#he's between twenty to twenty-two when the oldest is around TEN

[realdramalove69]

Imagine being pregnant back to back to back to back….

Anna sighed heavily, each footstep painful as she made her way down the stairs. Her back ached, her baby filled belly constantly moving and weighing her down. Her large maternity dress barely covered her belly, the bottom of it only inches off the ground. At only twenty three years old she was already on her fifth pregnancy and this litter was her biggest yet.

She walked into the kitchen and began the task of preparing breakfast for her many children and her husband. She herself was starving, but she ate last. Her family took priority. Bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes, and bottles of milk for her many smaller babies.

As the sound of sizzling bacon wafted through the house her older children began to stir, making their way into the kitchen. Her oldest, a set of quints, helped get the younger children in their seats, setting the table for their gravid mother.

Anna looked at her children, not quite believing she already had so many. When she was eighteen her and her boyfriend, Dave, had sex for the first time, resulting in the quints. They were shocked to find out they were having so many but the doctor couldn’t explain it. Anna was just very fertile. Ever since then Dave kept her pregnant, not wanting her womb to be empty for even a second. Another set of quints and octuplets shortly followed and her last litter, a set of ten, was still sleeping soundly upstairs in their cribs.

Anna rubbed her belly. She was nearing her due date with the baker’s dozen now residing inside of her and she was eager to finally get them out. Anna was tired of having babies. She didn’t want to be pregnant anymore. Instead she wanted to spend time with the many children she already had; another part of her also wanted to just be a kid herself, enjoying the perks of being nearly twenty one.

“Morning,” Anna’s husband, Dave, said as he entered the kitchen. He lovingly stroked her belly, feeling the large babies beneath the skin. “How are my babies doing today?”

“They’re restless, that's for sure,” Anna replied.

“Well they only have a few more weeks in there.” Dave kissed her belly button, making her moan lowly as he rubbed her sensitive skin, pushing up her large maternity shirt to show off her gravid curves.

Anna tried to push him away but her belly was too big. She couldn’t reach him past her stretched womb. She instead handed Dave a plate and watched him sit down. She served the rest of her children before making herself a large plate, her cravings always getting the best of her.

Dave quickly ate. “I’ve got to get to the office. But you all be good for mommy today!” He kissed the heads of his children and left, leaving Anna to get the kids ready for the day all by herself.

It was a tough task taking care of her twenty eight children all by herself. Dave believed in traditional husband and wife roles: he would work and get to come home and relax while she took care of the house. All while giving him even more babies. She got the two sets of quints dressed for pre-school and loaded them into the large minivan, her mom stopping by to help drive them to school. Anna had lost the ability to drive months ago when her belly wouldn’t fit behind the wheel anymore.

“Good morning,” Anna’s mom, Crystal, said. “How are my grandbabies today?”

“Good!” the kids shouted.

Crystal patted her daughter’s belly and smiled. “How blessed your family is. So many babies and more to come.”

Anna forced a smile. “Yeah, I can't quite believe it sometimes. Can you pick them up at around 3 for me?”

“Of course! Anything for you. And I’ll be by after I drop them off to help with the little little ones.”

Crystal drove off with the ten kids leaving Anna alone to take care of the other 18. She grunted as she walked back up the stairs, needing to feed the babies. She had to go up the stairs sideways, her stomach squished between her and the railing. She sat heavily in the rocking chair and heaved her large breasts out of her shirt before beginning the long task of feeding ten fat and hungry babies.

Anna couldn’t help but resent her husband's lack of help. She was tired all the time, especially with thirteen more babies on the way. And she wanted a break from all of it. She knew getting pregnant again would only make her bigger and she dreaded the fact that one of these pregnancies would make her immobile. She rubbed her belly as the babies finished eating, concerned about how to even broach this topic with her baby crazy husband.

The end of the day finally came, her children were in bed, and Anna was able to take her gravid body to her own bedroom where she laid down heavily, the frame creaking under her weight. Dave rubbed her near full term belly. He couldn’t get enough of her pregnant form, demanding sex almost nightly. Anna would oblige, letting her husband pound away at her while she laid there, wondering how she could convince him to stop having babies.

After Dave busted in her he laid back next to her, panting heavily.

“How much longer until I can put another batch in you,” he said.

“I wanted to talk about that, actually,” Anna said. She pushed herself into a seated position, rubbing her belly to calm her babies. “I don’t want to get pregnant again.”

Dave frowned. “At all?”

Anna nodded. “I’m tired all the time. There's so many babies to take care of already and it's hard to do with this sticking out of me. I need a break.”

“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to give me a family.”

“I have given you a family. I’m telling you now, I’m starting birth control the minute these babies are born. Or you're getting a vasectomy. Got it?”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this?”

“Because, Dave, this isn’t exactly what I thought my life would be.”

Dave nodded. “Alright. If it’s what you want. I will respect it.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

Anna turned on her side to try and get some sleep, surprised at how well that conversation went.

Dave, however, was not about to let his wife be without child. He laid awake, coming up with ways to convince Anna to get pregnant again. He even googled fertility drugs, wondering if there was a way he could replace the birth control with them instead.

The next morning Dave hopped out of bed and left the house quickly, leaving Anna alone with the sleeping children. He needed a plan. He went to his place of work, a science lab dedicated to advancing humans faster than ever before. While Dave may have been young, he was incredibly smart and worked through the ranks quickly, learning all that he could.

Dave went to his lab and looked around. He was the first one there, just as he hoped. He opened his locked drawer and pulled out a notebook labeled “Fertility”. He had been studying his wife’s extreme fertility for awhile now, all in secret. He had wanted to create a way for even the most barren of women to be able to conceive but now he wanted something that would make even those who hated kids want to do nothing but breed. He studied his previous concoctions and set to work creating a small bottle of what looked like perfume.

“This better work,” he muttered to himself. He grabbed the small bottle and pocketed it before locking away his secrets once again.

-------

A month later and Anna found her stomach flat once again as the 13 new babies laid crying around her. She had given birth on time, per usual, and all her babies were large and healthy. Dave smiled as he picked up the two week old babies, looking at his wife who seemed less than eager about the task ahead of her.

“How many miracles we have made,” Dave said.

“I know. But I’m not sure how I will be able to take care of them all myself.”

“You’re a wonderful mother. You will find a way.”

Dave kissed her but he could sense Anna’s resentment. He set the babies down and decided this was the right time.

“I have a gift for you,” Dave said. “Come with me.”

Anna followed her husband to their bedroom. A gift from him was rare and Anna was confused as to what the occasion was.

“Did I forget an anniversary?” Anna asked.

“No! I just wanted to show my wife how much I appreciate her.”

Dave handed her a neatly wrapped box. Anna took it and unwrapped it, revealing the small glass bottle.

“It’s perfume,” Dave said. “The lady said it smelled like lemons and honey which I know is your favorite.”

Anna smiled. “Thank you! This is actually very thoughtful.”

“Why don’t you try it out?”

Anna obliged, taking the perfume and spritzing it on her wrists and neck. It smelled amazing, making her close her eyes and breathe it in deeply.

“Wow,” Anna whispered. “That’s amazing.”

When she opened her eyes she looked her husband up and down and licked her lips. She was suddenly feeling very...horny. Anna rubbed her flat stomach, feeling how empty it was and how full she needed it to be.

What is wrong with me? She thought to herself. Get a hold of yourself!

But the drug was more powerful than Anna’s own mind. Dave walked closer to her, pressing her body against his as he grabbed her plump rear, making her squeak.

“You want more babies?” Dave asked. “I know how empty you must feel.”

"No," Anna whimpered. "We said...no more..." But she felt her thighs rubbing together and her pussy growing wet at the thought of growing even bigger.

Dave grabbed her and picked her up, taking her to the bed and laying her on her back. She moaned in protest, but she couldn't fight the intense hormones now raging through her.

Dave wasted no time ripping off her yoga pants and thrusting himself into her, his cock filling her tight pussy. He gripped her leaking breasts and pumped faster, eager to fill her before the perfume wore off.

Anna couldn't help but moan and groan as he hit all her sensitive areas. She could hear the voice of reason in the back of her mind screaming at her to stop, knowing she would only get more pregnant, but she laid helpless on the bed, cumming over and over as Dave gripped her thighs.

"I'm gonna fill you until you burst!" Dave groaned as he felt his cock growing hotter.

Before Anna could get him out of her, he shot ropes of hot cum into her waiting vagina. He held himself against her, not wanting any of the precious seed to leak out.

Anna came again, rubbing her flat stomach, her senses returning to her as Dave leaned on top of her, sucking on her ripe tits.

"What did you do?!" Anna screamed.

"Gave you what you wanted," Dave replied. He pulled out of her and left her laying on the bed, cum still leaking from her.

Anna rubbed her stomach and started to cry, knowing what the next ten months would bring.

-------

Four months in and Anna was already huge. She rubbed her quintuplet sized belly, groaning as she tried to heave herself out of bed to tend to her crying newborns. Dave slept soundly beside her, not even attempting to help care for his kids.

Anna finally got herself standing, her hands pushing into her lower back. She waddled heavily to the nursery, her tits already leaking through her maternity nightgown.

"Shh shh," she cooed as she began to nurse the 13 new babies. Her previous ten began to stir as well, wanting their mother’s precious milk.

"Oh, there's too many," Anna said as she tried to soothe the babies she couldn't feed right away.

It took hours but finally all the babies were fed and asleep and Anna could take her tired body back to bed. She laid back down on her side, her belly hanging off the side of the mattress. Dave rolled over and rubbed her tummy, feeling the stretched skin. He kissed her neck, making her groan.

"You're so big already," he moaned. "I want you bigger."

“I can't get bigger. I'll burst!"

"You'll grow beautifully my gravid wife."

Dave pulled down her underwear and pushed his aching member into her pussy. She groaned as he pumped in and out of her, making the bed creak under her gravid weight. He grabbed the bottle of perfume and spritzed it on her neck, seeing her eyelids close gently as the extra hormones took over her.

Anna wanted to protest but she couldn't help but moan lustfully as Dave hit all her sensitive spots. This pregnancy was already so heavy and it made her hornier than ever before. She could feel all the weight of her tummy pushing on her hips and vagina as Dave rolled her onto her back, pressing his muscular torso against the underside of her belly. He gripped the sides of her belly as he thrust in and out of her, making her cry out.

“Oooohhh,” Anna moaned. “Oh fill me up! I’m already so full but I need more!”

“And I’ll give you more!” Dave grunted. He sucked on her belly button, his tongue pressing the flat flesh back into her stretched skin.

“Dave! I’m gonna cum!” Anna shrieked.

“Get ready for my babies!”

Dave thrust once more before busting inside of her. Anna groaned as she felt her own orgasm go through her, making her legs go limp. He pressed against her, shoving his cum into her, urging her to grow bigger and bigger.

“Oh,” Anna groaned as Dave pulled out of her and got her back on her side. “Oh it’s so big already.”

“Just how I like it,” Dave moaned. He rubbed her belly as she struggled to get comfortable, eager to know just how pregnant he had gotten her this time.

[staygoldfics]

They See Right Through Me

Summary: Darry's only sixteen when his parents die, and after two years in the foster care system he makes it his goal in life to bring both of his brother's home. But what happens when Sodapop has spent his time in the system on the west side? And what happens when Ponyboy spent his time in the system in New York?

Chapter One: I Remember It All Too Well

Warnings: Very lightly mentioned hitting/abuse, lightly mentioned bruises and cuts. If I forgot anything, please let me know.

You can also find this on AO3

Taglist

Darry hasn’t known much since the night his parents died, his life since has been a whirlwind of nothingness, a vacuum in space pulling him in and suffocating him. He’s only had one goal in mind since his sixteenth birthday, get his brothers home, keep his family together.

People told him he was lucky after they died, lucky because a kind couple in Tulsa had heard the news of his parents passing and wanted to take him in for the next two years, let him finish high school in the same place he’d grown up. They couldn’t take in his brothers, could hardly even care for him, not that they really tried. Their home was safe and warm, but they never cared much for him, only his grades, football and him keeping out of trouble. They said he was lucky when Sodapop got a placement on the west side, close enough to see each other at school and when Darry wasn’t busy working and Soda’s foster parents weren't parading him around town to show off what a good deed, they were doing by taking him in. They were lucky cause Soda’s foster father only hit him occasionally, lucky because he still had food on his plate and a place to sleep at night.

People tell Darry he’s lucky because he’s smart, a good football player, because once he turns eighteen, he has an out if he’s smart enough to take it. College waits for him, or at least that’s what Sodapop says when they sit in the lot together, looking up at the sky. There’s dirt covering the light blue polo shirt Sodapop wears, Darry has to walk him to the border between the east and west side to keep him from getting jumped, and then have Paul walk Soda back to his foster parents. Soda doesn’t look like a greaser anymore but he sure as hell ain’t a soc, he’s not safe on either side of town anymore.

Darry doesn’t feel lucky when he applies for colleges to keep everyone off his back and then throws away his acceptance letters. Doesn’t feel lucky when he visits his parents grave alone and wonders how the hell, he’s supposed to fill shoes that could never be his size. Doesn’t feel lucky when he patches up Sodapop’s bruises and cuts and holds his brother as he sobs.

Darry remembers the day the state separated them like it was yesterday, has nightmares almost every night of the feeling of his baby brothers being pulled out of his arms. Sodapop at only 12 had been screaming, he was always the most emotional, always the loudest.

“Get away from me!” Soda had yelled, fists flying into their social worker, Miss.Cowell's arms. Darry was the only one not crying, his eyes were trained solely on Ponyboy, the ten-year-old was shaking like a leaf in his arms, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. “Darry! Stop! Let go!” Sodapop had been the first to be pulled away from their childhood home.

Darry hadn’t been willing to let go when a different social worker, Mr.Fisher had stepped forward. “Come on Ponyboy, say goodbye, it’s time to go.” Pony had his arms wrapped so tightly around Darry’s middle the oldest could hardly breathe. He’d cried silently into Darry’s shoulder, and after only a minute of silence Fisher had stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Ponyboy’s middle, trying forcefully to take him out of Darry’s arms. It was a silent struggle besides Fisher’s repeated “Let go now boys.”

Darry swears it took at least twenty minutes for them to rip Ponyboy out of his arms, the struggle had felt like it lasted hours. As Ponyboy was dragged away, sobbing so hard Darry wondered how the boy was even breathing, he dropped his favorite bunny plushie, Boots. For years it was the only piece Darry and Sodapop had left of their baby brother. Darry didn’t cry until late that night, alone in a room that would never be his.

Darry spent the next two years going to school and working as much as he possibly could, saving every cent with a promise to get both of his brothers home the moment he turned eighteen. On his eighteenth birthday, only two months before graduation, he moved back into his childhood home, saved by the state and his parents life insurance. He hadn’t shed a single tear as he cleaned the thick layer of dust off everything in the home, as he avoided looking up at the pictures hung loosely on the walls, as he set Boots down carefully on Sodapop’s old bed. Darry got a full-time job roofing houses, graduated early and three weeks later he started the process of bringing his brother’s home.

It was time consuming to say the least, the constant home visits and paperwork, not to mention the cost of the court visits. The most ridiculous part in his opinion were the two months of supervised visits and overnight stays he’d had with Sodapop. As if they didn’t spend every spare moment they could together. But that was the deal, the state wanted him to get Sodapop home first, to make sure he could handle the responsibility before he could bring Ponyboy home.

Sodapop is halfway to 15 when Darry finally brings him home, bruised and tired but still wearing a smile brighter than the sun. On Soda’s 16th birthday Darry isn’t able to give him much, but what he can give is a small party with the gang, Steve, Two-bit and Johnny. Darry makes chocolate cake that is devoured in seconds, and carefully wraps a gold chain from their mother’s jewelry box in an old newspaper.

Sodapop already has tears in his eyes, hands carefully holding the gold chain, when Darry delivers the news, his biggest present. “Ponyboy is coming home Soda.”

There’s a pause, everyone’s eyes on Sodapop, and then suddenly Soda is slamming into Darry, arms wrapped tightly around his older brother, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Darry holds his baby brother just as tight, running his fingers through Soda’s greased hair as he continues. “We’re skipping the supervised visits, since Pony’s placement is so far away, they're letting us go straight to weekend stays. Miss.Cowel says if all goes well then it should only be a month before he gets to come home permanently.”

Darry and Soda spend the next two weeks getting the house ready for their brother to come home. Which leads them to now. Darry doesn’t know much, hasn’t since his parents died. But he knows the 13-year-old kid in front of him is not his kid brother. This boy's eyes are too cold, gray storm clouds glare at him underneath bangs that are a little too long and covered in a thick layer of grease. The kid has his hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized leather jacket, there’s bruises blooming along the boy’s jawline, his left eye is red and surrounded by black and blue. The kid's shoulders are hunched, his jaw clenched, he looks ready for a fight.

There’s an awkward silence as Darry, Soda, Miss.Cowel and Ponyboy all stand on the Curtis front porch on a sunny Friday afternoon. Darry isn’t sure what he was expecting to happen when he finally saw his kid brother again, but tense silence hadn’t been something he prepared for. Miss.Cowel, never one for wasting time, hands over a trash bag that doesn’t even look half full. Darry feels like throwing up when he realizes this bag is Ponyboy’s things. “I’ll be back to pick him up on Sunday.” She says and then without another word she leaves the brothers alone, Darry watches as her car disappears down the street and wonders how anyone could ever think he was lucky.

Sodapop is the first to speak and Darry doesn’t need to look at his brother to know he’s on the verge of tears. “Pony?” Soda steps closer, reaching out for their baby brother. Darry’s fist tightens around the trash bag when he looks back at his kid brother just in time to watch as Ponyboy flinches away. Sodapop’s hand freezes between them and then drops lamely to his side, the kids’ hands are shaking. “Baby what happened to you?” Soda tries again voice hardly above a whisper.

Darry’s suspicion that this is absolutely not his brother is confirmed when the boy rolls his eyes and in a thick New York accent he responds. “I ain’t a baby.”

[duskyashe]

CAMP NANO DAY 22

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Duke watched Phantom pace around the rooftop in growing bemusement. The kid was going over the notes he'd taken in his little pocket notebook over the course of his and Dick's Q&As with a rather deep furrow between his brows, muttering under his breath all the while. Duke chanced a glance at his oldest brother from where he sat as straight-backed as possible on his stool of shadows. Though Dick was fully masked and in character, Duke could read the older man like a book. His casual perch on top of the roof access shed held a shade of wariness and the set of his shoulders belayed his concern.

He fully understood, from what Steph and Jason had said, Phantom knew pretty much instantly exactly what both of them were as soon as he'd finished questioning them. He hadn't had to ask them more than ten questions total before he just knew. With Dick, however, he'd asked almost twenty five questions, and Duke was asked almost forty before Phantom had started up his pacing and muttering.

Right as Duke's anxiety started acting up, started whispering poisonous words about how he was a fake and a failure, that Phantom was going to declare him nothing more than a freakishly over powered meta and his family would turn him out on the streets over it, the kid abruptly stopped pacing and, without even looking up from his little notebook, asked the two of them, "So did you guys know you were both light deities before you came up here, or is that just a huge freaking coincidence? Because I've cross-checked the facts and crunched all the numbers, and you two are both minor deities of light, among other things."

Dick rolled his head dramatically to the side door a moment before asking in his raspy Raven voice, "Among other thingsssss?"

Phantom looked up from his notes with a blank startled look before understanding flashed across his expression. "Ahh, yes. Raven, you're a minor guardian trickster deity of light, your domains are pranks and tomfoolery, light, and protection. Signal, you're a minor guardian deity of light and shadows, your domains are both light and shadows, as well as protection. Basically, your domains are things that empower you and that you can manipulate and control with training. Eventually, you'll even be able to bless people within your clan's territory with any of your domains, such as blessing someone to find safety within the light of street lamps. Raven, as a trickster, you'll be drawn to areas and people full of mischief, and even feel the urge to start mischief, yourself," he explained. "As both of you are also guardians, you're inherently connected to the general wellbeing of the inhabitants of your territory. When someone is in danger within the city limits, you'll be able to tell. With practice, you'll even be able to hone in on the location."

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Cass watched from her spot draped across a crouching Tim's shoulders as Phantom gently smacked his forehead with his little notebook. He'd just finished questioning her and seemed to be having a small mental breakdown. She watched him for a little longer before softly whistling a question to her little brother in the family's secret conlang, Is he okay? Tim's chirped answer, I'm not sure, was followed by Phantom taking a deep breath and looking back up at them.

"Sorry about that, I wasn't expecting your clan to have so many minor deities in it. Ibis, you're definitely a kitsune, though I have no idea how many tails you have yet or what they can do, so we'll have to figure that out next time. BlackBat, you're a minor guardian deity of darkness and shadows, your domains are darkness, shadows, and protection. Like I told Raven and Signal, your domains are things that empower you. You and Signal share the domain of shadows, but as you also possess the domain of darkness itself, you'll be able to do things with shadows that he likely never will, no matter how much he trains his shadow domain," Phantom said before letting out a gust of breath and drawing his feet up to sit in midair. He ran a hand through his bright white hair, his entire frame screaming to her his astonishment and wariness. "Ancients, your clan is seriously OP. Batman is most likely a major deity since he has three minor deities under him, then there's the three of you minor deities. Condor's a Phoenix, Starling is a banshee, you're a kitsune with who knows how many tails, Ibis—" he pulled his hand from his hair and ran it down his face instead.

Tim and Cass glanced at each other at his words. Were clans... Not supposed to be like theirs? It felt entirely natural to her, especially since her family had started taking lessons from Phantom. She couldn't imagine her clan being anything other than exactly as it was.

Phantom must have caught the motion of their heads as he hurried to explain. "Most clans are made up of similar, if not the same, species. Your clan not only has a wider variety of species than normal, a lot of you are rare species that either have difficulties getting along with certain species also counted among your number, or aren't usually found in clans at all. Deities, major and minor, either form pantheons, which are different from clans, with other deities local to their territory or fiercely guard their territory from other deities and remain solo their entire existence. The fact that you have a deity in your clan, let alone three or more, is—is unheard of."

Tim froze in her grasp as he immediately began absorbing, analyzing, and extrapolating the new information they'd been given, but Cass barely noticed. No, what drew her attention more than the truly ground shaking information, was the beginnings of real, fragile hope began to show themselves in Phantom's body language. Where before, both the first time she met Phantom and just earlier that very night, he'd exhibited signs of relief and safety, this was perhaps the first time she'd seen him express hope. Cass wondered what he'd seen, what he'd experienced, that had led to him losing his hope in the first place, then she decided that, whatever it was, she wanted to punish the ones behind all of it for taking that hope away.

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AHHH I DID IT. I FINALLY FINISHED WRITING CHAPTER THREE. ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ This took forever, and I apologize for that. I had to start writing this chapter five different times before I finally figured out how the heck I even wanted to begin. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and all the lore drops. Cass's POV kinda got away from me and I'm not entirely sure where half the stuff I put in there came from, but it works! I hope y'all enjoyed it! I'm hoping to get back into the swing of writing and posting nearly every day for the rest of the month, but we'll just have to see, won't we (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

[lily-blue]

There are plenty of (cat)fish in the sea

☆ characters: uni student!wooyoung & uni student!you ☆ genre: enemies to lovers au, college au, catfish au, humour ☆ request: 26. from this prompt list ☆ summary: it takes Wooyoung a single glance at your face to hate you, but only a couple of shots to crave your company ☆ words: 1,1k ☆ dedicated to: @dat-town ♥ ☆ taglist: @soobin-chois​

Freshman you would have sworn you were incapable of holding grudges longer than a couple of hours. But freshman you had thought university parties were about impressing one’s crush with dancing skills instead of hooking up with people one would have rather forgotten about the following morning and never met anyone as impossible as Jung Wooyoung.

These two things had changed when you had not only managed to convince your best friend, Miwoo, to accompany you to your first ever end of semester party everyone had been talking about, but also found a way to dance with San from your elective Contemporary Literature class and steal a chaste kiss from his lips between two upbeat songs. High on adrenaline, you had thought things couldn’t have been more promising, until a random dude had walked up to the two of you and accused you of cheating.

You had known words could cut deep. Although, you would have never thought how easy it was to feel so humiliated by being called a whore when you had known you had never been one of those people. Sure, San hadn’t been your first kiss and you hadn’t been a virgin anymore, either, but you hadn’t played around with men just to break their heart, so the stares you had felt on your trio had annoyed you in many ways. Especially when San had frowned at the dude, then immediately put some distance between you two.

That night you had learned a few things. 1) San and the delusional dude were best friends. 2) The latter had been in a weird relationship for weeks by that time with a person he had never met before, but planned to visit after his exams. 3) His long-distance girlfriend had used your pictures to catfish him. 4) You were able to hold grudges for months when you needed to if it came to Wooyoung.

Your feelings towards the guy usually equalled to being frustrated, pissed, and annoyed, but if any of your mutual friends would have asked, you would have claimed you hated his guts. Because he always made sure people knew he hated you.

Even when he was wasted as hell and refused to go home with anyone else but you.

‘Eyes up here, pal,’ you reminded him once the two of you were left alone in front of Club Vera, in the middle of a party you had willingly skipped because of a crucial assignment that was due by midnight.

It had been Seonghwa who had called you around ten that Wooyoung had had way too many tequila shots, but the oldest of the group couldn’t have come out of the club without being unable to go back inside, so you had no one but yourself to put this fucker back to his place. He was such a menace when he was drunk.

‘Nah, I’d rather look at your boobs. I like them more,’ he claimed with a goofy smile, hazy eyes stuck on your plain, white tee and your missing bra underneath. You made a mental note to not be in such a hurry next time Wooyoung started to beg his friends to call you up because he overestimated his limits.

‘One more word and I’m leaving you here. I’m serious,’ you warned him, genuinely tempted to let go of his arm and leave him to fend for himself, but you were willing to give him one last chance because you remembered the first time Wooyoung had called for you while being drunk and you walked out on him. It had taken the guys and you over twenty hours to find him since he had gotten arrested by the police for wandering around the city in a boxer and fallen asleep in his cell without a care for the world.

‘Why?’ He asked, pulling you back to reality.

‘What why? Because I’m worth more than a pair of boo…’ you started, angry that he openly objectified you and that he only ever needed you when he was wasted. You were also pissed that you cared enough to pick him up, but that was mostly on you. You were tired of playing pretend when you had already forgiven him the day you had seen him crying and throwing up at a party after a girl had confessed to him that she had been using him to get close to San.

Intentionally or unintentionally, somehow, it was always his best friend, never him.

‘You are. But they’re the only things that look different from those pictures. Well, other than your personality. Not that I’m saying I can see other people’s personality, but you know what I mean, right? You’re a lot ruder than she was. Or he. Or they. Who knows nowadays?’ He complained, coaxing a resigned sigh out of you. Here it came again: your urge to comfort him despite how passionately he hated you when he was sober.

It still irked you that he kept talking to your boobs instead of looking you in the eyes, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, you led him to the passenger’s seat, then fastened his seatbelt and jogged to the door on the other side of the vehicle.

On the way to Wooyoung’s place that he shared with San, he kept mumbling under his nose like he usually did. He told you he thought you were pretty, then claimed he hated you. In one moment he was convinced you were the coolest person he had ever met, then he claimed he hated you. He desperately wanted to be with you, but he insisted on hating you.

You sighed again when he eventually fell asleep.

With your smaller build, it was a drag to get Wooyoung out of the car and support him on the way to his bedroom. Especially because he kept mumbling against your skin and munching on your neck while he barely helped with his weight. Yet, somehow you managed.

By the time you got the tipsy guy in bed, he was barely conscious, so you gave up on making him change into his pjs. It was more important that he had painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table for the morning.

‘My kiss,’ Wooyoung groaned, reaching out for your hand, although he missed it with a good ten centimeters in the dimly lit room with his half-lidded eyes. ‘You can’t go yet.’

You wanted to hate him for acting so insufferable, but you knew he was right. You couldn’t go without reminding him that he was a menace, but kissing his forehead right after as though the fine line between hatred and love had already been too blurry to see. At least, for you.

And him, when he was too drunk to not be in love with you.

the end.

[allefendra]

Chapter 1

Although the bonfire roaring in the town square obfuscated the sky, the sparkling array of the galaxy was still clearly visible to the sharp eyes of Dema Simondred. Her distinctive eyes reflected the warm glow of the flame with an inhuman, almost predatory shine, which only served to make the mustard-colored rings around her irises more apparent, but her skin, deep as coal, seemed to swallow the light. As a subservient canine might, she bared her vulpine grin to any passerby who glanced in her direction, earning her at best a muted scowl and at worst an unconcealed glare. The crumbling cobblestones beneath her bare feet felt cool despite their proximity to the flame. She wiggled her toes in a feeble attempt to draw warmth to them. 

Something hard and sharp struck her between the shoulder blades and she pitched forward, windmilling her arms instinctively to keep her face from plowing into the ground. Her numb toes bent and flexed against the edges of the stones, and she thanked the stars her feet had already gone numb. With an involuntary grunt, she straightened, pretending not to be bothered by the now throbbing wound on her back. Slowly, she turned to face her assailants, aware already that she could do nothing to prevent their assault.

A group of children, none of which was old enough to be off their mother’s apron strings, giggled mischievously as she raised a rounded brow at them. One clutched a rough chunk of stone in one hand, a slingshot in the other, but dropped the rock nervously as soon as she directed the full force of her glare upon him. On the opposite side of the square, adults mingled with mugs of ale or spice wine in their gloved hands. None took notice of the scene unfolding. 

Dema estimated the oldest of the bunch to be of maybe nine or ten winters, a wiry child wearing a pair of shoes riddled with holes and a dress stained with myriad colors. The girl held her nose much too high for one of her station, though Dema’s own station couldn’t be said to be more than slightly superior. 

“You have had your fun,” Dema growled, “now be off.”

The oldest advanced, proving herself to be the leader of her ragtag gang. “We take no orders from you, Dema the Demon!” she sneered, somehow holding her nose even higher than before. “We will leave when we feel like it!”

“Oh? You don’t fear the demon, then?” Dema replied calmly, running a hand over her bare scalp. “I could haunt your nightmares, you know. Now that I’ve had a good look at your face, your dreams would be easy to locate.”

The child blanched. “You’re bluffing! None can enter another’s dream!” 

Dema began to methodically stretch each muscle in her willowy frame, starting with her neck and going down. The children watched her anxiously, confusion plain on their faces. “Perhaps I am bluffing,” she said, a wicked smile spreading across her face, “and perhaps not. Regardless, I don’t need magic or trickery to deal with the lot of you. All I need are my two legs. I’m an honorable sort, so I will make this fair. I will give you to the count of twenty before I move. Use those twenty seconds as you will.”

The children scattered like leaves taken by the wind, a few squeaking cacophonous yelps, some down alleys, others toward the decrepit Forktongue Bridge, but all with the panic of the hunted. Dema smirked to herself, satisfied with her own ingenuity. Despite her lithe figure, she was actually a terrible runner, and she certainly wouldn’t have been able to catch even one of those children barefoot. Not only that, but she lacked the innate spark for Resonance, which was said to be endowed to no more than one in every thousand born. Demons, of course, were all born with Resonance, which is precisely why so many feared them, but “Dema the Demon” knew herself to be no demon at all. A child of foxfire, perhaps, but not a demon. Her lack of Resonance was proof enough for that.

She was still smirking when a rolling pin connected with her rump, startling more than injuring her. Knowing better than to respond, she stifled her grin and stood arrow-straight. She swallowed hard, producing an audible gulp. 

“Mother,” she said quietly, clasping her hands behind her back and staring intently at her bruised toes, “I thought you would be fast asleep by this late hour.”

“I thought the same of you,” Mistress Simondred snapped, tapping Dema again with her rolling pin. “You might be able to fool your father with a wad of hay stuffed under your blankets, girl, but I know better. I heard not a sound from your chambers this evening. Usually, by this time of night, you would be dreaming and squawking like a crow. I knew something was amiss when I heard not a peep.” She paused, inspecting Dema up and down. “And just where are your shoes? Did we not just purchase a pair of sturdy shoes from Mistress Yohan a week past?”

“Father would surely have noticed I left had I taken my shoes, Mother,” Dema said levelly, still fighting her wry smile. “This was the only way.”

“The only way to broken toes, I’d wager,” her mother grumbled, staring concernedly at Dema’s toes. “You’d best hope you can manage to work tomorrow on those feet.”

“I’ve faced worse.”

“I’m certain you have.”

The two stared at each other intently, evaluating each other in the way of two wolves. After a few seconds, Mistress Simondred sighed and wrapped Dema in her fleshy arms. 

“Oh, Dema,” she murmured, placing her free hand at the back of Dema’s head as she embraced her tightly, “you can’t imagine how I feel when I find your bed empty. I never worried so when I found your brother’s bed empty. Not until the morning I went to rouse him and the bed still lay empty. I still check your brother’s bed on occasion, when the longing strikes me too deeply and I lose my sense.” She pulled back so she could gaze into Dema’s eyes. “I cannot lose another child. I cannot. From now on, your bedroom will be warded in the evenings. I have no other choice. This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

“Mother!” Dema exclaimed, fury making her face appear even darker. “I will not accept this! I am not my brother.” “I’m sorry, Dema,” her mother said, a melancholy look in her gray eyes. “It can be no other way. These people have no sense. Today, they give you dirty looks. Tomorrow, they could give you a knife through your ribs. You trust too much.”

Dema felt a drop of something cold and wet strike her scalp. Automatically, her hand covered the top of her head, and another drop glanced off the knuckle of her middle finger. 

Mistress Simondred looked warily to the sky and shook her head with irritation. Her eyes looked wet in the firelight as she turned them to the sky. A melted snowflake, or tears? 

“Another of these snowstorms,” she groaned, and began rifling through the leather sack hanging from her belt pouch. “I tell you, this is Ribbin’s work. Who’ve heard of snowstorms in the ides of Verdance? Lucky for you, I’ve a hat for you somewhere in here. I’ll find it. But we truly must return home now before you lose those purple toes of yours to frostbite.” 

Warily, Dema tilted her head back, knowing she would see no stars and lamenting their loss. Only moments before, the stars had been strikingly bright against the black velvet carpet of the sky. Now, she could see nothing but the charcoal gray of thick, raging clouds. 

“Just a moment ago…” she began, but let herself trail off as she realized her mother wasn’t listening. Mistress Simondred was muttering to herself angrily, still searching for a hat in her absurdly large pouch. Large pouches had come into fashion, but no pouch around any waist in town rivaled the behemoth flopping at Mistress Simondred’s side. 

“Ah! Here it is!” she said triumphantly, drawing a black beret from the bottom of the sack. It was mildly crumpled and would need to be reshaped, but it didn’t really matter. By that time, the only villagers who might see her in adequate lighting would likely be drunk anyway. “Oh, Goddess above! This isn’t your hat! It’s your father’s!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dema replied, ignoring her mother’s hypocrisy. If she ever uttered an oath like that to the Goddess, her mother would wallop her hard with her rolling pin, or any other implement at her disposal. “It will keep my head warm either way. We’ve a long walk home and I’m getting colder by the second. Can we go, Mother?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but stay close to me. There are brigands afoot this time of evening.”

As soon as her mother turned away, Dema rolled her eyes dramatically. In all of Forktongue, she had encountered not a single brigand, unless one counted the cutpurse who had once sliced her belt pouch. Unfortunately for the cutpurse, the pouch was merely a fashion accessory and held no coin. In the world her mother imagined, a thief schemed in every side street, a conman plotted on every corner, and a murderer waited with bated breath in every shadow. It was a wonder her mother had mustered the courage to comb the streets in search of Dema that evening. With that thought, a surge of guilt washed over her, and she almost conceded to herself that her mother had been right to set a penance. 

“I’ll fetch you a hot brick for under your covers once we get home,” her mother said softly as they stepped into a particularly dark street. “You must be frozen to the bone.”

“I’m a touch chilled,” Dema lied.

“Why are you walking in that strange way? You look like a rod has been inserted in your spine.”

Dema looked at her from the sides of her eyes. “I hurt my back when I was working today. It feels better if I stand straight.”

“A pulled muscle, is it? Well, no matter. Tomorrow we’ll have our baths. I’ll massage your malady then. There’s no pulled muscle that can withstand a massage in hot water. Not when these hands are doing the massaging,” she said cheerily, gripping her rolling pin in both hands enthusiastically. She could have slipped the rolling pin into a fold in her apron, but she preferred to hold onto it whenever possible. 

“No!” Dema blurted sharply. Realizing her blunder, she adjusted her tone. “I mean, no. That’s not necessary. I am sure it will relieve itself in the night. Sleep cures many afflictions.”

“That is certainly true,” Mistress Simondred replied, though it was clear only half her mind was on the conversation. The other half was scouting the way ahead, ensuring no threats would impede them. “Just another mile,” she said to herself quietly, as though to soothe her own frayed nerves.

“Not a mile, Mother. Perhaps half a mile.”

Changing the subject abruptly, Mistress Simondred said with renewed anger, “What were you doing this evening, anyway? What would possess you to make such a rash choice?”

“I wanted to see the bonfire, Mother. Sorzen is always speaking of it. I just wanted to see it for myself. He claimed the flames climbed as high as the Mayor’s house is tall, but I know now it was just another of his tales.”

“I ought to box his ears, filling your head with such foolishness. I should have known Sorzen inspired you to this. I’ll be having words with his mother, mark me.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mother.”

“Isn’t it? He knows you can’t travel around as freely as others, yet he natters to you day and night of all the sights and sounds and smells you cannot have. He is no friend to you, girl. You’ll learn that one day.”

In silence, they continued on together. Dema was astounded when her foot touched the silky dirt of Wayward Path. Had they not, just an instant before, been surrounded by the squalor of the city? The dirt path, just as cold as the cobblestones before it, somehow cheered her, its familiar texture acting as a balm for her injured toes. The light layer of frost over the dirt only served to magnify its soothing effect. Her mother claimed the dirt of Wayward Path was the ashes of Resonants burned long ago in the city square, but Dema had met none who could corroborate the tale. In some ways, her mother was as histrionic and imaginative as Sorzen, though Dema would never say so to her face.

In the distance, Dema could make out the faint flickering of candlelight seeping out from beneath the canvas curtain that served as the front door of her family’s tiny domicile. A silhouette crossed back and forth across the entryway repeatedly, which made the light appear to flash. She could tell by the bulk of the figure that it was her father, a man often mistaken for a blacksmith with his wide shoulders and bulging biceps. Few outside of the business knew just how much muscle a baker could develop through the rigors of his or her routine. Even her mother, a woman round and soft all over, had a thick layer of muscle beneath her plump exterior from long days kneading dough or lifting trays of hot confections. 

“He’ll be as mean as a badger tomorrow,” Mistress Simondred said, smacking her rolling pin against her palm with irritation. “I told that man to take himself to bed. Why does he never listen?”

“I don’t know, Mother.”

“Not all men are of this nature, you must know. Some are quite excellent listeners, I hear.”

“Sorzen is a good listener.” 

Mistress Simondred shot her a grimace that would curdle fresh goat’s milk. “Sorzen is a rascal of questionable character. If he cared a whit for you, he’d listen less and talk more. He’d talk you out of your harebrained schemes, at the very least.”

Dema shrugged. “I was only citing an example.”

Her mother put the rolling pin into her apron for the first time that night and whirled to face Dema. “Now,” she said, “not another word of your foolishness. Your father is not pleased. I would suggest against your usual way. Say neither a word of Sorzen nor any others among your companions unless you’d like your father to visit each personally with a loaf of bread.”

Dema shivered, and not just from the cold. Her father, armed with only a loaf of his fresh bread, could convince almost anyone of anything. She trusted Sorzen, but not so much that she’d allow him to be tempted with a good rye or a sourdough. “Mother, I am sorry. Truly. I never meant to worry you.”

“I know it, girl. It’s your father who’ll need convincing,” she said in a hushed tone, now just outside the canvas flap. With a strong hand, she yanked the canvas aside, revealing the interior of their home.

Her father stared at her wildly and wiped sweaty palms on his apron. Wisps of hair stuck out in every possible direction, giving him the appearance of a man recently struck by lightning. He was standing in the center of the room, in front of the hearth, which was as cold and dead as the soil of the Wayward Path. The only light or heat came from a solitary tallow candle burning on the dining table. An ornately carved rocking chair in the corner of the room was the most exquisite of their furnishings, while the other furniture was obviously scavenged from some garbage heap. Her parents’ bed rested against the only wall with a window, which meant it was always quite chilly under those covers. Her bed was located in the only enclosed room in the hut, a blessing for which she rarely remembered to offer thanks. 

“Thank Allefendra, you’re alive!” her father boomed in a voice that reverberated off the adobe walls. He looked to be on the point of tears. “I thought...I thought…”

“I’m perfectly well, Father,” she said deferentially, lowering her head. The look in her father’s eyes was almost too much for her to bear. “I am sorry, but I had a good reason.”

“What reason was that?”

“I wanted – no, I needed to see the bonfire.”

Master Simondred threw up his hands in exasperation and plunked down onto the bed. It creaked under his mass. “I could scarcely breathe, Dema,” he growled, “I could scarcely move because you ‘needed’ to see a bonfire? If you wanted to waste your hours staring into a flame, we’ve candles aplenty. What you’ve done is deplorable. Despicable! How could you do this?”

Dema’s throat constricted. “I can’t continue living this way. I just can’t.”

“You’ll continue living this way, or you’ll not continue living at all!” he shouted, pounding a meaty fist into the quilt. “You shame your brother!”

Her face stung as though her father had just backhanded her. Tears sprang to her eyes, magnifying their eerie glow. She maintained her steady gaze on her father, refusing to disengage. Before she could speak a word, her mother placed a gentle palm on her forearm, forestalling her.

“You’re both exhausted,” her mother said placidly, as if placating a pair of scuffling toddlers. “This is a talk better had by the light of day.” Master Simondred started to speak, but she cut him off with a stern glare. “I’ve said what I’ve said and I expect you will obey. Both of you.”

Master Simondred shook his head in disgust. “It’s past time I started work. Dawn comes quickly.” He brushed off non-existent dust from his apron and adjusted the apron strings at the back of his neck. “Dema, you’ll be no good with the customers if you don’t sleep. Stella, you’ll need your rest as well. You can meet me in the morning.”

“Do you not think it would be best to open late?”

“Open late?” he scoffed, “I haven’t opened late in eight winters. I certainly won’t do so now.”

“Paitin,” Mistress Simondred pleaded, “you mustn’t do this. Truly, you ought not open at all tomorrow. I can’t imagine many customers will be in. Not with them all suffering the grog horrors. Besides, I could hardly see past my own fingers out there. It is cold as Ribbin’s breath. You’ve no need to be risking yourself out there. Which reminds me, light the hearth, you fool man! Have you not seen your daughter’s feet?”

He stared down at Dema’s feet, squinting. The light from the tallow candle was dimming each second. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Indeed I had not! Dema, child, tell me you haven’t yet lost your new shoes. I expected those to last at least a year.”

“She didn’t take her shoes because you would have noticed they were missing,” Mistress Simondred replied in a mocking voice. “Clever like her father, down to the core.”

Master Simondred beamed for a moment before coming back to his senses. “I see.” He grabbed his wool cloak off a peg in the wall and draped it around his shoulders. It made him look like a lumbering boulder with a head. “I’ll light the hearth, but the two of you must get to bed. You ought to get in the same bed to share some heat,” he suggested. “Clean yourself up, girl. I’ll not have soot in my sheets.” He passed her a bucket of frigid water, sloshing a few drops in the process, that had been used to collect the rain which seeped through the thatch roof. He stalked out of the shelter, almost stomping.

She compliantly splashed the water over her shins and feet, trying not to wince at the temperature. She took note of a sharp pain at the edges of a toenail. She’d likely lose that nail. As she rubbed the water over her skin, her mother fetched a minuscule nub of soap and a dingy towel. She took it gratefully.

Mistress Simondred dabbed a second towel on Dema’s face. It wasn’t dirty, really, but she continued to wipe at her cheeks nonetheless. “There,” she said softly, pushing Dema’s face up with a finger under her chin, “now I can see that beautiful skin of yours.”

Dema fought off a snort. “I am glad at least you take pleasure in my demon skin.”

“You are not a demon!” her mother replied furiously, cupping both of Dema’s cheeks in her hands. “Look into my eyes! You are no such thing! Say it!”

“I am no such thing,” Dema answered, though her mouth, pinched as it was, struggled to enunciate the words. “I’m tired, Mother.”

“As am I. Slip off your dress and get in bed. Your shift will do for night clothes tonight.”

Ice cold and mentally numb with exhaustion, Dema fell into slumber immediately. Even as her father lit the hearth, she remained asleep. Her mother snuggled up beside her, grateful to share the warmth. From his rocking chair, Master Simondred regarded his sleeping wife and child with affection, noting the similarities in their features. Notwithstanding the stark contrast in their skin tones, Dema’s face was almost an exact copy of her mother’s. He rose, kissed each on the forehead, and trudged into the blizzard, all the while making a list in his mind of each chore and task that need be completed at the bakery.

[backmaskcd]

(Federico Russo) [THE ALOOF]. Please welcome [DAMIANO 'DAMI' CLARKE (HE/HIM)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [26]-year-old [RESIDENT] who lives in [THE COMMUNE]. You may see them around working as a [CARETAKER AT SUNSHINE DAYCARE (2YRS ROOM)]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive

Full Name: Damiano Tanner Clarke Birthday: October 19 Age: 26 Hunter or Gatherer: Gatherer Sexuality: bisexual Height: 5'9 Relationship Status: ???? with Jupiter Picard

The Clarke family of five seemed idyllic, and for most of Damiano's life, it was. With a twin brother and an older sibling, there was little to complain about, other than the fact that Huntsville always felt small. A momma's boy from the start, it wasn't unusual to find her at her hip, asking to be read a story or watching her go about her daily tasks. If he was his mother's favorite, it was never made obvious to the other two.

From a very young age, Dami loved animals. Always begging for a pet, he was thrilled when his father brought home a few chickens. They were a main source of eggs for a few years, but then it was deemed time to eat them. Damiano cried for hours and refused to touch his dinner at all. He's been a vegetarian since he was six years old (though Huntsville's current state has forced him to alter his diet).

As he got older, his face started turning sharper, and his dark features more defined. Girls were constantly giggling about him between classes, his soft freckles contrasting with his dark hair, and he found himself getting girlfriends very easily - first, nothing more than playmates that held hands, and eventually, actual dating, once he was old enough that it was appropriate.

The paradox changed absolutely everything. Things were scary, and Dami was barely a teenager, clinging desperately to his siblings as his mother went nearly out of her mind with the grief of losing her husband, and while she managed to stick around for the kids, she was a shell of who she used to be. It made Damiano's heart ache.

Why he decided to take on the personality of someone aloof and nonchalant was anyone's guess. Maybe the air of mystery made him more appealing to the girls, maybe it was his way of coping with the grief of it all; but whatever it was, they seemed drawn to him like a moth to a flame. High school, while very strange, went by without much of a hitch, Dami dating around but never committing to anyone for much longer than six months at the most. The idea of finding someone to settle down with and start a family unnerved him, especially with the shell of a woman that was his mother occupied the house physically, but mentally she had died with her husband. He didn't want to be like that.

Despite the distaste for his own future, Dami loved kids. Taking up a job at the daycare seemed like the perfect decision for him, and it was one of the few things that brought him genuine joy anymore. He started working there when he was twenty, and he loves working with the toddlers best because there was always at least one of them who wanted to snuggle. Finding it difficult in almost every other aspect of his life, he got a lot of joy and fulfillment out of taking care of these small humans that simply loved him because he showed up every day.

He moved into the commune on his own; he simply couldn't take living in the family house with the ghost of his mother. The commune was a little better; at least it felt alive. He visited home once a week though, and had been trying to convince his oldest sibling that maybe they should look into getting their mom into Sunnyside, despite not being that old. He loved her so much, but she might be better in the care of others.

Dami still keeps a lot of people at arm's length, letting them in just enough to be comfortable, but not enough to start thinking about any kind of future outside a stable friendship. His mom is a very tender topic, and he hasn't spoken about his dad in ten years. As much as he'd like to be a vegetarian, the options in such a secluded town wasn't great, and he reluctantly 'downgraded' to a pescatarian, but still refuses to eat any other kind of meat, especially chicken.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Motherhood- Bill Weasley x OC

Bill and Sophia

Title: Motherhood

Description: Molly and Sophia have never had a good relationship, but it wasn’t until after her and Bill’s daughter was born that things came to a head. 

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: If you don't like some Molly Weasley slander then this fic may not be for you. I don't usually have hate for Molly but she does have many faults, which is what inspired this fic. Enjoy!

Sophia’s relationship with Molly had always been very…strained. They liked each other well enough, but there always seemed to be some sort of tension between them. There were times where it felt like Molly was ready to jump down her throat at any moment if she did/said anything wrong. 

She had no idea what could have possibly caused it. No matter what she did to try and impress Molly or get her approval, she just didn’t seem to make the cut. It upset her greatly, but Bill always comforted her by saying that it was probably a maternal thing. After all, her oldest son was now married and living far away from her. They just needed to give her time to adjust to it all. So, Sophia did her best to do so, but it still always felt like Sophia was walking on eggshells with her mother-in-law. 

Then, Sophia got pregnant, and they ended up temporarily going back to England so they could be around family for the process. They still lived in Egypt, but they just didn’t want to deprive their families of such an enormous thing. Molly was ecstatic about it. She did just about everything she could to help Sophia to have an easier pregnancy. Sophia assumed that whatever problem Molly had with her had been resolved, which made her extremely happy and made the rather difficult pregnancy more bearable. 

Finally, at ten months on May 2, 1994 Sophia went into labor. After twenty-one excruciating hours, Christa Celine Weasley was born at 12:13 p.m. Even being only a few hours old, she already looked like the perfect combination of Bill and Sophia. She had Bill’s eyes, Sophia’s nose, Bill’s cheek line and Sophia’s chin. And, of course, she had red hair. Christa was a 6lbs and 1oz bundle of joy that brought everyone glee when they saw her.

After two days, Sophia and Christa were discharged and the small family of three went back to their home. Molly, and the rest of the Weasleys actually, came around quite a bit. Not that Bill and Sophia minded. This was the first grandchild/niece of the family after all, there was reasonable cause for frequent visits. It wasn’t like Sophia’s family didn’t visit anyway, it just wasn’t as often. Christa always loved her visitors. She always became so smiley and giggly around them, which made them feel even better about it. 

One day, Bill, Sopia and Christa went to the Burrow for a change. It was their first time out of the house since the baby had been born, so Sophia was a bit nervous. Her nerves multiplied by ten when Arthur suggested that Christa join them for a walk around Diagon Alley. He had a few errands to run and the kids wanted to browse the shops while they had the chance. Bill agreed, but she was still hesitant as she didn’t feel like going out at the moment. 

It took them quite a while to convince her with all of the Weasleys butting in with various points. Finally, she tentatively agreed to let Bill and his family take Christa while she and Molly stayed home. And, once Sophia gave her baby and husband around a billion kisses and made sure that they’d be okay, the Weasley family was off. 

Christa ended up having a blast! She loved being around so many people, and she loved the attention she got from all the strangers. There was only one incident where she grew overwhelmed with the noise, but Bill simply slipped into one of the more empty shops to calm her down. Other than that, their trip went swimmingly. All of them were in good spirits as they used the Floo Network to go back home. 

One could imagine the shock they felt upon arriving at the Burrow and seeing Molly and Sophia in the middle of the living room engaged in one of the loudest screaming matches that they’d ever heard. They couldn’t hear exactly what was being said as they were both trying to speak over the other. Sophia simultaneously looked like she was ready to cry and lunge at Molly any second. For a moment the others couldn’t do more than just stand there in shock. Things had seemed fine when they left. Last they saw the two women, they were sitting on the couch with a fresh cup of tea. Bill was the first one to snap out of his shock and quickly stepped between them. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he yelled, which caught both of their attention. “What in the world is going on here?” 

“What’s going on here is that your mother is a backstabbing horrible snake-” 

“Oh you’re one to talk,” Molly seethed, cutting the redhead off. Sophia’s eyes darkened and she began to take a step forward but was stopped by Bill. While he held his wife back, Arthur stepped forward to calm his own wife. 

“Okay, that’s enough, both of you,” he said firmly, looking between them. “Now, one of you explain what happened.”

“Without insulting the other,” Bill added. Sophia huffed, then crossed her arms. 

“Alright, then. Remember how we were talking about traveling and showing Christa magic around the world before she’s of age to attend Hogwarts?” She asked, earning a nod from her husband. “Well, I was telling your mum about it and she got upset. She said that we  would basically be keeping her grandchild away from your family. I tried to reassure her and say that we would visit as much as we could. That’s reasonable, right?” Both men nodded, signaling for her to continue. 

“Apparently that wasn’t good enough for her. She said that it wouldn’t be good to move a baby around so young. Then she proceeded to try to guilt me into making us stay in London but when I still said no she tried to say-”

“I said that I’m sure I knew more about what was good for a baby than her considering I had seven kids while she only had one,” Molly cut in, very obviously seeing nothing wrong with it. Sophia physically had to hold herself back from making a snide remark and instead exhaled deeply. 

“Then I pointed out that just because she had more kids than me doesn’t make me any less of a mother or change my maternal instinct,” she paused, then looked at Molly. “Tell them what you said.” Her tone was demanding with an underlying rage in it. When the older woman hesitated, Sophia repeated her demand, sounding even more angry about it (if it were even possible). That’s what pushed Molly to do as she was told. 

“I told her that it showed just how bad of a mother she truly is, and that she shouldn’t be one if that was the case.” Her words stunned everyone in the room to silence. Hearing them for a second time reignited her fury and she began to lunge at Molly once again. Thankfully her husband was able to grab her in time and hold her back, but that didn’t stop her from calling her mother-in-law every name under the sun in her thick Scottish accent. 

“Enough!” Bill shouted, effectively quieting them before facing Molly. “Mum, what is the matter with you? How could you possibly say something so awful like that?” 

“Honestly, Molly,” Arthur added, looking at his wife with a disappointed expression. The woman, realizing that she was being ganged up on, looked around desperately. 

“Oh, come on. Are you really going to tell me that I’m wrong?” 

“Yes,” Bill answered without hesitation as he glared at her, which surprised her. Christa, almost as if finally sensing that her mother was upset, grew fussy in Ginny’s arms. Sophia immediately broke away from her husband and carefully grabbed her daughter. As she calmed her daughter down, she looked at Bill and shook her head. 

“I refuse to stay here Bill. We’re going back to Egypt whether you come or not.” 

“Alright bug,” he responded softly. “Why don’t you go start packing. I’ll be there in a minute.” The woman merely nodded in response. She refused to spare the rest of the Weasley clan another glance as she grabbed a small handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace. 

“To home,” she called, throwing down the powder and disappearing in a poof of silver dust. Once he made sure she was gone, Bill faced his mother once again. 

“I really hope you’re happy,” he grumbled, walking around the room and grabbing the baby supplies they brought over. 

“Bill, you don’t seriously mean to leave for Egypt today,” was Molly’s response. 

“Maybe we will, maybe we won’t,” he answered simply. 

“Christa’s only just been born!” 

“I don’t care!” He exclaimed, which immediately shut his mother up. “What you said was incredibly out of line and uncalled for and I understand why she reacted like that.” He took a moment to hug each of his siblings, then his father. When he got to Molly, he stayed at least a foot away from her. 

“Don’t even think about visiting or writing to us unless we say otherwise,” he instructed simply before climbing through the chimney and following his wife. 

It took them no time at all to pack everything (perks of having magic), and before they knew it, they were back in Egypt. They settled in rather nicely, and pretty soon their work friends were coming over to meet young Christa. Both Bill and Sophia were quick to notice how much more relaxed the latter was with meeting their baby compared to his family. Well, realistically, compared to Molly. 

So far Sophia refused to talk about what happened. Every time she thought about it, a million emotions ran through her. Anger, sadness, frustration. Most of all she was hurt. Sure, she knew that she and Molly didn’t always get along, but she never thought that she would say something so hurtful. Even Bill was still shocked by what she’d said. It was a horrible thing to say and Molly most definitely shouldn’t have said it. 

Almost a month after they got settled back into Egypt, Molly sent them a letter. Bill refused to open it until his wife gave the okay, but she was still too upset to read it. Her husband respected her decision and instead just shoved the envelope into a junk drawer for whenever (if ever) they were ready. 

Sophia was grateful for Bill. At first she felt bad about learning that he had essentially cut off all contact with his mother and potentially the rest of his family, but he was quick to comfort her. It was in both of their best interests, but it was still something huge that he had to do. She was glad that he was on her side of this entire disaster because she genuinely had no idea what she’d do if it was the contrary. She was just happy to know that no matter what happened, at least the two of them would have Christa and each other’s backs.

[firecoloredwater]

(This got VERY long and accidentally morphed into a fic. The fic starts with Fax's massacre of Lessa's family and her resulting trauma, and also touches on not-quite-real-world climate anxiety, so caution reading.)

I've thought a few times about how I would rewrite Dragonflight if I were going to, how I'd streamline the plot (merge Fax and Meron, to start) and tweak characterization (F'lar can act basically the same if he's, like, 17 instead of 20-something).

But the fundamental crack at the heart of Dragonflight which I've never been able to resolve is Lessa. Because there are two things which are fundamental truths to Lessa.

The first truth is this: she is Lessa of Ruatha. She is the only survivor of a massacre, the last rightful heir to the kingdom, and she raised herself on those truths. She is, literally, a secret princess disguising herself with filth in order to hide from danger as a kitchen servant. But that's misleading, because those fairytale princesses she shares the shape of just want to escape abuse and live in peace. Lessa is actually the lost prince of a conquered land, come home to slay the tyrant that murdered her father and retake her rightful place as king Lady Holder.

The second truth is this: Lessa of Ruatha must abandon Ruatha, in order to become Lessa of Ramoth, of Benden, of Pern, and save the world.

And she can't know why she needs to go, or that she'll save the world in doing so, because if she knew what she was going to do we wouldn't have a full plot of Lessa figuring out time travel and that she needs to bring the Weyrs forward. You can make it a bit better by letting Lessa actually know what a Weyrwoman is, rather than thinking she's probably going to be F'lar's mistress, but she still has no reason to abandon Ruatha, especially not in favor of Fax's son.

I think, to fix it, Jaxom can't be Fax's son.

Lessa was the youngest of a large family. She had several older brothers and sisters; say around eight kids, average 2.5 turns between them, and even if Lessa was only four when Fax arrived, the oldest would have been around eighteen. But I will, for this purpose, say Lessa was ten, and the oldest were in their twenties.

A family that large, with a few kids grown or nearly so, whose hereditary job involves diplomacy, won't all be at home most of the time. They'll be out checking on important industries, visiting allies, sent to a Hall like the noble girls that will someday give Menolly so much trouble, or sent for fostering like those girls' boyfriends. Given the alliance-building use of fostering and Fax's having already taken over several Holds before Ruath Hold, it would be the obvious thing for Lessa's father to have sent one of his teenage sons to Fax for fostering.

Lessa doesn't think about that. She's ten, and she has just watched her entire family be slaughtered. She is hiding in the watch-wher's den, in shock and terrified. She does not think of it until a few days later, when one of Fax's men drags in a mangled body with hair the same color as her brother's, dumps it beside the rest, and declares the job complete.

Lessa's body is there too, of course, or else there surely would have been a search thorough enough to find her. There was a search, but before Lessa they found a servant's daughter of about the right age and description with a face a touch more Ruathan-typical than Lessa's own, and so the search ended.

Lessa is terrified that Fax or his men might realize their mistake. But no one in Ruatha is much inclined to tell Fax or his men anything they might not want to hear. And Lessa, without knowing it, is the most powerful telepath Pern has seen in generations. Even without intention, her desperation to remain undetected is enough to exert pressure on the minds around her.

No one identifies the servant girl. No one looks in the watch-wher's den. No noise that comes from the den sounds like a human child. No one wonders why, in the evenings, someone feels the need to leave human-suitable food near the watch-wher's den, or where it vanishes to before morning.

When Lessa finally emerges, no one wonders where this new servant girl came from. No one questions her soft hands or fancy speech or condescending attitude. They snap at her for being unskilled, and give her the hardest, simplest work, and think no more of it.

It takes weeks, months, for Lessa's shock and horror to settle enough to allow fury to emerge in more than flashes. It takes years for her to work out any plan more specific than survive, and make him pay. It also takes years, though perhaps not quite as many, for her to notice the pressure she can exert on other people without their notice, and to learn to do it intentionally.

By the time Lessa is twenty, Ruatha develops a reputation for being cursed. What grows there grows poorly. What few crafters remain seem to lose their skill. And there are the accidents: rockfalls, impossible fires, drunken fights that turn deadly, all manner of things which can kill, and often do. The more highly-placed a man is (or a woman, though few women can be described in such terms in Fax's Holds) the more accidents seem to find him.

There is weight in the air of Ruatha: the weight of grief, of hatred, of fury, of pain. A constant pricking on the back of the neck; the scent of blood perpetually half-imagined. Healers advise those with poor hearts to avoid Ruatha if possible, or if a visit is necessary, to leave quickly: something there makes the heart race and strain, and given time, a weak one will fail.

But that's not going to stop F'lar!

F'lar is 17, superior, young enough that he has never yet failed, and frantic with terror in his own way. Even a teenage bronzerider outranks all people but more senior bronzeriders (though every bronzerider is F'lar's senior), and F'lar wears both his power and his arrogance like a gaudy cape: he sneers, he orders, he demands, he pushes, and those who are preoccupied with anger and frustration about his attitude--which is nearly everyone he meets--rarely wonder why he demands the things he does, why he is so obnoxious as to stop and ask drudges idle questions about the weather and the upkeep of the Hold.

The truth is, F'lar is arrogant. His father was wiser, but his father is dead, and so F'lar is the smartest man in the world, and never wrong. He considers any behavior other than giving him what he wants to be obstructionism, all people to be his inferiors, and inferior people behaving in obstructionist ways to be the worst possible transgression. As such, he dislikes nearly everyone he meets, and enjoys needling, insulting, and upsetting them. His status makes retaliation impossible.

The truth is also this: F'lar sees the apocalypse coming, and he does not know how to stop it. He has read about how threadfall will consume the planet, and with it all of Pern's people. He knows how many dragons are needed to guard the planet, and how small a fraction of that number currently live. He has watched the Red Star grow nearer, and he has listened to every adult dismiss him with the insistence that it's not that bad, there's nothing to fear, there is no danger coming, and so nothing should be done.

F'lar's father died, and left to him the duty of saving the world. F'lar has never failed before, and he clings to that fact with the same desperation that Lessa clings to Ruatha, and all its recent history.

F'lar is searching for candidates, for the future Weyrwoman and future riders, but he is also searching for allies and scouring every Hold he passes through for its prevailing attitudes and common knowledge. Do the crafters' sons know the Ballad of Moreta? Do the farmers have enough children to weed the fields as thoroughly as they ought? You there, drudge--what do you think of this grass among the paving stones?

He is not pleased by the answers.

F'nor is older, but he calls himself sixteen. He follows F'lar loyally, as a younger brother ought, as a wingsecond must. He goes where F'lar points and does what F'lar asks, and no one questions his motives: as a loyal wingsecond and little brother, he is motivated only by obedience. No one questions, either, when he finds the free time to put on a charming smile and chat with the girls near his age. Did many of the herdbeasts have twins this spring? How has the fishing been; more storms than usual again this turn? That outbreak of illness he heard of in the next Hold over, have the healers gotten it under control yet?

It is true that F'nor is loyal to his father's favored son, and follows F'lar's orders without complaint. That does not make his obedience thoughtless, nor does it mean he lacks his own initiative.

And so they wind through Fax's holds. Here and there, they pick up people as they go: some on Fax's orders, some on F'lar's. Sometimes there is disagreement, in which case F'lar's preference wins, but sometimes things align perfectly, as with a couple they overtook on the road to Ruatha: young man and pregnant wife, with an old runnerbeast and their life packed into a cart. If F'lar insists the young man is a strong candidate (enough that an exception may be made for his age), and wishes to take him to the Weyr, the couple will have to leave all their belongings behind in Ruatha. Fax is hardly inclined to refuse.

The young couple, of course, join the party for their own reasons.

Fax and F'lar do not think of this. F'nor does, and speaks to the couple with smiles and offers to reason with F'lar on their behalf should they find that they hate life in the Weyr. He concludes that they had no plans, that a future in the Weyr is as good as any, and that the common people are rarely inclined to argue with men such as F'lar.

And so the party reaches Ruatha, last of all Fax's Holds, as Fax had hoped that F'lar would find what he was looking for elsewhere and leave before the visit become necessary. Fax keeps his guards close: meat shields in case of accidents.

The visit goes much the same as in canon. Oh, it differs in the details, in the people present and the conversations they have, but Ruatha is still a place of bad food and worse feelings. Fax is tense, irritable, angry, and F'lar loves to needle.

But some details are critical. Gemma, who breaks an argument despite her best efforts by going into labor, is the wife of the young couple. As she is not Fax's wife, this pauses the argument, but does not resolve it, and under the pressure of Lessa's will, it soon resumes.

But F'lar is a dragonrider. For years, he has lived with Mnementh as a presence and pressure on his mind; he is well used to acting only on his own will, and not on the stray thoughts of others. And so it is not him that breaks and initiates a duel. Nor is it Fax, who is less resistant to Lessa's will but deeply fearful of this malevolent place, and unwilling to leave the circle of his guards over insults that F'lar has been provoking him with this entire trip.

It is the young man who steps forward, shaking with his own and Lessa's will, and announces himself as Lokan, a surviving son of the late Ruathan Lord, and the rightful ruler of Ruath Hold.

It is, of course, Lessa that allows her brother to win. Fax is a powerful, experienced figher, and Lokan cannot match him.

But Lessa is there. She drags pebbles under Fax's heel, clouds his mind, and slows his reactions. In the end Lokan is wounded, but Fax is dead, and Ruath Hold belongs once more to Ruathan blood.

F'lar is reluctant to let his star candidate go, but if F'lar were to deny Lokan's claim to Ruatha, Lokan would have to be executed. Besides, Fax was no use to F'lar, and the lord holders that replace him might be, and so F'lar declares the Weyr's recognition of Lokan as the rightful Lord Holder of Ruatha. Fax's men are sent away with minimal bloodshed, though perhaps a few accidents.

Lessa reveals herself to her brother, and Gemma survives the birth of her and Lokan's son. Perhaps he is named Jaxom; perhaps his parents name him instead after Lessa, or Lokan's murdered father, or Gemma's father, who saved Lokan's life years ago.

F'lar seeks out Lessa, to her complete disinterest. But Lokan, while in hiding, was in a completely different sort of hiding than she was. He was warned and spirited away by minor holders, allies of their father. In addition to being much older than Lessa when their family was killed, he still had access to harpers and lessons while in hiding, and he understands politics. He encourages Lessa to go to the Weyr, as a Weyrwoman would wield political power and be able to back Ruatha's recovery in a way no other ally could.

It is a brief day, perhaps two, of relief and joy, before Lokan's wounds develop an infection. Less than a week after reclaiming his Hold, he dies.

His son is only days old, but still the rightful heir, and Lessa will never want to interfere. Lady Gemma becomes regent. As she expected and trained to be Lady of Ruatha while it recovered, she is well prepared despite her grief.

Lessa, victorious and devastated and reeling, follows her brother's wishes to the Weyr, and the promise of power that she can use to protect her nephew and sister-in-law.

She will, of course, find the power to do much more than that.

[siren-amung-the-mermaids]

Chapter 8

Some cheap exposition

There were more mermaids in the water than there had been in over ten years. Sye could remember when he was younger the times mermaids kept in the sea, but that was long ago. He watched, disappointed, as mermaids began to populate the waters once more. What was once his sea alone is now theirs, and he felt zero kinship with them, with the exception of Raymond who had stayed all these years. 

Part of him wanted the freedom they had. Every time he watched them grow their fins he became fueled with subtle jealousy. Sure, there were plenty of fish in the sea, but none of them talked. The returning mermaids gave Sye suspicious side eyes, avoiding him. Last time they saw a siren was during the war, but he was a child. Now Sye was bigger and intimidated them even if he didn't intend to. 

Raymond led the returning underwater city in restoration efforts, making it as livable as it was before. Sye couldn't help but feel out of place, and not because he was a Syren. He hadn't really been a part of a community of people growing up, and all these mermaids were overwhelming. Not to mention most of them were around twenty years older than him, with a few exceptions from the mermaids chosen as kids. Like Victoria. 

“The oldest vampire I've ever met is Raven.” Victoria and Sye were chatting in open water, who had asked her many questions regarding the vampires on the surface. 

Victoria's husband was one of the Saraphan, so she knew much more than most.

“He's been one for longer than Volkar has been a city.” She continued. 

“He had some party last night in his tavern, karaoke night apparently got pretty wild.” Abigail, who had listened in joined them. 

“What happened?” Victoria poked, digging for tea. 

“Where you there before you hopped in the water?” 

“yes! Ok, so, you know Orpheus right? Somehow Raven had his as a guest singer! Never knew these two were friends.”

“They are?? He's one expensive performer!” 

Sye sat between them as he slowly became disinterested in their conversation. They rambled about Orpheus’s celebrity status and how Raven apparently joined him on stage in the middle of the show. 

“It was the biggest gathering of humans and vampires I had ever seen so peaceful, but the music reminded me of the effect sirens had on us. I left before it ended.” Abigail finished. 

Sye regained his interest with the innuendo that vampires somehow gained the voice of syrens, but he was already swimming away, and only paused that moment before leaving entirely. 

That night he was lost in thought. He so desperately wanted to find the link that vampyres and syrens apparently had, so many dots connecting without any proper tie to it all. He couldn't figure it out while chained to the waters, so he cooked up a plan to take a footstone to shore and see if he could demand his freedom from the moon itself. 

Syren had never held or attempted to use a footstone, but he would never know until he tried. Besides, He would return it eventually. They will stay in the water out of fear of vampires, so they won't need it anyway. 

Time came for the tired mermaids to turn in for the night. Raymond, in all his experience was hard to sneak up on, even fast asleep. Growing up Sye had fits of rather violent sleep-walking, and Raymond adjusted to the sleep schedule. 

It was easier than Sye was hoping. Raymond never wore his stone in his sleep, it had a habit of floating off. All he needed to do was grab it and go. Once he was out of earshot he raced with blurred speed to the surface, to the shore of Volkar. 

He realized he didn't have a plan. If this worked, where would he go? Raven seemed like a logical choice, but having never met him, he couldn't be sure. 

He breached the surface and paused to think a moment, slowly taking himself to the shallow waters. 

He began to see movement, heavy breathing and the sound of desperate running across the sand. His gaze locked with silver eyes, full of fear, running straight at him. He was shot by an arrow, and he looked back to the silver night.

*Saraphan.* If he is hunting this stranger, it's a vampire. I wouldn't let him die so easily, yet. Sye wasn't sure about vampires yet.

With nowhere to go, the silver eyed man jumped into the water, and Sye took him under and far enough from shore than the knight lost sight of him. 

Sye realized that the moonstone he had wasn't in his hand, and watched as the vampire grew fins and bulbs so identical to his own. 

He had five fingers, but shared his tail. The stranger seemed just as perplexed when he saw my claws, and made the connection to our tails as well. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Sye.” 

The stranger seemed dissatisfied. 

“And you?” Sye asked. “Are you a vampire?”

“Raven Audren.” Sye saw it strange to give the full name, but was excited to hear that this was the popular vampire of Volkar. 

“I have so many questions.” 

[the-timeless-founder]

Why is Saeclus' nickname the Timeless / the Eternal? Is it because of how old he is or did he do something that's went down in history as timeless? 👀

A combination of both! He's known as the Timeless primarily though. Both because of his weird aging and also because of a past """deed of glory""".

Okay so, first about Demons and Aging.

They have a much slower aging compared to Humans and even regular Angels in most cases. Shu mentions that a regular Vampire would begin to decay past two thousand years. It can be extended using the power of magic, as we have Vampires that have lived beyond two thousand retaining most of their power.

Think Karl Heinz or Dong Hwa Kang.

Now, comparing the races and the respective animals representing them, I have the following headcanons for the three other subraces and then the First Bloods:

The Adlers live the longest - they are wealthy, have high living standards and their relatively small population is well provided for by their mines and society. Because of this, Adlers have an average life expectancy of 3000.

The Vibora are very similar to the Vampire regarding the aging matter - but it heavily depends which region they have been born in. They have the most fluctuating life expectancy because of their different branches, but the years usually fly between 1500 to 2500 years for them.

The Wolves would have a life expectancy of around the same as the Vibora if they had a stable economy. Because of the famine and wars and their culture heavily being stapled in violence, it's hard to say how long a Wolf would live on average. However, their most powerful Lords could live up to 2000 and then some.

At last, the First Bloods. If we view them as the humans among these beings, aka being really generous, they would have a life expectancy of around ten thousand years.

But that's not the case 😭 because a lot of them usually die a lot younger than that. Why? Because of war, accidents and troubles of society. Their Lords are the only ones who might get to live that much, but they usually won't.

So, with all that in mind, Saeclus is considered a relatively experienced person even by First Blood standards. That means he's old but also not that old 😭 he stopped counting the years when he passed 500 so he has no idea how old he is either. He doesn't even remember his birthdate anymore.

Which means by all the other standards in this realm, he's hecking old. He should look like he's in his mid-thirties. And yet here he is, looking freshly past his early twenties. And it's even more odd because he's looked like this for the past thousand years.

It's weird. Karl Heinz, however, theorizes that the rare life magic essence that he possesses makes his lifespan surpass that of any ordinary Demon.

So guess what! He thought the best way to remedy it would be to kill him instead! Isn't he a darling? <333

But now for the """deed of glory""" I mentioned - which was a battle of course, that's why it's in heavy quotations. (tw for violence!)

Context is that in the war of the Founders against the Hell Beasts that broke loose from beyond the Black Mountains - also known as the Scarlet Age because the many places the Hell Beasts ravaged and most of the battlefields would always be painted red with blood - Saeclus' oldest brother, Nocsis, was murdered by the Mhyris.

The Mhyris were a large group of people who were bound to no social rules and no morals - they'd commit any sort of crime on a person of any race and did not care at all. It's rumored the group was founded by people that were shunned by Founder society for their crimes - turns out ignoring your problems instead of solving them leads to disaster.

Saeclus had just lost his father in a scheme set up by Odissa's sister, Odette, and now they tell him his brother has also been slaughtered in cold blood. And being in the middle of a war meant that he didn't even have time to grieve properly.

So he turned to the only other viable option - fury.

He had his men lead the Hell Beasts to the Mhyris most recent hiding spot, and then proceeded to absolutely decimate both the Mhyris and the Hell Beasts in a surprise attack as they'd engaged with each other.

The attack was vicious - Saeclus used his affinity with Hell Fire to roast the Beasts and Mhyris alike, some say that the Earth split open and spat out fire, only to devour those that would fall into the gaps in its fiery chasms.

Later, his soldiers and historians nicknamed the whole thing "the Battle of a Thousand and One Fires", because of the many beings that were burnt to nothing in it. And Saeclus received the official dub of The Timeless because of this glorious victory that ended the war and disbanded the Mhyris.

He does not look back on this event with any pride - if anything, he recalls it as one of his personal weakest moments. It's an odd sort of paradox - this was and is his greatest display of physical strength, but he fails to find a single thing to feel good about in it.

[soundwavemain]

A Bifurcated Time Branch (Or Science's Way Of Saying, "You Are Not Alone")

Chapter 3: Babies At Heart

“Again,” Junior cried, swinging his arms around wildly. “Again!”

Mikey grinned, rocking his nephew–he had a nephew–before tossing the kid into the air. He felt light as air for a few miraculous moments. Then his uncle caught him easily. He shoved one of his hands into his mouth and bit on his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mikey chastised. He pulled Junior’s hand out of his mouth, taking care to wipe the fingers clean with his cape. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, boss.” His nephew listened to him… for all of three seconds. Then Junior was biting his shirt collar. “Man,” Mikey whispered to himself, “I gotta talk to your parents about your teething problem.”

“Not teething,” Junior spoke, voice muffled by fabric. “Professor Donatello says teething is for babies.”

“Well,” Mikey dragged out. He rolled his eyes for dramatic effect, reeling back so Junior dangled a foot away from him. “You’re baby.”

His nephew gasped. “No!” The shirt fell from between his lips. “I am five years old! I’m practicing adult!”

“Practically,” Mikey corrected quietly. Junior still flushed with embarrassment, pressing his dry hand to his eyes like that would hide him. “How old do you think I am, Junior?”

“Uh… Daddy’s older than you?”

“Yeah. He’s the oldest. Then Donnie, then Leo. I’m the youngest.”

“Um…” Junior pressed his index finger to the spot between his eyebrows, shutting his eyes tight. Then, when the answer came to him, his eyelids snapped apart and he snapped. Mikey made a mental note to offer to babysit instead of Donnie. “Ten!”

Mikey smiled. “Ten? Final answer?”

“Yeah.”

He made a buzzing noise, chirping his dissent. “Wrong! I am–”

“Hey,” Raph interrupted, stepping into the cave. “It’s late. Why are you two still awake?”

Junior groaned but pushed on Mikey’s hands so he could drop to the floor. He held onto his uncle’s cape. “Daddy,” he whined, “Master Michelangelo was gonna tell me how old he is. You interrupted. That’s rude and,” he pressed his finger to his forehead, thinking, “and mean!”

Raph deadpanned. “You don’t know what that word means.”

“Do too!”

“Uh huh.” He took Junior’s other hand in his as the three of them made their way to the bed cave. “But Angelo’s twenty-nine.”

Junior squawked indignantly. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[touchtranscendslanguage]

1) do you have the exact age differences between the princes or just a vague idea

2) do fae in this fic age vaguely adjacent to humans and then just go on to live a really long time or do they age in proportion to how long they live.

bc if it was adjacent to humans how many of the princes were kids at the same time bc a small age gap for fae would mean one of them is like a full adult the same time the other is a toddler but once they both get to adulthood the age gap is basically nothing which honestly does make sense for how they are about janus being their baby brother but i’ve just been thinking about their ages too hard and i really wanna know

I'm so glad you asked! I litterally just finished doing the math and figuring this out before starting my vacation so you have perfect timing!

(please ignore any typos I don't have a good spellchecker on my phone)

So the rate at which fae age varies depending on social status, personal preference, and enviormental factors. Royal fae tend to age slower than most other fae. However, the royal family also tends to be much larger than it is now. Having a royal family consiting of two fae is unheard of, but that's exactly what happened with Thomas and Nico (there may or may not have been fratricide and/or regicide involved).

To compensate for the fact that the royal family was so small Roman and Remus started out aging faster than a royal normally would (which is still slow for us). They aged about the tenth of the speed of a human until Roman befriended Remy.

The twins were ninety-two and had the bodies/maturity of nine year olds when they met Remy. Remy was about nine at the time and aged at the same rate as a human. When Roman decided Remy was his best friend his aging subconciously sped up to match Remy's and from that point forward he aged at the same rate as a human.

Roman's siblings all subconsiously sped up their aging to match their oldest brother's. Remus was, obivously, the same age as Roman. Logan sixty-seven with the maturity of a six year old. Patton was twenty-five with the maturity of a two year old. Janus wasn't born yet.

Four years later Janus was born and his aging matched his big brothers' so he's always aged at the same rate as a human.

The twins were ninety-six literal years or thirteen maturity years older than Janus. Logan was seventy-one literal years or ten maturity years older than him. Patton was twenty-nine litteral years or six maturity years older than Janus. Remy was thirteen years older than Janus.

All of them stopped aging at around thirty and are all the same maturity now. Both fae and witches stop physically aging at about that age. The fae also stop aging matuirty wise around that time. Who fucking knows how mature witches are.

In literal years the twin are now three-hundred and ten (310).

Logan is two-hundred and eighty-five (285).

Patton is two-hundred and forty-three (243).

Remy is two-hundred and twenty-seven (227).

Janus is two-hundred and fourteen (214).

Virgil is thirty (30).

Physically and mentally they're all thirty. Except Remy. Schollars are still trying to figure out how mentally mature Remy is. There's a lot of debate.

So the twins are both the same age as Janus and about one-hundred years older than him. Even Patton about thirty years older than him. As far as fae are concerned Janus aged really fast for a royal. Hence why he's the baby.

[mobiusstripper]

4, 12, 17, 18.

Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

So my first two fanfics were very long oneshots (~13k words) and both of them were outlined. I wrote an outline of the scenes and then filled them in, one by one, not necessarily all in order. I adhered pretty closely to the outline. Then I went back and smoothed it out. I wrote these very shortly after I graduated college, and that was always my method for writing papers in college, where it absolutely helped me. As an intuitive thinker, I have trouble organizing my thoughts. Everything in my brain is always making connections with everything, lighting up like a fractal Christmas tree. So outlining was very effective in stopping my term papers from turning into sprawling stoner rants. However, creative writing is very different from an academic paper, where you are expected to adhere to a tight structure. When I write fic, I am much more vibe-driven than plot-driven. Because the plot is taken care of already. Writing fic, for me, is about exploring characters and themes. So after those first two, I stopped relying on outlines. Instead, I try to designate a few things that will lie at the center of each fic - a word, a quote, an image, an idea, a theme - and then just let myself riff on that. Like crystals forming around a piece of string.

Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

I love narrator tropes, and I've played with some of them a bit. I am proud of my work with unreliable narrators, I have done first person and second person (which I think is pretty daring in fandom spaces especially, where so many people say they will click out of both on sight). I read a book recently called The Substitute by Nicole Lundrigen that featured an anonymous first person narrator. Half of the chapters were in the first person, and the other half were in the third person. It was heavily implied that the first person narrator was among the characters who showed up in the third person chapters, but the author made it very difficult to figure out who exactly it was, right up until the end. I was very impressed by that! I would love to try my hand at an anonymous narrator some time.

What fic are you most proud of?

Hmmm, that's hard because I am proud of different things in different fics! I always tout Shadow of My Wound because I am proud of (1) pulling off (in my own humble opinion) the second person narrator and (2) breathing real life into a very minor and - frankly - stupidly designed and executed character. I am proud of Possession because I think it is a feat of Hojo characterization, which there isn't enough of out there. And one of my oldest (and longest) fics, The Tigress, will always be special to me, even though I think my writing has improved a lot since then. I am proud of how it adheres to its central theme/conceit, and of how much of my own soul and vulnerability I was able to put into it.

What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

I am really proud of the drabble "Daughter" from Threads, Knots, and Needles.

Four. She has no father. It doesn’t bother her.

Five. She has no father. It does.

Six. Her father has no name. Mom and Grandma whisper about “him.” Lucrecia presses her ear to the door.

Ten. Her father has brown eyes, like her. She’s learning about genes. Mom’s eyes are blue.

Sixteen. Her father has a name and address. He calls another brown-eyed girl his daughter. He doesn’t call Lucrecia anything; he asks her to leave.

Nineteen. She has Grim. No man’s ever cared like he does. Not without wanting something.

Twenty-three. He has a son. She’ll always come second.

This does so much lifting, in only 100 words, around the relationship between Lucrecia and Grimoire, as I conceptualize it. And, by extension, so much around the relationship between Lucrecia and Vincent. And even Lucrecia and Sephiroth. I feel like the extended exploration of Lucrecia's relationship with Grimoire, as (lazily) presented in Dirge, is one of the things that really makes my version of these events mine. It is so integral to everything. Grimoire is the ghost that hangs heavy over the Jenova project. So do other members of the prior generation, but especially Grimoire, because he drives both Lucrecia and Vincent's actions in so many ways and is the confounding factor that makes their relationship intractable - and also the primary driving force behind their relationship occurring at all. Without him, the two of them might have eyefucked each other a little bit, but it probably never would have gone beyond that at all. It's his legacy that pulls them, disastrously, together.

And this drabble shows how the roots of that were sown long before Grimoire's death. Yes, Lucrecia absolutely does feel responsible for his death in my version, and that is a big factor in why she does what she does. But this background adds even more context. Grimoire was special to her. A father figure. One of the only people she trusted and felt cared about her. So his death, and her guilt, carries all the additional weight of that. And resentment and jealously toward Vincent before she even meets him. Vincent therefore becomes so many things at once to her in addition to a fraught lover - a replacement, a rival, a threat, someone she believes she has wronged and stolen from, even an almost-sibling in a sense. And their relationship is asymmetrical. She is a stranger to him, but he is not a stranger to her. It's deeply fucked.

And then there's Lucrecia's abandonment and rejection by her own biological father (and the way the circumstances of her birth more or less destroyed her mother), and the way that trauma informs so much of how she understands parenthood. And her relationships with men. And her desire to make a name for herself. To be seen and acknowledged and the best.

[wildfire317]

My rules when it comes to shipping:

General: Just in general there are lines that should not be crossed even if it is fictional, i myself treat shipping as if the characters are in fact real people. Namely regarding age.

If the character/characters are ten and under then absolutely no shipping with anyone six months older or younger than them and nothing more than cuddling and hand holding no ifs ands or buts. Under 18 then there is a two year age gap either way maximum, Like if you ship someone who is 13 with someone who is 15 then sure fine because irl that happens. If one is 18 and the other is 16 or 17 fine. But in my opinion nothing more than making out should be happening at this point. If they are 18 nobody under 16 and nobody over 20. If they are over 18 then there should be a 8 year age gap at maximum as long as the age gap doesn't go farther back than eighteen. I also count this for supernatural/non human characters who do not age past the age they were turned at and characters that have a different aging system. (I myself prefer not to go past a five year age gap but i decided to offer some wiggle room)

To better explain i will be using demon slayer characters for one part and homestuck characters for another.

So for characters that are turned into something and stay that age i will be using the characters or more specifically the demons from demon slayer. Keep in mind this is in reference to the age they turned at and NOT how old they physically make themselves. And unfortunately excluding lower moon 6 (not the one that was kicked out) and lower moons 4-2 because it is never stated how old they are.

So on one end we have the two youngest of the demons Rui or Lower moon five who was turned at age 12 and Ume/Daki or one half of Upper moon six who was turned at age 13. These two only have one possible compatible ship-mate which is eachother. (Note: i dont personally ship either one with anyone)

On the other end we have the oldest of the demons Hantengu or Upper moon four who was turned in his mid to late fifties. He does not have any compatible ships because the next eldest of the demons is his successor Nakime who was turned sometime in her early thirties which exceeds the 8 year age gap maximum by atleast twenty years.

The rest of the moons would have pretty much free range among each-other since they are all between 19 and 26.

But going back to Ume/Daki i can already hear y'all saying "But wildfire she makes herself look like an adult-" I. DONT. CARE. She was turned at 13, she still has the mentality of a 13 year old, and demons dont naturally age unless they take the time and energy to do so, she's 13. And In a similar vein we have Yushiro, who was turned at age 31 and makes himself look like a teenager, same shenanigans applies to him. However if you were to ship Kyojuro and Akaza that would be fine since they would fit the age gap.

If you dont know how old they are its best not to ship them in general. Hence why i did not include kamanue (the lower six that took over kyogai's position), mukago (lower four), wakuraba (lower three) and rokuro (lower two).

Now switching off to different aging systems with the homestuck characters, of which there are quite a few.

So if for example one we take the the character Karkat who is an alien from a planet called alternia where one earth rotation around the sun is roughly half of their rotation around their sun called a "sweep" and is six alternian sweeps and we paired him with the character Dave who is a human from earth and is 13 earth years (provided they can keep a linear sequence) then that would be fine as they would be approximately the same age on either planet, Karkat would be 13 earth years and Dave would be six alternian sweeps. How ever if we were to take the character Rose who is another human that is the same age as Dave and ship her with the character Porrim who is from (kinda) the same planet as Karkat but is older than him by three alternian sweeps that would not be okay because then Porrim would be six earth years older than Rose, making her 19.

But to make a long story short if you ship yourself or an older character with someone to young for you/them i do not trust you around children fictional or not. Other than that i don't particularly give a shit what you ship.

[littlesparklight]

Hihi what do you think about the age difference of Paris and Helenus could be? And Paris and Menelaus? Thank u! ❤️

Hello anon!

For Paris and Menelaos I imagine around ten years? I'm sure you could go with both a little less as well as more than that, but ten years feels right to me, since I imagine he's at least a couple years older than Helen, and I, at least, have Helen be a few years older than Paris.

The age difference between Paris and Helenus, though...

This one's trickier! Helenus and Kassandra are supposed to be twins, and if we acknowledge how Kassandra is prophesying even before Paris leaves for Sparta, when he'd be about twenty, that gives us something to go on.

I don't think the Bibliotheke is very useful here (and I ignore it for personal taste in this instance) since what it does is list Hektor as oldest and Paris as second born - and then lists up all the daughters born of Priam and Hecuba and then the sons. Which, I'm just gonna say, can't be the birth order lol.

If Kassandra and Helenus got their prophecy powers via snakes cleaning their ears in Apollo's temple (I don't go by this one, not for Kassandra anyway), then they could be both younger and older than Paris, regardless of if Kassandra or both of them are prophesying even before Paris leaves for Sparta. In that case I'd probably put them within a couple years (1-3) of Paris, either younger or older.

Now, additional complication if it's something one wishes to acknowledge; Kassandra is unmarried in the Iliad, BUT definitely not a virgin priestess sworn to celibacy as she sometimes later becomes. She has two fiances in the Epic Cycle (one in the Iliad, one later). Considering that it'd be most usual for Kassandra to be, like, 18-25 by the ninth year of the war for prime desirable marriage age, that'd make her and Helenus several years younger than Paris depending on how old you imagine him to be and if you add any extra years aside from the ten of the war into the mix. What I did was have them be ten years younger than Paris.

(Which means Kassandra wouldn't have gotten her prophecy powers until sometime during the war, though if you give Helenus the ear-cleaning versions, he could have had his ability since he was a child.)

[jodilinbio]

I don’t remember my mother working until I was older, though I vaguely recall my parents owning a record store when I was very young. Also, when I was little, my father did some extermination work for my mom’s dad, who owned an extermination business.

During my teens, both parents traveled the state selling eyeglass frames to optometrists. They even traveled a bit in New Hampshire and Vermont.

In my early twenties, before they moved down to Florida, they owned a jewelry store in a mall. It was actually one of those carts set up in the center of the walkway between the rows of stores.

The pets we had growing up consisted of poodles, birds, and some rodents. I had gerbils and guinea pigs when I was older. We also had a rabbit for a while during my later childhood, as well as some hermit crabs.

The only thing I really remember my mother telling me about sex and boys was basically not to do anything more than kiss on the first date and to make sure the man I married was Jewish.

“But what if I fall in love with someone who isn’t Jewish?” I once asked her.

“You don’t let it happen,” she said.

As I grew older, I realized how silly that was. Like we can control who we’re attracted to or who we fall in love with any more than we can control our preferences for colors or flavors? Should it even matter who we fall in love with as long as we’re happy?

But I always preferred women over men, at least for the most part. So later on in life, when I was twenty-four, openly bi, and visiting my parents in Florida, my father told me not to tell anyone about my sexuality.

“Why?” I asked him. “Should I be ashamed of it? Because if someone I told had an issue with it, I wouldn’t want them in my life anyway.”

During my preteen years, I was often left at my aunt and uncle’s house with their two daughters, which wasn’t usually much fun. June was a bundle of nerves, and Ronnie, my mother’s brother, was a mean bully. This was probably why June was usually wound up and divorced him later on.

Cousins Lori and Lisa could sometimes be fun to hang out with, but sometimes they could be little terrors. Lori, who was a year older than me, liked to boss me around. I was closer to Lisa, who was a year younger.

For reasons still unknown to me, my uncle always seemed to harbor animosity towards me. I haven’t seen any of them since I was around twenty years old, and I can’t say I miss them.

Ronnie was definitely the worst, shoving me around when I didn’t move fast enough for his liking when we’d go out somewhere, and just being a bully in general. My sister Tammy did her own bullying too, and once bloodied my lip right in front of him. He just sat there staring at us dumbly, as if it was perfectly normal behavior.

I had mixed emotions about leaving Ronnie and June’s place when I stayed with them. While I looked forward to returning to my own bed and toys, I dreaded facing my mother’s wrath, which could be quite nerve-wracking, even scary. It was worse when Tammy was with me because I knew she would tell my mother all sorts of horrible things I supposedly said and did, most of which she made up. But Tammy was the oldest, and that meant she was the most believable, so I would certainly be punished if she decided to tell on me, whether the stories were true or not.

When I was around ten, the visits to their house stopped. I’m not sure why. Maybe Ronnie and June were tired of having me there, or maybe my parents were fighting with them. I know they had their fights with them, just like they did with my father’s brother and his wife. Someone was always fighting with someone in my family. Mom or Dad would beat up on Larry, who beat up on Tammy, who beat up on me. It was crazy, and I often wondered if there’d ever come a day when someone was killed.

The more I think about it as I write this, the more I believe they did have a falling out, and it was probably over an injury I received in the town’s high school gym. This seems to be around the time the visits stopped. During the summer when I was around ten, I spent most of the summer at their house, and Lori, Lisa, and I would ride our bikes to the high school for daytime activities. There were sports, crafts, swimming, etc. It was actually kind of fun.

I was a bit of a gymnast in those days, though I certainly preferred ice skating and roller skating. One day in the gym, I was doing a series of handsprings over the vault. On one particular handspring, I veered toward the side once my hands hit the vault and my feet were directly overhead. I ended up badly spraining my pinky finger. At first, I thought it was broken because of how swollen it was.

My less-than-sympathetic uncle did nothing about it, and this could very well have been why they stopped talking. When I later joined my parents at our summer cottage at the beach, Mom wasn’t too happy about it at all. She took me to a clinic right away, and they put a splint on my finger. So yeah, it probably was broken.

I always felt more uncomfortable when Lori and Lisa would come to stay with us versus when I stayed with them. There may have been Ronnie to deal with at their place, but at my place, there was my mother, who would often compare me to them (not in a good way) and give me the “Why can’t you be more like them?” spiel, making me feel like I wasn’t good enough as I was. It seemed I could never measure up to Lori and Lisa, no matter what I did.

My other uncle, Martin, who people called Marty, wasn’t much better. He was a mean bully too, and I doubt he’d have hesitated to kill me one day when I pissed him off by slamming the door in his face if I hadn’t frozen in fear.

“Open this door!” he demanded when I shut it on him when he came over looking for my parents, who weren’t home at the time. This was because of the way he and his wife treated me when I stayed with them at the campgrounds they camped at which I’ll get to later. So I opened the door and let him scream at me. Even his mother was scared. As I grew older, my fear turned to anger, so it’s lucky for both of us that I simply stood there and took his shit. Had I been like I am now, I’d have either gone to jail for kicking his ass, or he’d have gone to jail for kicking mine. I hope he would have anyway!

Even my father had an underlying macho stance despite being usually mellow, and I did see him slap my mother once when I was around eight. This memory has haunted me throughout the years. It’s even more disturbing to know that had my mother resisted after being slapped, he’d have probably beaten her right there in front of me, never caring how it might have traumatized me. After he slapped her, my mother tried to justify his behavior in a private one-on-one, assuring me it was only because of his heart issues. I was just a kid back then and believed anything I was told. However, as an adult, I know that this was a poor excuse for his actions and that if my mother had had any self-respect, she wouldn’t have made such lame excuses for him. Lots of people have health problems like he did, yet they don’t go around slapping their wives and traumatizing their children.

Marty’s wife, Ruth, could be sweet at times, but she was the phoniest person I ever met! She had a big mouth and loved to gossip, but so did the whole family. They had two kids, Polly and Philip though I didn’t see them very often.