry and see what else was happening.

"Can we...cut the small talk for now?" Samuel asked, coughing once more.

"Jesus, Sam, your mouth is bleeding bad." Sawyer pointed out.

"I'll be fine," Samuel protested. "Trust me...I'll be alright."

The coughing of blood made Two Legs connect the dots, but to be sure, he needed to use his senses to feel out the room. Subtly, the tendrils in his body sent out microscopic pulses of vibration. The waves created varying degrees of noise that only those of his kind could hear. Two Legs turned his attention inward, intently focusing on Samuel as the frequencies returned to him, constructing a series of heat signature images behind his eyes. As the pictures focused, his stomach dropped.  

A blue-green aura existed inside Samuel, taking the shape of a plaga and coiling throughout his body, leeching into his spine. The parasite stopped moving and turned its head toward the source of the sudden racket that had knocked it off course. The creature responded to Two Legs with a violent sequence of sounds, causing Two Legs' eyes to widen and his breath to hitch.

"Sam?" Sawyer backed up a little as Samuel coughed more blood into his palms.

"Sawyer, you need to get away from him!" Two Legs stepped back, his voice urgent.

"What are you talking about?" Sawyer's head snapped up, confusion and anger flashing in her eyes. "He needs our help!"

Samuel looked between them, his expression darkening as his breath quickened. "What the hell are you saying?"

Two Legs struggled to find the words—the human words—to explain himself as he glanced frantically between the two.

"He's infected," He finally managed, his tone insistent as he abruptly sensed more of his brethren's aggression coming through. "There's a parasite inside him!"

"No, that's impossible," Sawyer whispered, denial thick in her tone. She could feel her face turning pale as she met Samuel's eyes. "Samuel, tell him—tell him it's not true!"

"I…I don't know," Samuel admitted, his voice breaking as his eyes wandered around. "During the fight with the BOW, something…something stabbed me. Like a stinger."

Samuel glimpsed down at his bandaged side, realization dawning on his face as horror crept into his voice. 

"Oh god…"

"No!" Sawyer's hands shook as she gripped Samuel's left arm, her eyes pleading. "There has to be a way to help you! We'll cut the son of a bitch out once we leave!" 

"We don't have time for that!" Two Legs interjected grimly. He shook his head. "The parasite will take over soon. We need to stop it now!"

"How the hell do you know that, Luis?" Sawyer spat. "He doesn't even look infected!"

"I know--" Two Legs felt sweat trickling down his face before he remembered pocketing documents on Plaga Type E back in the security office. "I know because of Soldado's notes! I found them with his corpse. You can check the back of my pants if you don't believe me; I stashed them!"

The atmosphere grew dense as Sawyer and Two Legs stared each other down, their mutual suspicion and bitterness rising. Samuel, caught between them, felt his panic mounting. He suddenly became acutely aware of the thing inside him--a cold, alien presence slithering against his bones and organs.

The room grew darker as his body began to cringe. His heart picked up in speed. 

"We have to leave him behind," Two Legs pleaded, seeing the ache in Sawyer's eyes and her unwillingness to let go. He felt a pang of something—empathy, perhaps—but he pushed it aside. There was no room for that, not now. His voice became frustrated, recalling his previous mistakes. "You told me to be straight with you earlier, and now that I'm doing that, you suddenly want comforting lies?! Jesus, make up your mind!"

"I am not leaving Sam, and that's final!" Sawyer yelled, her eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and fear.

"Ki-Kiddo…"... Samuel's voice was barely a whisper.

His body started to convulse.

"S-Sam...?"

“R--u--Run…” 

Those were the last words Samuel managed to choke out before a guttural scream tore from his throat. His eyes glowed with a startling, unnatural hue while his skin rippled grotesquely as the parasite took control, bones cracking and elongating beneath the surface.

Sawyer quickly moved away, her heart sprinting in her chest as his face contorted in agony. Inhuman roars reverberated through the area as Samuel's features continued to warp. She watched as his hands thickened and extended into grayish appendages, the nails hardening into opaque, chitinous claws. His skin became darker and toughened, taking on a leathery texture. With an agonizing wail, Samuel's back arched, and a spine of segmented armor erupted along his vertebrae--reminiscent of a beetle's carapace. His chest expanded as more bones realigned to support the growing mass as his body gained height. A pair of tusks--long and sharp--protruded from his mouth, giving an ungainly appearance. 

The last glow of humanity in Samuel's eyes faded as he stared at Sawyer, his arms extending outward as he let out a thick screech that rattled every gestation tank in the lab.

As Samuel continued to cry out, Two Legs watched in horrified fascination. He felt the parasite's malicious intent directed toward him, sensing the elder plaga had no intention of letting anyone in this room out alive. The last time he felt like prey was back in the village, and a deep-seated fear stirred within him.

Sawyer stood frozen. Her vision blurred, and the sounds around her dulled as if she were underwater. Each blink of her eyes replayed Samuel's despairing screams, blending with haunting memories of Carmen rising from her bed, arms outstretched in a desperate plea for mercy. A wave of detachment washed over Sawyer, incapable of reconciling the hell unfurling before her.

Without warning, Samuel—now fully the Tusk—turned his newfound strength against her. With a violent shove, he hurled Sawyer aside like a rag doll. The force sent her crashing across the room, the world spinning around her in a dizzying haze. Pain spread through her body, but it felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else. 

Two Legs sprang into action, his movements a blur as he launched himself toward Sawyer to intercept, hitting the ground with a grunt that reflected his exertion. He skidded slightly from the impact but managed to break her fall, using his body as a shield as she collided with him. The force of the impact knocked the air out of his chest, but he clung to Sawyer, absorbing the brunt of the blow to protect her.

Breathing heavily, Two Legs looked down at her, her eyes wide with shock. The raw affliction on her face seemed to threaten to unravel her resolve, but there was no time to dwell on it, much less Two Legs conflicted feelings about risking everything for someone he saw as prey.

Two Legs made haste as he maneuvered Sawyer into a safer position, his hands gripping her shoulders to steady her. "Are you alright?"

Sawyer nodded, her breath in fleeting gasps as she struggled to regain her composure. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, quivering but finding ground. Her eyes met his, and a silent understanding passed between them—a shared resolve to survive and a knowledge of what the outcome meant for Samuel. 

"We can't let him find the hatch! He's too dangerous," Two Legs pressed, his voice edged with desperation. "I know this...hurts you, but we must take him down together!"

Sawyer nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She scrambled to grab her handgun, which fell not far from her, and tightened her grip on it, firming her will even though all she wanted to do was mourn.

"Do you have any ideas?" Sawyer breathed. 

"Besides not dying? Nadda…” Two Legs admitted, his gaze shifting back to Samuel. The intimidating presence of the beast loomed larger as it barreled toward them with alarming speed. "Joder!"

"Remember how we took down the meth wolves earlier?"

"Si?"

"It can't hurt to try it again!" Sawyer exclaimed. "Distract him, I'll shoot!"

"Wait, wait, wait, why am I the bait this time?!" 

"He looks more pissed at you than me, now go!" 

As the Tusk lunged to crush them, the pair jumped into action, playing to their respective strengths. Two Legs moved frenetically, darting around Samuel and drawing his ire.

"Oye, bastardo feo! Were you looking for me?" Two Legs taunted, his voice taut with adrenaline as he narrowly dodged Samuel's monstrous swing. The Tusk's massive trunk-like arm crashed into a metal support beam with a deafening clang, sending a shiver through the room. Debris rained down, shattering gestation tanks and spilling their contents. (3)

Seizing the momentary distraction, Sawyer fired her gun with grit, aiming at the vulnerable joints and gaps in the Tusk's exoskeleton. Her bullets chipped away at the creature's flesh, and as she missed some shots, she could feel her frustration mount. She watched Luis continue to lead the Tusk on a wild chase through the facility, calculating each movement to trick the BOW into smashing into dangerous objects and the walls.

"Missed me!" Two Legs heckled as the Tusk slammed its arms into four gestation tanks simultaneously while attempting to grab him. The glass embedded deeply into its skin, and the BOW erupted in a ferocious roar that clapped like thunder. Its eyes zeroed in on Two Legs, the parasites' relentless drive to eliminate the perceived higher threat overriding all other concerns. The BOW charged with renewed ferocity, its tusks now fully extended and gleaming with razor-sharp ends. At the same time, more beetle traits emerged, such as an armored shell and menacing mandibles snapping viciously.

Two Legs weaved through the chaos with agile precision, using his smaller size to his advantage as he dodged the plagas' aggressive attacks. He was getting into a flow as the lab shook, with each of the Tusk's giant steps, the walls, and the equipment bearing the brunt of its rage. Eventually, luck ran out for Two Legs as the Tusk grabbed him mid-jump.

"S-shit!" Two Legs exclaimed, feeling the creature apply pressure to his entire body. He could feel his lungs deflate, his mind combing through Luis's memories at lightning speed to try and find a way out of this, but the pain became more unyielding as he could feel his host's bones wanting to give out even with the biological reinforcements Two Legs had developed over the years. He couldn't afford to mutate, and even then, Two Legs knew it wouldn't be of use at that moment.

Suddenly, several bullets hit one of the Tusk's mandibles, sending the appendage flying off in a bloody cloud and drawing a snarl of rage from the beast. The creature's eyes snapped toward Sawyer; the parasite recognized her as a more significant threat, tossing Two Legs to the side before it rushed at her, ignoring the bullets hitting its chest.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Sawyer's curse cut through the noise as her gun jammed unexpectedly. Panic surged through her veins, her hands desperately trying to clear the blockage. She scrambled for cover, but it was too late.

The Tusk launched forward, and its right arm swung, crushing and slamming into the ground, sending Sawyer crashing to the floor. Her face smacked against the cold ground; wind knocked from her lungs as the gun skidded out of reach.

"No, no, no!" Sawyer muttered, her voice shaking with fear. She struggled to push herself up. The Tusk overlooked her, its immense shadow casting a suffocating chill.

"Oh no you don't!" Two Legs shouted, his voice raw as he charged. He skidded to a halt, scarcely avoiding a crushing blow from the parasite's massive right foot. In a desperate move, Two Legs snatched a jagged glass piece from the debris. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he drove it into the tender underside of the tusk leg. The creature bellowed in distress, its enormous frame staggering back as it clutched at the wound and fell.

Two Legs took the momentary reprieve to rush to Sawyer's side, his face etched with worry. 

"We need to quit meeting like this, cariño!" he shouted, his hands trembling as he helped her to her feet. "This one's on me for earlier!" (4)

Sawyer groaned, pushing through the mist of pain and disorientation. Her gaze fixed on Samuel, who was still squirming in agony, now on his hands and knees ravaging what remained of the lab, his furious strikes gouging deep craters into the floor and shattering anything in his path as he trapped himself in cords and other electrical equipment. The sight hardened Sawyer's stare. She understood there was no turning back now, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

"We have to end this," Sawyer's eyes darted around, heart sinking when she saw her gun too far out of range. It wouldn't make sense anyway to waste what little energy she had to unjam the damn thing. Her sight fell onto a fallen pipe within arm's reach, the sharp end illuminating under the dimming lights.

"One last time, get him pissed!"

Two Legs hesitated, his eyes betraying doubt, but he settled with his lot. Once again, he sprinted toward the Tusk, his insults laced with scorn as he dodged the creature's feral swings.

The BOW found its footing and ran at him, and as Two Legs darted underneath a table, narrowly avoiding being stomped, the Tusk fell forward and onto its face. Its legs had been trapped and entangled by debris and wiring, causing the creature to trip. Its frantic movements further entrapped the BOW while its claws dug into the ground, attempting to thrash away at its confinements, feeling steel wires wrap around its neck and sinking into its flesh.

With Samuel in the perfect position and nowhere to retreat, Sawyer knew the moment had arrived. She charged, her grip on the pipe white-knuckled, and with a decisive strike, she drove it into the soft tissue of the Tusk's throat, just below the start of its exoskeleton. The creature spat blood as it roared, and Sawyer yelled as she forced the pipe deeper, angling it to drive into the brain so it would kill him faster.

"Sam…" Sawyer's voice cracked, the words barely escaping through her gasping breaths.

The growls twisted into desperate gurgles as the BOW choked on its bile, movements coming to a sluggish crawl. The parasite's grip on Samuel's body weakened as it could feel its life force draining alongside its host--unable to contend with the arteries its attacker severed all at once.

"Sam, I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry, Sam!"

In his final moments, Samuel's eyes locked onto hers. His monstrous form seemed to falter as fleeting recognition and profound sorrow had etched across his ghastly appearance.

Sawyer shook her head, tears blurring as she whispered, "Sam, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

With a final, shuddering breath, the Tusk collapsed, its massive body crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. 

Silence enveloped the facility, only interrupted by Sawyer's breathing, the crackling of failing electrical equipment, and the blaring of the overhead alarm system.

Less than two minutes before red protocol is activated. 

She stood over the fallen creature, the pipe still clutched in her trembling hands. The moment's weight pressed down on her, her mind racing and subjugated by the crushing reality of what she had just done.

She had killed her best friend.

Two Legs crawled out from his hiding place and approached Sawyer cautiously. A somber stillness masked his expression while he watched her grip on the pipe loosen, the metal object making a squelching noise as it remained embedded into Samuel's flesh. The quiet that followed was heavy, laden with the consequence of their actions.

"He's... he's gone," Sawyer whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes remained locked on the lifeless form of her friend, the horror and despair evident in her gaze.

The rawness of her grief made Two Legs reluctant to intrude, much less offer comfort. A memory from "the other place" imposed itself upon him, showing Luis and Abuelo putting down a bird whose wings were trapped in barbed wire. The unfortunate animal had torn itself apart while trying to escape. He could hear the two arguing in his head about whether to nurse the creature back to health or to end its suffering, with Luis heavily debating the ethics long after the deed was done.

"Sometimes…" Two Legs began, his voice hesitant and heavy. The rest of the memory played out.

Abuelo ended the conversation in one fell swoop—the words leaving an impact on a young Luis that would follow him for years.

"Sometimes, there are no good choices."

Sixty seconds until red protocol activation. 

"We need to move," Two Legs said, his voice unwavering despite the mixed emotions tugging at him. "C'mon, c'mon, you can't stay here."

Sawyer stole one last lingering look at Samuel's lifeless body, then followed Two Legs. They ran across to the other side of the lab, sliding into the hatch, and fell rapidly down a dark tunnel.

As they emerged on the other side, crashing into one another and tumbling through mud and garbage, they found themselves further away from the site than expected. They crawled out of the grime and stood up, noticing the expanse of twilight shadows and the distant glow of the sun.

The howl of the explosion shattered the moment of peace as the facility erupted in a brilliant burst, lighting up the sky with a searing glow.

Sawyer stood frozen momentarily, her face illuminated by the distant flames. The shock of it all felt surreal as if she were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion. She wondered if this was how Carmen felt when Raccoon City fell to the undead—alone and hopeless, knowing that everything she cared about, every person she loved, had been reaped without mercy.

Two Legs swallowed hard as he watched the blaze. He could almost feel the heat of the fire engulfing Abuelo's house as Luis stood not more than a few feet away, watching his home and even his identity perish. That was one of Luis's core memories that he would rather soon forget than relive. He needed a distraction and fast.

Glancing at Sawyer, Two Legs eyes echoed the ferocity of the flames. His stomach twisted as hunger urged him to sink his teeth into his quarry. He had gone the extra mile not only to save himself but also her own hide. All this effort was to finish what he had started last night and end this strange sense of obligation that was lingering in his mind. He was so close, he could practically feel her arteries gushing around his mouth.

Then her eyes met his.

His heart beat wildly, like back in the basement.  

"C'mon," Two Legs urged almost bitterly as he blinked, his voice barely whispering above calamity ahead. He moved away from Sawyer, his steps hurried and desperate. The terrain grew uneven as he approached the river's edge, which was just a short distance away, and he turned to see if she was following.

Silently, Sawyer acknowledged the fire one last time and turned her back. She followed Luis deep into the woods, the river soothing her frayed nerves as she picked up the pace.  She had no idea what to do now except to keep running—just like she always did.

Even if it hurt.

Notes:

1. Gracias Christo = Thank Christ! 2. Senorita = Miss/ young girl 3. Bastardo feo = Ugly bastard 4. Cariño! = Sweetheart / Dear

[leonanette]

The Man in the Pearl Mask Masterlist

Summary

The Valryan gods foresee what destruction Lucerys Velaryon’s death will bring and decide to intervene. They cannot stop the dragons from dancing but they can change the tune.

Lucerys comes back from the dead thanks to Balerion’s intervention and decides that, since he failed to help his mother’s cause as himself, he should become someone different - the masked, mute, mystery dragonrider known only as Lord Velaryon.

The gods aren’t content with intervening in just one person’s fate, however. Other gods set their eyes on Aemond and work to set him on a different path.

One day, Lucerys and Aemond’s paths will cross again and, when they do, they will be very different people.

Main Fic Chapters:

Divine Intervention

Spectre at the Feast

Death Denied

Tessarion's Work

Brothers Reunited

Grounded by a Ghost

Death to the Greens

The Return

Becoming Indispensable

The First Battle

Blood and Cheese

The Bridge Again

Storm's End Again

The Papers

Syrax's Best Work

Chaos in King's Landing

The Morning After

The Road to Battle

The Miracle at Duskendale

Facing the Music

Many Councils

The Night Ghouls

The Red Fork

A Plot is Hatched

Madness and Mutiny

Rhaena Rises

The Mercies

The War Sept

Changing Course

The Trap and the Lance

Tumbleton

The Negotiations

A Secret Meeting

Larys Returns

A Debt Repaid

Shipbreaker Bay Again

The White Worm and the Woodswitch

A Letter from an Enemy

The Princess Returns

The Chase

Cloak of Gold and Cloak of Silver

The Search

The Awful Truth

The Punishment

The Highgarden Ball 

Silence and Defiance 

Family in Name Only

The Deep Breath

Harrenhal's Revenge 

Ride of the Golden Dread

The Last Few Miles

Night at Acorn Hall

High Heart

Harrenhal Again

The Golden Tooth

A Storm Passing

No Way Out 

The Trial

Meleys' Best Work

Plots and Counterplots

Ultimatum

The Last Battle

Epilogue

The Valyrian Gods

Character Profiles

Syrax

Balerion

Tessarion

Vermax

Vhagar

Meleys

Family Tree and Creation Myth

Spin Offs, Deleted Scenes and More

Portrait of Lord Velaryon by hrgves

The Blue Poppy Dreams

Vermax used the last of the blue death poppy to allow the dead to contact Aemond through dreams. This is the counsel they have to offer him.

Deleted Scenes

Stuff and nonsense too good not to write but not good enough to make the fic.

How Vermax Won His Wager

Alternative title: Valyrian Gods Behaving Badly

There's nothing more dangerous than a bored Valyrian god and Vermax is getting very bored in King's Landing indeed. So, when his friend, Gaelithox, offers up a friendly wager, he can't resist the opportunity to cause chaos among the greens.

Be prepared for a maiden made of clouds, a King getting turned into a horse for five minutes and all sorts of other godly hijinks.

Policy of Truth

Alternative title: What would have happened if I wrote the fic after watching Episode 1 of Season 2.

An AU within the 'Man in the Pearl Mask' AU, taking place around Chapter 15.

The Valyrian Gods are working to turn Aemond against his family by showing him the ugly truth about them. But, Vermax is saving the ugliest truth until last because he knows that seeing his mother and the man he once admired having a sordid affair would break him. And, Vermax also knows that he can use that to his advantage...

Playlist

This is an ever-growing playlist made up of my ideas and suggestions from my lovely commenters. I'll always open for more suggestions so please don't hesitate to comment with yours!

Fire and Ice by Nerdout (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

Back from the Dead by Skillet (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

The Dominoes Fall by Dario Marianelli

Mirage by OneRepublic (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

Firestarter by The Prodigy

(spoilers for Chapter 19 incoming) No Bullets Fly by Sabaton

Night Witches by Sabaton

Molossus by James Newton Howard

No Light, No Light by Florence and the Machine (suggested by cryptid_corvid)

Silly Tumblr posts

Just a collection of stuff and nonsense.

Chapter 16 in GIFs

My Snarkiest Author's Notes (without context)

The Valyrian Gods during Chapter 35 of The Man in the Pearl Mask

Me being a Sabaton fan in ‘The Man in the Pearl Mask’ - Part 1

The Valyrian Gods betting on what Luke will do next

Details

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandoms:

House of the Dragon (TV)

A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Relationships:

Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen

Characters:

Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen ; Balerion the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire ; Syrax the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Valyrian Gods (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Aegon II Targaryen ; Alicent Hightower ; Helaena Targaryen; Daeron Targaryen (Son of Viserys I) ; Alys Rivers of House Strong ; Jacaerys Velaryon ; Cregan Stark ; Daemon Targaryen ; Otto Hightower ; Laenor Velaryon ; Rhaenyra Targaryen ; Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen ; Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon) ; Tyraxes the God (ASoIaF) ; Vermithor | Jaehaerys I Targaryen's Dragon ; Silverwing | Alysanne Targaryen's Dragon ; Corlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon ; Erryk Cargyll ; Floris Baratheon ; Borros Baratheon

Additional Tags:

Fix-It ; Secret Identity ; Ghosts ; Shakespeare References ; Slow Burn ; Eventual Romance ; Other Additional Tags to Be Added ; Body Horror ; Blood and Gore ; Vermax the Valyrian God ; Tessarion the Valyrian God ; Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) Lives ; Aged-Up Character(s) ; Not Beta Read ; Nightmares ; Minor Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Sabaton References ; Minor Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen

[write-and-wander]

Yawning Grave | Two: Decline

Astarion x Ayzora (F!OC)

Description: As the party continues to strive for a cure, Ayzora and Astarion are suddenly given ample time alone. They spend it learning more about one another, knowing each other better, and weaving invisible strings in unspoken deals.

Warnings: Self-Harm allusion/mention (scars) | Word count: 6.7k

| One | Two | ...

Read on Ao3

Golden sunlight filters through thick fabric, shifting into deep blue rays that cast their glow on Ayzora’s trancing body.

Something almost ticklish dances on the strip of her exposed skin at the base of her abdomen, then her chest, then her face.  A loose strand of her hair is tugged at.

When they open, her eyes lock with those of a midnight black corvid.

She sits up and scrambles to the other side of her tent, back pressed against the fabric wall.

The raven cocks its head.  It croaks.

The sound echoes from above in a chorus, growing ever-louder.

Her gaze crawls up the wall while she remains frozen in terror.

The ceiling of her tent is covered in- no, consists completely of ravens.

“Will you damn yourself?”

The Raven Queen’s disembodied voice echoes in the room with the same question that has haunted Ayzora for decades.

The conspiracy of ravens forming the ceiling flies away at last, exposing Ayzora to the cold, overcast sky.

She cranes her neck, looking straight up.

The shifting clouds create a looming white mask contrasting the vast dark blue-grey of the rest of the sky- the face of the Raven Queen.

“You damned me!  You damned my friends!”  She screams back, standing on her feet.  Tears quickly well and fall from her eyes in twin streams.  “You could have saved them!  I would have stopped!  You knew that, and you just watched us die!”

Lightning strikes in the clouds, turning the eyes of the mask from endless black to searing white in an instant.

The ground disappears from beneath Ayzora.  She begins to fall,

Down,

Faster,

Deeper,

A scream rips through her throat as her arms claw at the air, desperate to find purchase on something- anything- before she is plunged into the depths of the Abyss.

Ayzora wakes with a gasp.

The tent is empty.

Golden sunlight filters in through the cross-hatched holes in the fabric of her tent, turning blue and gently casting rays of light onto Ayzora’s tense body.

She weeps silently.

The dreams are always different, and yet they are always the same.  The ravens flock to her, just like they did on that horrid day.  The expressionless mask of The Raven Queen finds her; mocks her; asks her the same damned question.  

No matter what she says, the outcome never changes.  She is handed over from one enemy to another.  She is swallowed whole by the yawning grave that awaits her in the Abyss; in the wretched realm of her cruel patron.  She dies all over again, and she is reminded that it was inevitable.  She was dead from the beginning.

And then, she was forced to rise anyway.

With remnants of the same exhausted determination, she forces herself out of her bed roll.

Stretching, a tinge of pain suddenly shoots through her neck, followed by the dull throb of sore wounds; a reminder of what transpired the night before.

While Ayzora normally found herself restless through her brief trances, last night was different, as if she had known what- or who- was coming.

She shifted, turning to her side.  Her eyes opened for a split second to see Astarion in her tent, looming over her, his sharp vampiric teeth bared.

He locked eyes with her and suddenly retreated, sitting on his heels.

“... Shit.”

“Astarion?” She sat up.

“No, No- it's not what it looks like.”

Her brows furrowed.  She quickly lifted a finger to her lips, silently signaling that he be quiet, lest he wake the others.  Astarion's vampirism didn't come as a shock- Ayzora already knew, thanks to her scrying- but why he would come to her to feed, she wasn't sure.  “What are you doing?” she whispers.

“I wasn't going to hurt you, I swear.  I just needed… well, blood.”

She sighed.  “When's the last time you fed?”

“I… well, I feed on animals.  Boars, deer, kobolds- whatever I can get my hands on.  But it's not enough,” he admitted quietly, shifting to sit closer beside her.  “Not if I have to fight.  I feel so… weak.”

“So you need to feed on people,” Ayzora said, coming to the conclusion for him.  She'd been in the business of the undead for long enough to know that, when it comes to a creature's essence- soul, blood; things of the sort- there's a different quality between animals and people.  Consciousness brings with it an elevated potency that the undead unfortunately need to sustain themselves.

“I- yes,” he confirmed, brows raised in surprise.  She was handling this quite well, all things considered.  Much better than he had anticipated.  It was vexing- but not his priority at present.  He needed to feed.  Soon.  “If I had just a little blood, I know I could think clearer.  Fight better.  Please,” he pleaded low.

Using their illithid tadpoles, Astarion opened his mind to hers, attempting to show Ayzora- to prove to her his honesty.

She shook her head, pulling away from the connection.  “No need-” she insisted with a wave of her hand, “I believe you.  I…” she paused for a moment, cutting herself off.  I can't tell him I already knew- it would only make things worse.  She took a deep breath.  “I only wish you told me sooner.”

“I needed you to trust me- and you can trust me, Ayzora,” he looked at her earnestly, dropping his usual theatrics.

There were only a few moments Ayzora felt she had seen Astarion honestly genuine.  This was one of them.  She wouldn't take it for granted.

She nodded.  “Alright.  But… only as much as you need.”

“Not a drop more,” he confirmed, a light returning to his expression in excitement.  “Let's make ourselves comfortable.”

Ayzora laid back again, taking some time to focus on the muscles in her body and intentionally relax them.

Astarion resumed his earlier position, looming over Ayzora- this time, his body a little closer to hers.

She couldn't help but feel the moment was oddly… intimate.

His mouth hovered over the crook of her neck, breath dancing along her skin with every exhale.

“Okay,” she whispered, locking eyes with him.

He nodded and sank his teeth into her flesh.

It stung at first, before fading to a dull throb.

The moment her blood filled his hungry maw, he grimaced.  Her blood was not as… fresh as he was expecting.  It caught him off guard.  How?

But he was hungry- and his instincts quickly overtook his dissatisfaction with her bitter taste.  He drank deep of the forbidden wine, and with each long draw of thick blood he could feel something in him shift, as if he was coming alive again at last.

The vulnerability of the moment made her want to squirm- but she willed herself to remain.  Ayzora kept her eyes on his white curls, distracting herself from the pain.  He was here.  Safe.  Feeding on something other than the blood of rats; an innate hunger satiated at last.  The relief must be heavenly.  And with his strength renewed, their odds improved.  Find a healer.  Get to Baldur's Gate.  Kill Cazador; she silently reminded herself.  This is just part of it.

Her hands started to tingle as she felt herself grow light headed- enough.  “Star,” she whispered, her weak voice and mumbling mouth only managing to make half of his name audible.

“Hm?” He instinctively inquired, abruptly pulled away from the ecstasy he began to lose himself in (and a little jarred by the sudden introduction of a… nickname?).  “Oh, yes, of course,” he quickly interjected, pulling away from the necromancer.

She sat up and pulled a rag out of one of her bags, pressing it to the fresh wound on her neck.  “Better?”

Astarion nodded, wiping some of the fresh blood from his glistening lips.  “That was… amazing.  My mind is clear… I feel stronger… happy.”

She huffed in a laugh.  “Good.”  Pulling the rag away from her neck, she checked the cloth.  The bleeding wasn't as bad as she'd expected, but she still decided on keeping the wound covered.  She yawned and looked back up at the vampire.  “Get some rest, now.  We'll see you fight soon.”

Astarion stood.  “Won't be long.  So many people to kill.”  He turned to step out of her tent, lifting the flap; but paused.  He looked over his shoulder at her.  “This is a gift, you know.”  His voice was still low, but he spoke with his whole chest.

She looked up at him, a small smile growing on her lips.

“I won't forget it.”

She nodded.  “I know.  Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

Astarion stalked off into the night once again to hunt- and this time, it wasn't by sneaking away.  As he headed into the woods to fill the rest of his stomach, he took confident strides.

Ayzora listened to his footsteps trail away as she continued to press the cloth to her bloody neck.  He was just feeding, she reminded herself.  Nothing more.

So why do I feel so exposed?  She expected to feel the contentment of someone who just helped a great deal with a friends’ condition.  Instead, she felt like a lover who was exposed, ravished, and left to process the intimate exchange naked and alone.

As she strips herself of her bedclothes, the feeling lingers.  Exposed and vulnerable.  Alone.  As if being on her own is suddenly abnormal.  The loneliness that sinks in is equal parts pain and relief.  Shifting her thoughts away from the night before, she moves to stand before her silver mirror and stares at the naked reflection.

Faded white scars litter her torso, dragging across her body as the great swings of now-buried swords, leaving rising tides of thick skin in their wake.  In between the sweeps of forgotten battles are small self-inflicted nicks scattered about like constellations that stretch from her sternum to her stomach and trickle down the tops of her thighs in the search for more space than her sacrificed body can offer. 

Though the origin of her large scars have been lost to time, these scars- the small, seemingly insignificant ones- she knows well.  Standing before her own image, she gently runs her fingers over each one in a ritual she maintains with the dedication of a devout paladin.  With each rise and fall of her fingers, she whispers a name.  The people who she killed.  The people who she lost.  The people who died because of her.  Her cold body is a graveyard in memory of them.  It is a testament to the depth of her sins.  It is a grim reminder of the atonement she has yet to achieve.

The names of her friends and family soon fall from her mouth in sharp whispers between the shimmering tears that drip off of her chin and soak into the rug beneath her feet.  Her hands stop moving when her fingers reach the final scar, settled between her breasts.  This cut was noticeably deeper than the rest, leaving a more prominent mark in its memory.

Her words tremble in unison with her shaking body as she utters the final name of her ritual:  “The Raven Queen.”

A moment of silence passes in reverence: one last prayer to the souls on her ledger that tip the scales nearly beyond redemption.

In that same hallowed silence, she takes her time dressing herself, putting her form together piece by piece as Ayzora is reassembled.  While she wraps the fabric of her pale blue dress around herself, she inhales slowly, watching her chest rise in the mirror.  The skin she chooses to leave exposed- her legs, her arms, her cleavage and neck- is still pristine; as if everything is hidden again beneath carefully constructed beauty.  She exhales, emptying her lungs completely until her chest settles into a familiar hollow sensation.  Familiarity, however bitter, is a necessary comfort, at present.

She clips her cloak to the harness fitted over her dress, and after a final examination of her gilded presentation, she steps out of her tent.

As the sun warms her pale skin, she pauses for a while to listen to the song of a morning in the druid grove, grounding herself to the present.  It's a hotter day today, with a clear blue sky and still air.  There's chatter amongst the group, underlined by the droning buzz of cicadas, and the birds perched in the nearby trees chirp trilling melodies from above.

The scene outside is even more lively than it had been when the motley group made camp for the first time.  Karlach, a barbarian tiefling with a heart of gold (or, more accurately, infernal iron) had joined the ever-growing party about a day after they settled, along with Wyll, the warlock “Blade of Frontiers,” and Scratch, the collectively adopted dog.  They were graciously given ample space to fit everyone within the grove after freeing the current leader, Kagha, from a dark deal with the shadow druids, and making a promise to find the Archdruid, Halsin.  This place has been a constant since then; a temporary home to get them by for a few days.

In a strange way, Ayzora feels she may miss this.  The company has been a gift.  It will be bittersweet to part ways once Halsin is returned and they are tended to.

Thankfully- though incredibly suspicious- the early stages of ceremorphosis have yet to surface, despite approaching the middle of the first full tenday on the journey.  Optimistically, most of them choose to believe this means there’s still ample time to find this healer and be cured.

“Hey, soldier!”  Karlach calls out, abandoning the group to greet the late-riser. 

Ayzora still stands just in front of her tent, taking stock of the camp.  She watches the tiefling jog up to her with a smile.  “Good morning, Karlach.”

“Listen, I know I was meant to stay at camp today, but ever since you gave me that infernal iron last night, I’ve been itching to get to Dammon to finally get this thing,” she knocks on her chest a couple times, gesturing to the engine that sits in place of her heart, “fixed up.”

Ayzora agrees before Karlach can even ask: “I’ll stay in your place.”

The tiefling beams at her, nearly jumping with giddy excitement.  “Thank you!  I knew you would!  Oh, I would squeeze you half to death if I could!”

Ayzora laughs, joy swelling in her own chest at her friend’s glee.  She’s nearly certain Karlach had said something similar after she found the piece of infernal iron Dammon mentioned, but the joy is still just as potent.  Though she won’t admit it out loud, she would gladly return Karlach’s embrace, if it weren’t for the infernal engine raising her body heat so high that Ayzora would burn at her touch.  However, with this infernal iron and Dammon’s skill, she may finally be able to have that hug.

Thank the gods the tieflings at the grove happened to have an infernal smith among them… it gives her a chance.  “You’re welcome,” Ayzora finally responds fondly.

Karlach, still giddy, promptly returns to the group preparing to head out, immediately making it known that Ayzora would remain at camp so she could go and visit Dammon.

Astarion is exchanging crossbows with Wyll when the news breaks.  He glances at the necromancer, who is now retrieving a helping of breakfast set aside for her by Gale.  Perfect; some time alone.

Along with the newly-added visit with Dammon, the agenda for the adventurers’ day focuses on scouting out the goblin camp Halsin is supposed to be contained in.  If all goes well, they hope to come up with a plan and enact at least the first stages of the rescue mission- if not follow through completely- before dusk.

In an established routine, a pair stays behind to protect the camp from intruders and tend to any wounded who return.  Ayzora normally remains with Wyll.  However, today, she trades places with Karlach, making Astarion her new counterpart.

An unexpected, but pleasant surprise for both.

When the others finally leave, Ayzora is preparing a stew to simmer for the day, per Gale’s instruction.

“You know,” Astarion begins, sauntering into Ayzora’s line of sight, “if you wanted to spend more time together, all you had to do was ask.”

A smirk appears on Ayzora’s face with a huff.  “And lose my spot with Wyll?”  She looks at him as she gives the pot a final stir and removes the ladle, hanging it on the stand.  “Don’t be so bold.”  She rises to her feet, brushing off the dirt pressed into her bare knees and adjusting the wide forward-facing slit of her dress that exposes her black leather shorts.

“Darling, I’m hurt,” he pouts, “I thought we had something special,” he adds, laying a hand on his chest in feigned offense.

“Don’t play coy; I know you have a soft spot for Karlach.  We all do.”

“Don’t be bold, don’t be coy,” he lists, his voice playfully mocking, “what can I be?”

Ayzora thinks for a second.  “Honest?”

Astarion scoffs.  “And where’s the fun in that?”

She shakes her head, taking a seat on one of the logs surrounding the cook pot.  She rests her hands on the log on either side, leaning back on them in an almost-relaxed posture.  “Maybe it isn't fun, but I would still enjoy knowing more about you.  Beyond the upper city magistrate.”

“You're one to talk,” he prods, sitting down on an adjacent log.  “You've hardly shared anything about yourself.  There must be more to the necromancer from Neverwinter.”

“Touché,” she mumbles.

He waits.

She sighs.  “Well… I was born in Neverwinter.  My parents placed me in a mage school to follow the footsteps of my older brother, Reidoth, but… I didn't take to it quite like he did.  Nor did I take to high society well.”

“Really?  Can't imagine why…”

She gives him a look.

He gives her a nod.

Suppressing an eye roll, she continues.  “When I was 19, my parents kicked me out of the Ethrallion estate.  I was caught smuggling necrotic magic items to the less-fortunate, in a sorry attempt to give them a leg up in the world.  That's when Zedd found me, and taught me magic better than any professor could.  

“I started traveling a few years later, taking bounties to get by, and met Remus and Ryon in Phandolin after we all agreed to take the same contract.  We just… stuck together, after that.  Gained a lot; learned even more over the years.  Those two were the closest thing to family I had.”

“‘Were?’”

She nods, swallowing.  “When I started a life of adventure,” she emphasizes with a near-theatrical delivery, “I sought revenge against the person who murdered Zedd's late wife, Laz.  Somehow, Orcus set his sights on me just in time and made me an offer: if I agreed to be his harbinger and do his bidding, he would not only help me get revenge, but bring Laz back.  I didn't even think, I just agreed.

“Turns out, I wasn't the only one who made an impulsive agreement with an evil god; Remus and Ryon did, too.  Bane and Mask were their gods.  Overnight, we went from adventurers to a triad of champions serving shrouded gods desperate to gain power on Torril.

“We were granted a lot of power, but we… made a lot of awful choices, in serving them.  Horrible things happened because of us.”  She pauses.  No, that’s not quite right.  “Because of me.”

Astarion cocks an eyebrow in curiosity.

Ayzora chooses not to elaborate, opting to continue her story.  “Eventually, it all caught up; like we were bound to pay from the beginning.  Remus, Ryon; even Reidoth, Zedd, and Laz are long dead and buried.  Somehow, I'm the only one still here, despite everything.  For now, at least.”

“Not everyone handles power well,” he remarks.

She keeps her eyes trained forward, silent.  I know.  Some worse than others, I guess.  I was so blind… and yet…  “Orcus seems to think otherwise,” she mutters.

“You… still serve him?”

She looks up to see a gentle- almost empathetic- look from the pale elf.  She swallows the lump rising in her throat, forcing tears back.  “Yeah,” she manages weakly.  “He’s been quiet for a long time now, but… yeah.”  She clears her throat, folding her hands together in her lap.  “Your turn.”

Astarion sighs, “Is it, now?”

“I can’t force you.”

“What good would it do if I didn’t?”

“Fair.”  She turns to face him. “Well, you have my attention.”

He sighs, resetting himself before beginning his own monologue.  “Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate.  The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power.  Not political power or military power- I mean power over people.  The power to control them completely.  He turned me nearly two hundred years ago.”

“How?”

“A gang of thugs attacked me, angry about a ruling that I’d handed down as magistrate.  They beat me to death’s door when Cazador appeared.  He chased them off and offered to save me.  To give me eternal life.”

Eternal life.  The kind Orcus offered. 

“Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street,’ I took him up on the offer…”  He looks down for a moment, his voice softening.  “It was only afterwards I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

Ayzora nods with an understanding few people can possess.  That kind of offer always comes with a heavy price.  “What were his terms?”

Astarion stops for a moment and stares at her.  There’s shock in his expression.  She sounds familiar with this kind of situation.  Uncomfortably familiar… she knows more than she’s letting on.  But what?  He collects himself and answers.  “He had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find.”

Ayzora thinks of the half-orc. Drinking at the tavern.

“It was a fun little ritual of his.  I’d bring them back-”

“Astarion,” he introduced.  His lips trailed along the half-orc’s jaw.

“-and he’d ask if I wanted to dine with him.”

Cazador’s ruby red eyes.  His cold, domineering demeanor suffocating the room.

“And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat.”

A rat falling at his feet.  She forces her mask of composure to remain.  With great effort, her practiced expression does not falter.

“Of course, if I said no, he’d have me flayed.  Hard to say which was worse,” Astarion finishes, his tone deceptively nonchalant.  

“You were his slave,” she whispers.  Astarion’s soft, trembling voice from The Raven Queen’s temple rings in her mind with an endless echo:  Freedom.  At any cost.  Any cost.  Anything.

“And he was my tormentor.  I had no choice but to obey our master’s commands.  He spoke, we’d react- it’s all part of the deal.  Sometimes he’d order us to submit to torture.  Sometimes he’d have us torture ourselves.  Whatever his weathervane mood settled on.”

She wants to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but the words stick in her throat.  What would words do, anyway?  Her chin tilts as she redirects her focus.  “And you’re finally free.  So, what now?”

“Now, we kill him,” he hisses.

‘We.’  He wants her to be a part of this.  Of course he does.  “Freedom, at any cost.”  His freedom- because even after 200 years, it’s still in reach for him.  For one of us.  

“You needed to know what we might be up against.  The mind flayers aren’t the only monsters out there.  And they might not be the only ones hunting us.  All I’m asking is that you keep your eyes open.  And watch out for anything lurking in the shadows.”

She nods, “So long as you do the same.”

He scoffs.  “Do I need to be looking out for Orcus?”

Her shoulder and head draw together in a half-hearted shrug.  “Wouldn’t surprise me if he made an appearance.”

“Then we have a deal,” he says, bowing his head.  He stands.  “Well, while your company has been a pleasure, I have a cursed book to read.”  He turns and begins to walk towards his tent.

Ayzora shakes her head, relief fully washing through her, detangling the knots in her stomach.  A smile tugs at the corners of her lips.  “I’d wish you better luck than I had with the Necromancy of Thay, but I’m not sure it’s something you want.”

“Well that makes for one of us.  It’s certain to hold some great power for us to use.”  His heels scrape in the ground as he turns back towards Ayzora.  “Try not to get too bored without me, darling.”

She looks over her shoulder at him, eyebrows twitching together for a moment in a flash of confusion.  This much special attention is… strange.  “Sure, Astarion.”

He flashes her a smile and returns to his tent.

Ayzora turns her focus back to the stew in front of her, letting out a long sigh.

Luckily, boredom is the least of her concerns.  There’s too much to think about for her- or, realistically, anyone- to be bored.  A few days have already passed with illithid tadpoles planted in their brains, and yet no symptoms of the painful transformation from humanoid to mindflayer have surfaced.  The archdruid, Halsin, has yet to be found and rescued- that is, if he’s still alive.  Droop remains in her tower without a master to feed him.  The Raven Queen’s temple is now empty, rapidly exposing her inexplicable absence from the pantheon.  And now, Astarion has taken a unique interest in her.

The attention isn’t unwanted, either.  That’s what intimidates her most.  She left the comfort of her tower, wandered the streets of Baldur’s Gate to the point of walking straight into a nautiloid, and denied herself an instant solution to her illithid dilemma all for the sake of trying to grant a stranger the freedom he begged for in quiet prayer from the shadows of a cold temple.

Gods, what am I doing? 

“What are you doing?”

The voice makes her jump.  The sun is kissing the horizon by now, turning the sky from blue to gold.  She sits in front of the cook pot, staring down at her reflection in the bottom of the dull silver ladle.  Her near-featureless pale expression reflected in the utensil reminds her of the ghostly goddess who haunts her still.  Tearing her eyes away from the disturbing sight, she looks up to see the familiar face of a human wizard dressed in purple standing over her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Gale,” she breathes, calming her adrenaline.  “Just… lost in thought.”

He sits beside her.  “Might I ask what so captivated your mind?”

She smiles, glancing downward.  “Nothing important.”

“Well, I assure you,” he says low, his brown eyes softening, “if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.  But,” he pipes up, “I won’t push.”  He gently takes the ladle from Ayzora’s hands and moves to the cook pot, giving it a stir.  “This smells amazing, by the way.”

Her eyes follow his movements.

Lifting the spoon out of the steaming broth, he swipes a finger on the ladle and tastes the stew.  “My, my,” he marvels, turning back to Ayzora.  “A fantastic job.”  He hangs the ladle on the side of the stand with a bright smile.  “Not that I expected any less from you.”

“I only followed your instructions.”

“Ah,” he raises a finger, “but half the challenge in cooking a good meal is the execution. You,” he points to her, “my friend, have carried it out perfectly.”  His hands clasp behind his back.  “Thank you.”

She nods with a smile.

“I shall go inform the others that our dinner is ready.”

Gale makes his rounds at the camp, and sure enough, one by one, the other companions come out to the fire and dish up their own servings of the stew.  Even Astarion resurfaces from his tent- seemingly without any luck in deciphering the Necromancy of Thay- and joins the group.  Within an hour, the eight of them are gathered around the campfire, listening to and recounting stories of the day with full bellies while Scratch sleeps contentedly nearby.

After meeting with Dammon to make an upgrade on Karlach’s infernal engine, the group found themselves fighting off a pack of harpies, in turn rescuing a tiefling boy and making friends with Mol- a cunning girl who seems to make for a valuable connection.  The goblin party was eventually investigated, and while only some progress was made by Lae’zel’s hand in poisoning their mead, the plan was set.  Tomorrow, the goblin camp would be infiltrated and Halsin would at last be rescued and returned to the grove.

“Something odd happened, though, when we arrived at the camp,” Shadowheart adds after Karlach summarized their day of adventure.

“Oh, right- nearly forgot about that!” Karlach says.  “Go ahead, tell her,” she urges, gesturing from Shadowheart to Ayzora.

Ayzora turns to Shadowheart, who looks between her and Astarion as she speaks.

“On the way to the goblin camp, there was this… voice.  It forced us down, prostrate, and showed us three figures.  It claimed them as its chosen.”

Three chosen.  Ayzora feels her chest flutter as her mind begins to buzz with memories of her companions.  We were once three chosen, too; destined to rule.  An ominous parallel.  For the first time in a long while, a feeling settles in Ayzora’s stomach and fills her mind with darkness:  Doom.  She breathes in.  She breathes out.

Shadowheart pulls out a prism, holding it outward in the firelight.  It’s made of panels of some black metal, glowing a deep orange between the triangular panels.  From each corner, small rock-like spikes protrude.  On each side is an infernal rune- a language Ayzora is unfortunately familiar with- that glows the same amber color as its edges.

“This,” Shadowheart continues, “protected us, somehow.”  She turns the artifact in the light.  “I don’t know how.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel hisses.  “That is because it is not yours.  My people would know.  It is why we must return the artifact to-”

“Enough!”  Dark Urge’s voice booms, silencing the camp.  “We must not argue over that which we do not understand.  We need to focus on retrieving the Archdruid in the morning.  Once we are cured, we can concern ourselves with this artifact.”

There’s a symphony of affirming hums and muttered curses before silence falls over the camp again.  In stiff frustration, Lae’zel and Shadowheart turn in for the night.

Karlach, ever the cheery one, begins to recount tales of some adventures in Avernus.

While it seems the rest of the group is enamored by the lively stories, Ayzora feels her mind wander back to her memories.  Three chosen, set up for power that only led them to destruction.  Is this the same fate that awaits the three shown to the others?  Are those three innocent in their own right, or just as guilty as Ayzora, Remus, and Ryon were all those years ago?  Is Ayzora just as deserving of whatever fate befalls them?

A purple shimmer pulls Ayzora back into the present moment: an illusory recreation of the three.  She glances up and traces the magic to its origin to see Gale’s hand held open.

“What do you make of them?”  He whispers.

She sighs.  “It’s ominous.  Reminds me of…”

“Your friends?”  Gale finishes for her.

She nods.

Astarion, sitting only a couple feet away, shifts his focus as he eavesdrops on the two.  Oh, I see now… She hasn’t said much to the rest of us.  But to Gale?  It seems he’s leagues ahead.

“I wondered as much,” Gale continues.  “Can you offer any insight, then?”

She shrugs.  “Not yet.  I would need to know more about their patron.”

Gale hums, nodding as he thinks to himself quietly.  He dismisses the illusion.  “Ace?”

Astarion’s eyes flicker over to them.  Gods, really?  Pet names?  What's next, a proposal?

At hearing her nickname, Ayzora looks up to the waterdhavian wizard, her eyes soft in an expression Astarion struggles to read.

Gale places a gentle hand on her knee.  “No matter what happens to them, it bears no weight on you or your character.  You’ve already proven yourself to rise above your past.”  His hand squeezes her leg, before returning to his lap.  “You’re every bit redeemed in my eyes.”

Ayzora’s eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight as they tear up- not enough to cry, but just enough to be noticeable.  “Thank you,” she whispers.

Gale smiles at her before turning his attention back to Karlach, who seems to be nearing the end of her story.

Ayzora follows suit, eyes meeting Astarion’s for just a moment.

His gaze quickly drops to the ground as panic begins to settle in.

Ayzora and Gale had been close, compared to the others.  Not only did they bond over their magic, but ever since Gale admitted to containing a Netherese orb- posing an explosive threat to the group in the case it goes unsatiated- the two had only connected further.  Ayzora was the first to offer a magic item to keep his condition at bay, sacrificing an enchanted ring of hers to be consumed by his curse.

It wouldn’t bother Astarion if it weren’t for the fact that she was his best shot at gaining some sort of security against Cazador.  Shit.

As the night settles, Karlach at last retires to her tent.  Most of the others follow suit- save for Ayzora and Astarion.  While the rest of the party needs a full night’s sleep to recuperate, the two elves only trance for about half that time, leaving them to later nights and earlier mornings.

When Gale bids Ayzora goodnight at last, all that remains is the two of them, alone.

Soft snores slowly rise and fall with easy breath from the surrounding tents.

Ayzora’s eyes remain fixed on the crackling fire- however, she can’t help but feel a pair of red eyes burning into her.

“A quiet evening, for once,” Astarion at last pipes up.  His voice is lower than usual, turning quiet speech into something more… sultry.

Ayzora hums in agreement.

“Perfect for two people who’d like to take some time to themselves… If you catch my meaning.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the blaze as confusion suddenly sets in.  Is he…?

“And, I do mean sex, to be clear,” Astarion confirms, leaning forward in earnest.  “We’ve been waiting long enough,” he scoffs, as if that was the natural justification for such a proposal.  As if it was obvious.

Maybe it was- to everyone but her, it seems.

The mask shatters.  Ayzora’s eyes are wide open; all attempts at hiding her shock and bewilderment are rendered utterly pointless as her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.  “Astarion, I…”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me- especially after the night we shared.  I’m sure you haven’t stopped thinking about it, either.  I’d even say you enjoyed it.”

Her mouth snaps shut, completely drying out in the sudden wave of anxiousness, along with her throat.  She swallows.

“It’s alright, darling, you needn’t say anything.  That body of yours has already told me everything I need to know,” he purrs.  He turns his chin downward, eyes darkening.  “The way you shuddered beneath me, holding your breath-”

“I know,” she blurts, “but I've never-” she cuts herself off.  Gods, do I really need to admit that?  Do I… do I really want this?

He tilts his chin.  No wonder she's squirming at just the thought…  Poor thing’s never been touched.  “Shh.  It's alright,” he reassures.  “It's unfortunate to know you'll never find another quite as good…”  Astarion sits beside her, his eyes raking over her body shamelessly.  He leans in, placing a hand on her upper thigh.

Her breath hitches as his hand rests on her skin, his cool touch suddenly burning into her flesh.

“But I can assure you, my sweet,” he whispers, leaning in so close his lips nearly graze her pointed ear, “You won't regret it.”

Beneath his rehearsed lines and seductive show, there's an offer being made.

Despite her best interest, she does want this.  Of course she wants this.  She's spent hundreds of years watching others have this.  Stealing glances.  Holding hands.  Kissing.  Making love in the shadows.  She's always wanted it, but it's always been the one thing she could never have.

She's wanted him since she saw him in that tavern, touching that half-orc in ways Ayzora's only ever dreamed of.  

Here he is, making her an offer she can't refuse.

“Okay,” she manages, voice trembling.

Astarion is briefly taken aback- he wasn't entirely confident she'd take his offer- but he quickly recovers, resuming the suave presentation.  “Let's find our own little piece of nowhere.  Somewhere we can lose ourselves, and forget all of this madness,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the camp.

‘Lose ourselves.’  It strikes a chord in Ayzora.  What I wouldn't do to lose myself for once.

“There's a secluded place nearby that should do nicely.”  Astarion stands.  “Only if you want to,” he adds as he extends a hand to Ayzora, “but trust me, you want to.”

Ayzora looks up at him.  In another life- one she's long lost sight of- she'd be concerned about the consequences of giving herself over to a stranger.  She’d be laying herself in his hands, fully in his power, without even knowing his last name.  She'd worry about what others may think of her, taking up the first offer for a night of passion ever made to her.  To the hells with it.

She places her hand in his, confidence at last guiding her movement.

With a sly smile, the vampire guides the necromancer to a clearing in the forest.

“I've been waiting,” he says low as he pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscled torso, “to have you…”  Lies, of course.  But they usually sell the fantasy.

A fantasy she's willing to suspend her disbelief for, if only for a night.

Ayzora was an orphan and an outcast in all the ways that mattered.  The few people she had ever loved- family, mentors, friends- were dead.  By now, their graves are only occupied by bones and dust.  She had never taken a lover, even for a night.  No community claimed her as their own.  Neverwinter serves not as a home, but merely a host to her empty tower where she spends her days alone.  She belongs to nothing; to no one.

In the heat of the summer night, there is only Astarion.  He offers her the chance to lose herself in someone else- in him; and she wants nothing more than to be anyone else.

A stranger’s fingers graze over scarred skin, now exposed.

His scarred back.

Her scarred stomach.

His silken touch leaves behind the web of strings silently attached.  This is just another transaction.  In the morning, every word, every touch, every breath would be left behind to rot beneath the leaves; but she will walk away with another debt charged to her.  A favor to be returned waits in the hands of her temporary lover; but it’s patient.  It can wait.

For tonight, Ayzora can at last let go of herself entirely, losing everything she is in everything Astarion pretends to be.  She can lie to herself just for now, and pretend she belongs here, with him above her.

His eyes are miles away when she stares into them; but his words tell her he’s right here, and he’s got her, and she’s beautiful, and she belongs.

She’s almost desperate enough to believe it.

[hystericalthinking]

Swallow Your Pride

**A Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack fanfic staring @the-spirit-of-adventure OC Missy and my personal OC Jillian! Please give Spammy a follow here and on Twitter/X @Spammykins**

Shouts and clashing metal filled the air as battle rang about the sea. Two long-time rival crews, the Screeching Sirens vs. the Bushy Beard Pirates.

“Stay still, you wench!” Captain Bushy barked, stabbing his sword at the woman in front of him. His personal arch-rival rival and not at all stand in on his feelings towards his mother, Captain Missy Benchir of the Screeching Sirens.

Dodging, the ginger cackled as she moved her waist from the jabs,

“Aye, what’s the matter, Bryle.” Missy mocked with a laugh, “Age finally catchin’’’ up to ye, old man?”

“I said stay still!” Bushy shouted, bringing down his sword only for it to be blocked by Missy’s sword.

“I know seals that fight better than ye!” She scoffed with a smirk, rolling out of dodge and leaping to strike.

Meanwhile, across the ship and on deck, was the cool of the ship also fighting for her dignity and crew.

With a throw of her arm, Jillian lassoed men left and right, however, there was one who grabbed the rope before the fall.

“Is that any way to treat a lover, lass?” The raven-haired man chuckled, pulling the rope towards him to reel the brunette before him.

“I wouldn’t call you a lover,” Jillian admitted as she dug her heels into the woods and haled the reeling, “More like a waste of three minutes.”

Pivoting, Jillian whipped the man over the railing and into the water.

Just as she watched the bearded pirate fly into the ocean, she took notice of a certain blue blob who was supposed to be below deck.

Before the ensuing battle, Captain Benchir had ordered her cabin monkey to stay below deck and away from battle.

While K’nuckles didn’t like it, he obeyed as it was the much safer and lazier option.

But give or take about two minutes and with his syrup gone, the blue man decided it wouldn’t hurt to sneak across the battle to get to the Syrup Vault in the kitchen.

So he tiptoed his way up the stairs, slithered out under the hatch, and began to crawl across the crowded battleground that was the main deck.

Men were shouting, women were letting out battle cries, cannons fired, and swords clashed.

It was pure chaos, and it was already spreading to him.

“Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice meeeeeeee!” He pleaded internally, hopping along on his belly like a seal.

Hiding behind a cannon, K’nuckles was spotted and charged at by a Bushy Beard pirate. In a desperate and stupid way to protect himself; he lit the cannon, leaving a wrecked hole just above the water.

“Oi! Crew, retreat to Stormalong, and prepare to make repairs!” Missy ordered, “We've got a hole as big as a treasure chest on the starboard side above the water, and I'll be blown if I'm lettin’ 'er sink!”

The crew scatters and retreats, making their way away from the enemy and to safe waters. As shipwrights began the repairs, the captain called for the rest of her crew to line up.

“Now, who did this!?” Missy spoke, arms crossed and eyes glaring, “Someone speak up! Otherwise, I'll have ye all walk the plank one by one!” She threatened.

A member speaks up, a thin young woman with straight black hair and sun-kissed skin.

“It was Skipper’s cannon!” She called out.

“Oh yeah!” Another woman chimed in.

“It was her cannon!” Said another.

“She posts pretty good headcannons.” Said a third.

“Oi!” Missy busted in with a sarcastic laugh, “Skipper left sickbay in three bloody days! The cannon just went off by itself, then?”

Stepping forward, Jillian met the gaze of her captain. Missy’s eyes burned into hers.

“I know who did it, Captain!” She spoke.

“Oh?” The ginger scoffed, “Then who?”

Turning her head, Jillian pointed at K’nuckles, causing him to freeze from obviously trying to sneak away.

“I saw canon boy over here shoot to save his own ass!”

“What!?” Missy roared, her eyes glowing red in anger, “That worthless piece of meat!”

“You have to punish him for this, Captain,” Jillian stated.

The captain clenched her fist, clearly upset and wanting to exact revenge; but also, wanting to protect the man she loved.

“K’nuckles,” Missy spoke.

“Ye-yeah, Riley?” K’nuckles stuttered, cowering from the ginger-haired woman.

“K’nuckles, ye can look forward to extra mopping and being on potato peeling duty for a month.”

“Are you kidding me!?” Jillian spat and without thinking, shivered her captain back by the shoulders.

“Are ye crazy??” Missy barked, the crew's attention snapping to her. “How dare ye suggest I have a soft spot for him!?”

The ginger then moved her attention from Jillian to the rest of the crew.

“The next one who opens their mouth gets an extra week of peeling potatoes! As for that no good scum-sucking pirate Knuckles, he may as well be a part of the crew cause we all know I ain't getting rid of him!”

She turned back to the curly-haired brunette,

“Now, cook, what's for supper??!”

Jillian fumed, her knuckles turning white in her fists as her neck flushed,

“I ain’t cookin’ nothin’ until that blue blob is gone!” She replied with a stomp.

A vein in Missy’s neck popped as her blood began to boil, never in her career has another woman disrespected her like this!

“I'll shove that blue blob up your arse if you don't shut it you miserable little bilge rat!” Missy threatened, approaching Jillian with her fists at her sides, “Knuckles ain't going nowhere and you know it, so get in the bloody kitchen you rat-faced bilge swiller, and get cookin'! I don't care what you make, just make it edible!”

The cook was visibly taken aback by this, her jaw dropping and tears pricking up in her eyes as she was now nose-to-nose with her captain.

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Jillian met Missy’s gaze.

“It’s him or me, Missy.” She said softly.

The ginger-haired woman’s eyes darkened dangerously as her face now took on a scowl.

Suddenly, the spotter called for Stormalong.

An announcement that would change fate.

“So be it!” Captain Benchir ruled, pointing jaggedly at her now former cook, “You've been nothing but trouble since ye joined me crew. I think 'tis best that you leave and I have no doubt that me good buddy K'nuckles will take your spot with pleasure!”

All Jillian could do was hang her head in disappointment, whether it was towards herself or to Missy could be anyone’s guess.

“Fine.” The brunette muttered as she held back tears, “I’ll pack mah bag and be gone when we hit Stormalong.”

Soon enough, the Miss Fortune docked in Stormalong.

With her suitcase and cookbook in tow, Jillian descended the ramp and onto the dock.

“Good riddance!” The ginger-haired woman shouted, her fist in the air, “Go on, get off me ship! Don't let me see you hanging around waiting for me either!” She continued with a broken deep breath, “Ye scoundrel, I know you still have feelings for me! You're not nearly as good at hiding them as ye think!”

Wiping around with tearful eyes, Jillian exclaimed,

“I don’t hide my feelings! I let people know how I feel and that’s better than bottling up all yours!”

“You think you know me so well, don't ye?” Missy replied sarcastically, “You think your words are going to melt my heart do ye!?”

Scoffing, the cook marched away from the ship with nothing but a knapsack, the clothes on her back, a cookbook, and tears in her eyes.

Jillian didn’t know what would come of her life at the moment but she did know one thing.

She wouldn’t be setting sail anytime soon.

Missy watches on, biting her lip to keep her from crying. She couldn’t show the guilt and regret she felt. As the ship pulls away, she swears to herself that she is the last crew member to walk away from her.

‘Maybe it is time to take a good hard look at myself and become the captain I was meant to be,’ she thought to herself, ‘Who treats her crew properly and would never let feelings get in the way of running a tight ship.’