Rex and Blayze story

 He'd been in the classroom, his head down on his desk, eyes shut and breathing slow through his mouth when Blayze found him. It wasn't an entirely abnormal way to find him. These past few months, Rex had spent many hours riding out waves of nausea and ill health by just putting his head down and trying to push through it. He'd always been the type to try and tank pain and illness as best he could, he could never rely on his family to look after him when he felt ill, they rarely believed it unless they witnessed him puking his guts up, so he'd learned to deal with it by grinning and bearing.

A stressful and complicated pregnancy was just another thing on that list, really. He'd struggled his way through such severe morning sickness that his weight had plummeted at an alarming rate, managed to escape his shitty parents (thank god for Blayze and his family being willing to put him up, because his own parents would have done everything they could to try and force an abortion and then moved Rex to a girls only school while tripling their shitty efforts to force him to be more feminine), and was now basically in the home stretch, still nauseous but at least able to eat now, constantly dealing with whatever aches and pains, and dealing with more than his usual baseline anxiety. It probably sounded bad, but he was looking forward to when this whole thing would mean he wouldn't be able to go to school for at least a while, but that was more a 'badly bullied' thing than anything else, and yeah, teen pregnancy had not helped that whole thing.

He didn't hear the door open, kind of zoned out, and jumped out of his skin when Blayze put a hand on his shoulder.

"Shit, sorry, Rex. You okay?"

With a soft groan, Rex raised his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Feeling sick?"

"Got a migraine halfway through class. Professor didn't offer to get the nurse and I didn't ask. Fuck all can be done for it anyway."

Blayze pulled up a chair next to him, rubbing his back soothingly. "Anything I can do? Or get for you?"

"Nah...that's nice, what you're doing there, but just chilling for now is good."

Blayze nodded. "Fair enough. When you feel up to it, we can probably angle to go home early."

"Together?"

"Of course together."

Rex gave a slight nod. "Sounds good."

"Quick question, though...are those my mum's slippers?"

Rex looked at his feet, flicking his toes. "I asked to borrow them."

"...Why?"

"Swollen feet. Can't get my own shoes on anymore. Like, fuck's sake, I knew I'd get the classic bump thing but I didn't realise I'd become fucking Bigfoot."

He couldn't help but laugh a little. "Yeah, that's not one I thought about much either."

"I've swollen up a whole bunch. It's like my limbs have been attacked by bees."

"You don't look that bad."

"You have to say that."

"No I don't."

"I didn't realise how much everything would fucking hurt, too. I never got migraines or auras before the baby, and right now I wish I didn't have a spine."

"Sorry, man."

"No, no, I'm sorry for being such a downer."

"Rex, seriously, under the circumstances I think you have a right to complain."

With a shrug, Rex leaned over, resting his head against Blayze's shoulder and shutting his eyes. He felt his boyfriend's fingers come up to play with his hair. It was nice. At least until he lurched forward with a hiss of pain.

"Rex?"

"Shit, sorry-"

"No, no sorry, what's wrong?"

"Just a cramp, sometimes the practice ones take me by surprise..."

"...You sure?"

He shrugged again. "I don't feel well. I'm gonna ask to go home." He stood, and Blayze went to stand with him, stooping to grab his bag for him before freezing.

"Rex. Rex. Rex?"

"Hmm?"

"You're bleeding."

"What? Where?" He craned his neck, trying to look over his shoulder at whatever Blayze had seen. His vision whirled uncomfortably and for a moment he felt he was going to throw up there and then.

"There's, uh, a smear of blood over the seat of your trousers?"

"Oh. That's not...not good..." Rex pressed his hand to his head again, really really not feeling well.

"Um...shit." Blayze definitely was not prepared for whatever this was. "Hospital. Fuck school, we should go to a hospital."

"Yeah..."

"I'm gonna get my phone. And maybe a teacher or the school nurse. I'm either calling an ambulance or checking the bus times, whatever gets us there faster."

Rex gave a vague nod and sat back down, putting his head on the desk again as Blayze ran out of the room.

By the time he came back, with help in tow, Rex had managed to pass out and fall onto the floor, which did little to help the sensation of panic clawing in Blayze's chest. No matter how regular an occurrence this had been over the past few months (because god did this man end up unconscious or in a hospital bed a bunch lately, to the point there had been talk about keeping him confined to a hospital bed for a while only for that to be thrown aside as unnecessary because of course it was) it was not fun to see his idiot boyfriend sprawled on the floor in his own blood.

One ambulance ride later, things weren't much better but Rex was alive and stable. The baby, alive and in ICU. Something about needing to be delivered very premature because of pre-eclampsia and placental abruption. Because of course anything that could go wrong would go wrong. If anything, Rex was pretty damn sure he had no intention of having any more biological children - if he ever got the itch to have another, it would be adoption for sure.

All things aside, little Scarlette Rosewood was going to have a good life. Her dads would make sure of it.

Speed Force Blues

 This whole speed force thing was great. All Digger had to do was wear a silly little bracelet and he could run just as fast as any Flash, at least for short bursts. Yeah, he could really see why those speedy bastards liked it so much and felt all high and mighty all the goddamn time. The wind in your hair, the way you could move without anyone seeing it, get away with all sorts of shit in the blink of an eye and no-one would be any the wiser - if only he could have trialed this in a full, lively and not destroyed and full of aliens city. Man, the felonies he could commit with this power. It wasn't just running fast, either. His reactions were faster, he was thinking faster, perceiving faster. Again, only for short bursts, but it was still amazing.

Made it all the more confusing, of course, when he started flagging, falling behind the others. Him! Their amazing speedster! They should have been struggling to keep up with him! But no, he could tell he was slowing down, having to push harder for the same result.

Well, Harley and Floyd did have a drone and a jetpack to get places, and the other guy was a fucking shark, so perhaps it was just a case of being the one guy who had to run everywhere and, you know, getting tired. So he did what he did best: complained.

To be fair, he had a lot to complain about beyond just being a bit tired. He was covered in alien foetus gunk which, by the way, stank to high hell, his feet hurt, he had a bomb in his spinal column (Waller's fault) and earlier today he had seen Evil Flash rip a man's heart out of his chest.

All in all, he was having a bad day.

The others weren't doing much better - life hung in the balance, the day sucked, and they had to listen to Digger complain constantly, which they had made clear they were sick of almost immediately.

Task Force X was having the closest thing they could to downtime between tasks. They'd cleared out a bunch of terminaut incubators and had stopped for a moment on the rooftop of what used to be an office building, a damaged billboard between them and the skull ship and, for the moment, none of the evil Justice League in sight.

"Boomer, can you shut your hole? I can't hear myself think."

"Thinking's overrated, Harls. Just take it easy and go with the shitshow."

"And end up like you? No thank you."

At that moment, his stomach cramped up badly before growling. He was hungry. Scratch that, he was starving.

It wasn't like Waller hadn't been letting them eat. Sure, everything right now was high stakes and the world was on the cusp of ending, but even she got the picture that if her task force was left to run on fumes, they'd be very poorly suited to the job of fighting off all these aliens and saving the world. He'd definitely eaten today, in the past few hours for sure, but right now it felt like an eternity ago. He felt achy and could taste acid in the back of his throat.

"Is anyone else fucking starving?"

Deadshot groaned, long since sick of the complaints. The other two gave proper responses.

"Nah, I'm good."

"I could eat."

Well, at least Sharko was on his wavelength.

"You just ate, like, half an hour ago." Deadshot pointed out. Digger's stomach insisted it had been way longer than that.

"I am large, and did not find our meal filling."

"And I," Digger jumped in, "I've been runnin' around all over the place, ain't I? While you two got it easy with your stupid flying tech."

Harley seemed more amused than anything else. "Hey, you're the one who chose ta steal the speed force thingy when there was a perfectly good Bat Drone there for the takin'." And really, could he argue with that? He settled for flipping her off before Waller's stupid voice sounded through their earpieces again.

"Task Force X, come in."

There was an overall air of annoyance as Deadshot answered. "We read you, Waller."

"We have an enemy presence in Midtown we need cleared out pronto. Get your butts down there and get clearing."

"We getting a 'please'?" Harley asked.

"No. Get moving. Waller out."

"Pff. No-one has any manners these days."

It was a relatively short jaunt to Midtown, but it still felt rougher on him than before. Maybe he was coming down with something, or all this alien shit was making him sick or some shit.

The Midtown area Waller sent them to was, of course, crawling with stupid terminauts. They'd barely gotten close before the things saw them and opened fire. Task Force X spread out to take them out, and Deadshot yelled something as he split off.

"Don't hold us back, Boomer!"

So shit, he had noticed him flagging. So maybe he had to pick up the pace, work a little harder to not be considered worthless again. So, he pushed through the fuzz in his head, trying to stay alert so he didn't, you know, die.

He was only three dead terminauts deep when one of them got a lucky shot in. He felt the impact against his shoulder blade, the sudden pain enough to make him drop his gun, and cursed as it skittered away just out of reach. With more of them closing in, he had to act fast.

As he raised his hand to take aim, he realised he was shaking. The gnawing hunger in the pit of his belly had quickly evolved into a sickly, clawing feeling and his head was pounding. He shot off two boomerangs as he jumped back, one of which missed its mark completely, and dived for the gun. He grabbed it and rolled, hissing as the fresh wound on his back was aggravated, and fired off a few rounds before scrabbling to reload. A curse or several escaped him as his stupid, shaky, clumsy fingers dropped a round and he looked up in time to see another one of those space bastards coming right for him. He just barely managed to pull back in time to keep his eyes intact, struggled to his feet and used the empty gun as a blunt weapon before using his speed to get some distance.

This turned out to be a bad move.

He didn't get even halfway to where he wanted to before he stumbled over his own feet and went sprawling with enough velocity to go arse over tits and roll himself into a wall. Using the wall to pull himself back up really highlighted how wrong he felt. His stomach hurt like hell and everything else either hurt or just felt plain weird. Despite feeling utterly starved, he was half convinced he was about to puke right there and then with how shitty and nauseous he felt, almost like the acid in his stomach was trying to break out in protest. The nausea was made much worse when he looked up and saw the whole world spinning around him, like being on a fucked up Gravitron ride. He clamped a hand over his mouth, only the hand was coated in foul smelling alien guts which really only ensured he managed to bring up a mouthful of bile and acid, and he pitched forward onto his knees as his vision swam out of focus.

"Boomer!" Harley's voice sounded muffled, but more than that it sounded panicked. He looked up, just barely managing to unsheathe a boomerang to fight back as the nearest assailant made contact. He felt claws rake his side and a projectile clip his arm, and he registered that his shield must be depleted before his head got slammed and white hot agony gave way to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

"Aw shit! Boomerang's down!" Harley opened fire on the alien mauling him as soon as she had a decent shot.

"What happened?" Floyd asked through the comms.

"Think he got overwhelmed. There's loads of these suckers!"

"Where is he? Can you get to him?"

"Nnnnnnope. Can take out the suckers around him from here though."

"I am on him." King Shark stated, and a moment later, Harley saw him charge through to the fallen body. She felt a flicker of what could be relief as the big guy crouched over the fallen body.

"How is he?"

"He is unconscious and bleeding."

"Get him to cover," Floyd ordered, "We'll clear out the Terminauts and get him back to HQ."

King Shark lifted the body and, in lieu of anything better to do, slung it over his shoulder and jumped through a window. By some luck, the window led to what had once been someone's bedroom, though the room had long since been evacuated, or the owner had been killed or assimilated by Brainiac. The important thing was, this was an ideal place to place an unconscious person, so he swept the broken glass (and the duvet) off the bed before putting Boomerang down on it. He lay there, slowly leaking blood onto the sheets, and King Shark wondered how he'd gone down. He was, well, not exactly competent, but no worse than the rest of this ragtag group of criminals, really. Then again, at a time like this, one unlucky moment could be the end all.

He sat beside the bed, staring at him. On impulse, he reached out, wanting to just push some of Boomerang's hair off his forehead, maybe give a pat to the cheek - he had seen humans do that in a gesture of comfort in movies - but pulled his hand back when Deadshot and Harley started to climb through the window.

"I was not touching him!"

"Oooookay..."

"Hey, no-one's judgin', you do you, Shark."

The two sauntered over, taking a good look at their fallen ally. He was damn pale, one deep gash in his side, a shallower one across his back, a blast wound to his right arm and a bruise forming on his forehead. Deadshot pulled out a medkit and started on the worst of it, stemming the bleeding. "He'll need proper medical attention once we stabilise him."

"So how we gonna do this?" Harley asked. "Shove him in one of Flag's magic Pokeballs and bring him back to the Hall of Justice? Or d'ya think Waller would just let him die if she could? Maybe we could go to Luthor or track down our girl Wondy."

"The Hall has a proper medical facility and we can probably convince Waller that he's been a useful asset so far."

Shark gently scooped Boomerang into his arms, holding him to his chest. "It is strange for him to be so quiet. I have become quite accustomed to his foul mouth and loud nature."

"Yeah," Harley laughed, "he sure does make it hard to get any peace and quiet. You got him secure, big guy?"

"I believe so."

Deadshot nodded "Right. Keep him steady, we don't want to aggravate the wounds any more. Keep pressure on his side." He signaled for the group to move out and went first, checking the coast was clear before slipping out of the window. Harley went next, flipping enthusiastically as she went, and Nanaue followed after, leaping to the next rooftop and not minding if he damaged more of the windowsill.

He tried to keep the body steady and stable as they moved. No unnecessary jolting. The group travelled in a tense silence, broken only by the taunts of Brainiac's forces over the commlink. That and the occasional dying whale sound from Boomerang's middle. He had complained about being hungry earlier, but Nanaue himself was nowhere near the stomach growling stage of hunger, so he did wonder how a much smaller man who had eaten more than him at lunch last he'd seen him in the Arkham lunch hall seemed that much hungrier. Perhaps it was a human thing.

Boomerang groaned softly, his head lolling to the side and his cheek pressing against Nanaue's chest. A moment later, his eyes flickered open.

"...Sharko?"

"Boomerang. You are awake."

"What the hell happened? Aw fuck-" He shifted, and Nanaue tightened his hold to try and keep him still.

"We are not certain. I just know you were defeated in battle."

"Ugh...I feel well crook..." He pressed more of his face into Nanaue's chest and shut his eyes again. He still felt lightheaded and dizzy, and lying down wasn't helping. Why did everything hurt?

Wait, what was he lying on?

Whatever. He was too tired and sore to care.

Felt nice to be held when he was feeling like utter shit, though. Not even his mother had held him like this when he'd been sick as a child. He could tell Shark was tense, holding him pretty tight, but also trying not to use his full strength, trying not to hurt him any more than he already was.

"This is...feels nice..."

"What is?"

"Held."

He was slipping back out of it already. Definitely concussed. Nanaue looked between him and his uninjured companions. "Do I need to keep him awake?"

"Nah, that's a myth." Harley assured him. "Not much we can do for him here and now anyway. He wants to sleep, let him."

Each jolt as Shark leaped made his stomach lurch, but as the group tried to sneak through the rooftops, each leap brought the glow of Nanaue's body into view, and in his concussion addled mind, Digger thought it was pretty. And they were successfully avoiding clusters of terminauts, so he couldn't complain too much. Well, he could, but still. He curled inward, toward his injured side, where he could feel the warm, sticky sensation of being coated in blood and the sharp pain of a jagged wound.

"On your left, Shark!"

At that callout, Digger felt Nanaue's arms shift, felt himself begin to drop, enough of a startle to pull him back from the brink of unconsciousness, causing him to fling an arm out in panic, latching onto Nanaue's shirt.

"Don't drop me, don't let go..." He managed to slur through the haze.

"I will not." Nanaue promised, trying to hold him close with one arm while reaching for his gun with the other. They were already one man down, it wouldn't do to have them both out of action.

The next time he looked down to Digger, he had passed out again. Probably for the best.

It wasn't much longer to the Hall of Justice, and Nanaue felt no small amount of relief when they got there.

"We need medics!" Deadshot called out as they walked into the hall. There was no big clamour, no rush to help, barely a reaction at all other than a soldier to the left groaning, Waller pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration and Flag making a vague gesture over his shoulder, pointing them in the right direction.

"Would you believe that? We're out there, saving the world from the evil Justice League, and that's the respect they show us?" Harley griped as they made their way to medical.

"Hell, would you respect us?"

"I'd respect me, that's for sure. Especially with a big enough bat."

Nanaue placed Digger on the first empty bed he saw as gently as he could. Harley came and leaned over him, watching with a critical eye before poking at his cheek.

"Does he look, like, thinner to you?"

A medic came over, trying to awkwardly get around the giant shark to see to the man's injuries. Deadshot also passed a critical eye over him before responding.

"I don't know, maybe a little. He was starting to flag behind back there though, right before he got his shit rocked."

"Flag?" The medic asked. Deadshot shrugged.

"Said his feet hurt and he was hungry. We didn't have eyes on him when he went down."

"Oh! I did! He fell over, did a quadruple flip and then got his shit rocked!"

"Really? Damn, sounds like a show."

The medic turned to King Shark. "I need you out of my way."

He budged maybe an inch, but very much stayed hovering protectively over Boomerang. The medic heaved a sigh and squished herself in between them to examine and treat him.

"He regained consciousness briefly on the way back over." King Shark told the medic. "He seemed confused."

"Okay - give me room, shark, fuck - he's gonna need stitches on this..." A few more mumbles to herself as she sorted him out and then "Jesus fuck his blood sugar's through the floor. Okay, I've read a bunch of the files on the computers here, I think I have an idea what happened...See, from what I understand, when a speedster like Flash runs, they burn calories. The faster they go, the more they burn. They have to eat a lot to keep going. My guess is, connecting to the speed force with that gauntlet means he can run just like a speedster, and the drawbacks are starting to hit hard. He hasn't eaten enough to make up for all the high speed running he's been doing and has run himself right into starvation mode."

"So..."

"So we make sure he eats. Line his stupid jacket with snacks if you have to. Found, like, a locker stuffed with Oreos back there, go fill his pockets with those." She handed Boomerang's jacket to Deadshot, who held it away from him like it stank before leaving with Harley. She then looked at King Shark, who had moved somewhat out of the way but was still holding Boomerang's hand. "You're staying?"

"He didn't want to be alone."

"Cool. In that case, you're in charge of watching him for now."

-

When Boomerang next came to, he was lying flat on a bed, his top half stripped, bruised but bandaged, with an IV in one hand and the other being held by King Shark. He looked at their joined hands, then up at the shark with a frown. "Wha...?"

"You said it was nice to be held. I promised to hold until you felt better."

He didn't remember saying that. Or did he? Well...it did feel nice to be cared about. He wasn't dumb, or at least not completely dumb, he knew he wasn't well liked, so it was almost a pleasant surprise that someone did care enough to stay with him and keep him comfortable when he was ill.

"...Thanks, Sharko."

Shark gave a stiff nod. "I was made to stop cradling you while you were being treated, so I settled for holding your hand, but now you are awake I can hug-"

"Nah, naaah, you're alright, mate." He didn't think he could handle the others seeing the shark cuddling him like a soft toy. Sure, having arms around him, strong arms that could keep him safe and what the fuck was he thinking? "Look...my head's a bit fuzzy, what the hell happened out there?"

"...we have been informed that your use of the speed force has been burning more energy than your body can provide. Currently we believe you collapsed from hunger in the middle of a fight. Then an alien soldier slashed your abdomen and slammed your head into the wall."

"...well that's embarrassing..."

"You did try to tell us you were hungry. We very much brushed you off. Even in the things I have read about the Speed Force, this effect was not mentioned. It is fascinating to know, but our ignorance has led to you being hurt..."

"Man, I just thought I was gonna get to run fast, I didn't expect all this extra shit." He tried not to dwell on how it was a damn miracle he hadn't been killed yet, speed force or no speed force.

"The medic - her name is Annie and she is from Mammoth City in New Jersey originally, and-"

"I don't give a shit."

"-she is going to bring food."

"Now that I give a shit about."

"She said she is going to go through the rations to make sure you get what you need so you can get back out there and not die as quickly. Also she said we should fill your pockets with snack foods. Also, she agreed to show me around Mammoth City if we survive this."

A weird pang of jealousy unfurled in Digger's chest. "I could show you all around Central City if ya want." There was no way in hell he'd be going back to his actual hometown, and there wasn't anything worth seeing there anyway, but in Central he could show the shark...uh...huh, maybe the Flash museum? No, that was stupid, museums sucked and superheroes sucked.

Shark smiled, a genuine and interested smile, and it felt warm. "I would like that! I hear there is some fascinating architecture there."

"Uh...yeah...yeah, buildings and shit!" Fuck, he had nothing in common with this guy. "I'd be a shit tour guide."

"I would want to see whatever you have to show me."

His mind drifted somewhere dirty before he reeled it back in. It was best not to entertain the 'I haven't gotten laid since the last time I was arrested' thoughts.

"...Even if it was boring? Or a disappointment?"

"Even then." He paused, sensing a moment of vulnerability, wondering whether it was right to pry into it. "...Why?"

"I just...don't wanna be worthless."

"You have never been worthless-"

"You ain't known me that long, Sharko. I have a long, long history of being a fucking disappointment."

King Shark gave a frustrated growl. "You have been important to us. Not just as part of this team, as yourself. You are..." He tried not to hesitate, searching for the right words. Because as much as this man was a filthy, foul mouthed brat, shit talking everyone in sight and throwing his weight around like he's so much more than he is, there was a charm to him, a worthiness that Nanaue at least could see. "You have courage." Boomerang let out a half laugh. He actually laughed. "You do. Any other normal human would have fled in terror while soiling himself when faced with half of the things you have faced. Even when you have fled, you have come back for us with something that has aided us. We can write you off as stupid and uneducated, but in the moment you think quickly and act without hesitation. You have been a good companion, if annoying and unbearable at times, and you have the marks of a...a good friend and a decent warrior."

Was that the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him?

Definitely since he ended up in Arkham, it was.

He must have taken a little too long to respond, as he felt Nanaue's fingers carefully take his chin and turn his head a little towards him, saw him staring at him with those big, dark eyes.

Shit, maybe he needed to change the subject before he said something stupid and ill advised and potentially horny.

Nanaue took his hand away and moved it instead to just over Digger's wrist, rubbing his thumb briefly over the skin. It was a lot softer and thinner than his own, and here he could see the lines of the tattoos on their arms, side by side. A thought pinged in his head, a way to break the silence while his conversation partner was still scrabbling for a single, remotely normal, thought.

"In the Shark Kingdom, tattoos are a rite of passage, a symbol to be proud of. What do yours denote?"

Boomerang blanked. Really, what they denoted was that he had the money for them and no impulse control, or he had a really cool idea that he wanted marked on his body, like that skull in the top hat, that was cool. "Uhhh....a bunch of things!"

"May I...?" He hovered his fingers over the edge of one of the lines of ink and Boomerang, not totally sure what he was agreeing to, just knowing it involved touch and for some reason right now that was very appealing, nodded.

King Shark's fingers traced carefully over the lines of the tattoos, up his arm. He wasn't quite sure what the ink on Boomerang's skin could mean, but it was interesting. What looked like a fin, and above, surrounded by sun-kissed freckles, the skull in a top hat. Freckles were a curious thing in and of themselves, and Boomerang had many of them across his shoulders. Shark's finger trailed further, connecting dots from one of the skull's eyebrows, across the freckles, around the cardinal star and to the flowers at the base of his throat. He could feel the man's throat bob as he swallowed, the slight shiver that ran through his body. His finger drifted to the stars on the other side of his chest, tracing each one in turn, then down to the delicate wings of the dove on his chest before trailing across intricate words and down to the snakes on his lower belly. The way they curved and met in the middle was almost reminiscent of a heart, and he traced it down to the edge of Boomerang's pants before coming to a stop. The entire movement was slow, intimate and not at all unwelcome.

"How far do the tails go?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Boomerang smirked and thumbed the waistband of his pants. "I wouldn't mind giving ya a look-" Wait, this was Shark he was talking to. He could understand himself saying that sort of flirty shit to a hot girl, but this...maybe he was delirious from hunger or the concussion. Shark leaned in, staring right at him with those stupid eyes, and...

...Fuck, he was attracted to King Shark. The fucking shark was fucking hot. He was throwing all the denial out the window, possibly after setting it on fire.

A thought or two flitted through his head. Wondering what that skin would feel like under his hand, those teeth at his ear or throat, what it might be like to make out with a bipedal shark that could crack him in half if he wanted to, but hell, that could be hot.

On impulse, he reached up, his hand ghosting against King Shark's cheek. He could feel the bumps of rough shark skin under his fingers, feeling flat one way, jagged another.

"Hey, Shark, have you ever kissed a guy?"

"I have! He smelled - and tasted - of cigarettes and alcoholic beverages!"

He scoffed. "Well I can do better than that. Once I figure out how to navigate the big mouth and shark teeth..."

His hands were still shaking a little as he moved to grab Shark's shirt and tried to tug him down. Shark followed through, practically crashing down on top of him.

Which is, of course, how the others found Captain Boomerang and King Shark making out on the hospital bed.

Arcana Shorts

Portia and Jivanta
It was beyond shocking, to hear the truth. To hear he'd died before. It explained a lot, it had to be said, but that didn't make it any better. It explained why the other orphans sleeping rough around the city seemed afraid of him, and why he remembered nothing before waking on the beach, alone, afraid and barely able to do so much as sit up.

It also opened up a lot of questions, a lot of things that needed to be answered.

If Jivanta had been brought back to life by someone, and if Asra knew that someone had sought to revive him, then where had this person been the whole time? The way Asra spoke, it sounded as if he believed the person should have been with him - a man, apparently. But Jivanta had no idea who this could possibly be. The only people around him after he'd woken were either the orphans who screamed when he came near, or the clients waiting for their fortunes to be told. No-one had picked him up, taught him how to live, survive, or even just how to function at a basic level. A couple of the braver kids, who claimed to have known him before, had helped make sure he didn't die again by sharing what little food and clean water they'd had, but he had to teach himself how to do everything. Walk, talk, the little more fiddly things he'd learnt, such as sewing or swimming, and not to mention the magic side of things...he was still getting the hang of reading and writing, it was one of the things quite low on his list of priorities if he was honest, but by god he was going to read that book Portia had recommended to him.

All in all, this meant that someone had brought him back, taken him from the Lazaret before he could regain consciousness, and had then promptly dumped him somewhere to die again, probably knowing fending for himself wouldn't be an option at this stage. So why?

Why bring him back just to abandon him immediately?

Was he not what they had expected?
Was he not what they wanted?
Why was he not good enough for them?

He quickly jumped to the conclusion that he hadn't been wanted in the first place, that he'd just been some sick experiment, to see if it could be done.

With the other street rats avoiding him now, now he no longer depended entirely on a third party's help, he'd always felt very lonely. These past few weeks at the palace, he'd made friends, felt like he had a purpose, and this news? It brought everything from before crashing back down. He didn't have a purpose, he was just someone's test to see if they could overcome death and spit in God's face. He should have been dead. By all rights, he well and truly should have been dead.

He'd not realised he'd started crying until Portia was there, taking him by the shoulders, trying to speak. At first, the words didn't register. He watched her lips move through the haze of panic and distress, and chose to focus on the touch. The firm grip of her hands on his shoulders, the feather light touch when she moved to wipe his tears away. Solid, real, something he could focus on. He felt himself calm down, if only a little.
"Vanta? You hear me?"
A slight nod.
"Hey, okay, take a deep breath. There we go. And another one, yeah? There. That's better. Now listen to me, okay? Just listen close. You're alive. You're here."

He nodded again, breath starting to even out. This was not the right time to focus on this, to panic over this. There was a lot more going on, far more important things. Now was not the time to deal with this.

"Sorry...I just...I don't understand why." Her hands came off his shoulders, her fingers interlacing with his. "It threw me for a loop, I guess...I...can deal with this later. I need time to not be...quite so overwhelmed by it all."

"That's fine. Take your time." She flashed him a smile, bright and brilliant. "I for one think you're awesome."

"You...what? Awesome?"

"Yeah! You're a zombie magician! That is so cool!"

Jivanta let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. It was a surprise, and actually funny, but he was still on the edge of his little identity crisis breakdown. "Maybe that's why nobody wants me around. They're too afraid I'll eat their brains." He joked back, doing his best to keep the waver out of his voice. Portia's expression softened, and she gave his hand a squeeze.

"I want you, you know. I love having you around. Everyone at the palace does. There's a place you belong, there are people here for you, and you're the best person I know."

"...Thank you. I think I needed to hear that."

-
Julian and Twila
When ending up with someone half his height, Julian thought if anyone would be lifting their partner up to reach things on higher shelves, or spinning them excitedly with their feet clear of the floor, it would be him. Heck, in the early days of knowing each other, that's exactly how it was. Well, he would pick her up and twirl her around, at least. Often in the heat of the moment, out of joy or excitement, and the look on her face would either be surprise or amusement. Since getting to know her a little better, however, Julian had learnt that Twila was far stronger than she appeared. Just as he would spin her in the air, she quickly picked up the courage to do the same, lifting him as though he weighed no more than a leech. When they danced together, she would always find the perfect opportunity to dip him low and hold him there long enough to place a tender kiss on his lips. Now and then, when she couldn't reach something on an upper shelf, she would call him over to help, and though he would be able to reach it without any help, he would allow her to lift him. Their shared habit of sweeping one another off their feet was a fond ritual between the two of them, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Like It's About To Burst

 Pain. It lanced through his skull, building up like steam pressure, like a boiler about to burst, like the place just behind his eyes had been put in a trash compactor and left to be squashed. Like something was trying to push his eyeballs out of the way and crush everything else into dust.

It wasn't Hartley's first rodeo. He'd had migraines before, worse ones and all, so he had his way of dealing with them. In this instance, that way was to lie in his bed with the lights off and the curtains drawn, an arm slung over his eyes, and hoping none of the other Rogues came bursting in, or that he didn't throw up. See, the problem with a migraine this bad was the accompanying overwhelming nausea rolling through him and the fact that any over the counter painkiller did jack shit to help.

It had been an issue for a long while. The stupid experimental implants he had in his skull caused plenty of them on their own. They'd pick up every sound with no filter, were difficult to adjust for volume, and sometimes just gave him a tinnitus-style shriek for ten minutes straight. Really, if his parents hadn't believed so intensely that his deafness had needed 'fixing', he was quite sure he'd be having a lot less problems.

At least it allowed him to listen to Queen, he supposed.

He took deep, steady breaths through his mouth, trying not to grit his teeth. He could feel the nausea clawing up his throat. He could hear the distant, muffled voices of the rest of the Rogues. Yelling. Probably drunk. Probably playing some card game. Probably cheating and getting into an argument over who's cheating worst or who started cheating first. He couldn't block it out or rip his focus away without practically tearing his hearing aids from his skull. He decided, somewhere in the back of his head, that once this migraine had well and truly run its course he would try tinkering with the stupid things to try and improve them. His parents and the doctor who made them didn't want there to be a way to turn them off when they drilled into his skull, but god did he want to turn them off.

Tinnitus, drunken laughter, his own breathing, too loud in his ears, footsteps, laughter, crushing pain, searing pain, something knocking on wood, the wind picking up outside, the pain, the pain, that electronic shriek, claws in his brain, like it was about to explode, breathing faster, breathing louder, too much sound, too much noise, too much pain, he felt sick, he was going to be sick, he hated being sick, his parents hated him being sick, the servants hated him being sick, it was too much.

The door slammed open and his stomach lurched. A voice, louder and closer than the others, spoke, no attempt to keep it down. Too loud. Like a jackhammer against his skull. "Man, Henry, you're missing a party-" James, he vaguely registered before focusing on the much more pressing fact that he was going to be sick and there was no way he could hold it back any more. Hartley lurched to his feet, staggering past his friend and shoving him to one side so he could get out the door and down to the bathroom. He didn't turn the lights on, just lunged for the toilet and emptied his stomach. James stepped in behind him a moment later and flicked the light on. It was like knives to his eyes and he managed a miserable groan before puking all over again. Somewhere in the background he heard receding feet, a call of "Len, Piper's sick!" and the bustle of the other men presumably packing up their card game for the night. Guess the vibe was ruined by the teenager dying a miserable death a few rooms away.

This was the first time since joining the Rogues that Hartley had had a migraine like this, he registered in the back of his head as he tried to resist the urge to shove his face too far into the toilet bowl, his entire body wanting to fold and crumple under the pressure. When the stream of vomit finally ended, he kept himself there, holding onto the toilet seat for dear life, knuckles turning white, breathing hard through his mouth, eyes pressed tight shut. The light still stabbed through. He could taste acid and bile, was pretty sure some of it had gotten into his nose and his hair, and he could feel a cold sweat settling over him. Someone knelt beside him, a hand on his back, rubbing up and down in awkward circles.

"Kid? Henry?" Hands on his shoulders, trying to coax him to sit up. He tightened his hold on the seat. It was too bright out there.

"Lights." He managed in a shaky, hoarse voice. "I n-need the lights off..."

They went out and the relief was immediate. Swallowing hard, he let Len pull him up and he all but slumped against the man's shoulders as he removed his gloves and pressed the back of his hand to Hartley's forehead. Checking for fever, he guessed. His head was still pounding like it was about to burst. After a moment, Len huffed, not finding any sign of fever, and turned to the others. "Someone get a tissue or something."

Digger pulled some toilet paper from the roll and handed it over, and Len wiped Hartley's mouth and nose like he was a child, more gentle than he expected, and he couldn't object. There was probably vomit still smeared on his face, the whole world smelled sour. The tinnitus was back. Everything hurt.

"Blow." Len ordered, holding tissue to Hartley's nose. He did as he was told, not having it in him to argue. He managed to blink his eyes open in time to see the Captain depositing the tissue into the toilet. Someone leaned into view. Mark?

"He seemed fine earlier."

"Maybe that takeout was too much for his rich boy palate." Digger teased from somewhere behind him.

"Nah," James interjected casually and a little too loud, "he didn't eat. Just went straight to our room."

Was the whole team here? Well...that was embarrassing.

"Migraine." He managed to bite out through gritted teeth.

He half expected to be made fun of, all this fuss over a glorified headache, but instead Len coaxed him to look at him and sighed. "Still feel like throwing up?"

"No." He felt better now he'd emptied his stomach at least.

Sam was in the cabinet above the sink. "We have painkillers-"

"They don't help."

Len nodded to Mark and they both took an arm. "We're helping you up and back to your room."

He nodded. They lifted. A wave of vertigo crashed over him and he gagged, dry heaved, but stayed standing. The other two waited a moment, making sure he would be all right before guiding him back to his bed. He vaguely heard Sam offering to get a bucket.

Next thing he knew, Hartley was tucked up back in bed with more care than he remembered getting from his parents or the servants when he'd been sick back home. It was almost soothing, if not really quite weird. James was standing on a chair, trying to make sure any light from the street lamps didn't shine through any gaps in the curtains. To that end, he was currently trying to fix his own cape over the rail on one side, where the worst of the glare peeked through. A moment later, Sam was tiptoeing in and setting a plastic tub next to the bed, presumably in case Hartley did in fact throw up again.

It was getting quieter. The wind outside was dying down remarkably quickly, almost as if a certain someone was making it stop, and the rest of the Rogues seemed to be making a concentrated effort to keep the noise down. It also helped that Roscoe offered him a pair of ear defenders that were supposedly kept around for loud tech work or drilling. They helped.

Len came back next. He was holding a small sack made of suspiciously boomerang patterned cloth that he pressed into Hartley's hand before pressing said hand to his forehead. It was obvious what this was the moment the cold hit his skin. An ice pack. "Hold that there. Hope it helps."

Hartley gave a slight, tight nod of thanks and was once again left to rest, at least for a few minutes. He closed his eyes, relief settling in. The group's efforts were helping.

The door nudged open again, one last time for the night. There was a strong, spiced, sweet smell, and the sound of a mug being placed gently on the nearest table. He cracked an eye open again just in time to see Mick stepping away. He clearly noticed Hartley watching him, because he gave a quiet explanation.

"Ginger tea. It's supposed to help with pain and nausea. Thought I'd leave it as an option."

And then he was gone. It was dark, it was quiet, the pain was receding, and Hartley felt...warm. Sure, the Rogues looked out for their own, but...it felt weird being fussed over like this, like he mattered, not just for his position, but as a person. As a member of a group. As a friend, a brother, even. Like he was someone who belonged, and like he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared and wanted him to be well. Perhaps, it seemed, life with this lot wouldn't be too bad at all. And for a moment there, as he drifted off to sleep, thinking about how cared for he seemed now, his heart almost felt like it was about to burst.

AITA for keeping my brother-in-law's baby?

((TW: This piece deals with sexual assault, abuse and stalking))

 So I (22F) and my sister (27F) had always been really close growing up, like joined at the hip best of friends. A few years ago she meets this guy (34M) who she insists is her soulmate but he's a real piece of work. Like almost comically bad, like cartoon bad guy bad. Like first time she brings him home the dog runs up to greet him and he kicks her hard enough to lift her off the ground bad. So parents obviously don't approve of this guy, and sis comes to my room in floods of tears complaining how they never approve of anything she loves and I give her my honest opinion, that I don't like him much, she screams at me because I 'should be on her side' and leaves with him. I feel bad for not being more supportive and apologise to her because I don't want to lose my sister over this, you know? But it doesn't get any better.

Two years ago, sis and BIL get married. During wedding, groom gets completely blatted and comes on to me. I figure he's gotten me confused with sis (we look similar, I guess a drunk can get us confused) and tell sis and best man to take him home and quickly leave myself. Sis is sour with me for a while after, I'm not sure why and she don't tell me, so I'm like maybe she's just sour in general because of BIL? Every time I try to ask her about what's wrong she brushes me off. I eventually leave it.

Despite all this, sis and I still see each other often, but whenever BIL is there it's so tense and uncomfortable. It starts with him just leering a bit and saying some inappropriate things, but then he starts showing up univited without sis. Hanging around outside my flat, work and uni, sending me things, inappropriate texts etc etc etc. I don't recognise this as stalking at the time, but I do now. Block his number and complain to sis, and she tells me it's my fault for being so seductive around him??? I'm pissed off and tell her I'm just the same as normal and how is it seductive to sit around in band shirts and joggers eating burgers? She accuses me of trying to sleep with BIL at the wedding, and when I deny it she calls me a liar and tells me to stay away from her and BIL. Gladly.

He continues to stalk me and I ofc feel really uncomfy and unsafe so I stick with people as much as possible. In fact it gets worse once I'm no longer talking to sis. One evening he corners me while I'm taking the bloody bins out and that's when he manages to rape me, and that's when I get pregnant. I tell family what happened. Sis calls me a liar and tells everyone I've been seducing her husband this whole time. Parents take my side at first and tell sis to never ever bring BIL near the family again. Friends tell me to contact police whenever i see him.

I discover I'm pregnant at the beginning of the year. After a lot of careful thought and soul searching, I decide to keep the baby. Important to note that aside from assault I am a virgin. So people are asking who I've been with, who the dad is, I claim not to know, but sis gets back in touch with the family after seeing me visibly pregnant a few weeks ago and starts demanding to know who the father is. I tell her it's none of her business but she presses because she suspects it's her husband's baby. I do eventually admit to my family only that the baby is the result of the assault, but that I don't think that should define the baby's life and that it's not the baby's fault and that I want to protect it and myself etc etc etc. Parents are demanding I explain my decision to keep the baby so I'm launching into this whole explanation about how I haven't been well since the stalking started, haven't been looking after myself, but now I have this strong drive to protect myself and my unborn child, and all this other stuff about the baby's life and my life and stuff. Like I believe in a woman's right to choose, so even if it isn't the baby's fault where it comes from, if it's better for you to abort something like this go for it, but I've chosen not to because I genuinely believe that's what's better for me. Sis and BIL claim that me not aborting the baby is proof I wasn't raped but instead seduced him specifically so I could have his baby. Mum sides with him this time, going on this spiel about how if it was rape I wouldn't be so adamant about keeping the baby. Dad stays on my side. I get a lot of abusive messages about the whole situation from mum and sis, and sis' friends who have apparently been told I stole the husband (I'm pretty sure mans is stalking and hurting other women because sis is claiming we're still together because he keeps going out for ages and it's  all cheaty suspicious or something) and mum is accusing me of tearing apart the family by keeping this baby. AITA?

Reflections

 As much as Jacquimo would have liked to have said it was a quiet, peaceful evening, the fact was their bed and board above the Elfsong Tavern was typically anything but. Between the lingering vampire spawn blood housekeeping hadn't been able to get out of the furnishings (for which he claimed to be very sorry) leaving a bit of a smell in the air and a stickiness on the floor that he would rather not think about, and the sounds of the raucous drunks below either enjoying themselves or drowning their sorrows, it made for...quite the atmosphere, to put it lightly. Still, compared to what the half-orc was used to, this was heaven. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a proper bed, and the streets had always been plenty noisy as well.

Sat on his bed, scribbling away in an old notebook, everything else faded out to a strange ambience. This had always been Jacquimo's element. As a bard, he excelled in spinning stories and conveying tales through word, song and poem. Over his years, he'd written and performed many a yarn, ode or sonnet, and some of them were even halfway decent pieces. He'd never had such inspiration like that gifted to him by his most recent journey though. This past week alone he had written so much, the stories and legacies of his new friends, songs on hardship and survival, music he could hear the notes of carried on the wind. One particular piece had been a problem for him, however.

It was a simple poem, words spun like silk to form a painting in your head. An Ode To A Star, he called it, and he had been working on it ever since Astarion told him he could no longer remember his own face. Karlach had suggested someone draw his portrait, but Jacquimo had never been good at that. So he tried to write it. Descriptive art to show his favourite person, the love of his life, exactly how he looked to him.

Let me be your mirror

Let me show you through my eyes

The most beautiful a being

The gods ever did devise

Let me show you every detail

Every wrinkle, every scar

Utter drivel, all of it. Resisting the urge to rip the page out, crumple the paper and throw it aside, Jacquimo cast his gaze to the window, thinking. What could he possibly say to truly convey what he needed to? Words would never be a true substitute for actually being able to see himself. And the wrong words would just cause upset. Mentions of wrinkles, for one, even if they were something Jacquimo liked about his lover. Character. Experience. All part of one damned gorgeous man.

Eyes flitting between the words on the page and the dark night outside, he paused when he caught sight of his own reflection in the glass.

Let me be your mirror.

If only it was that simple. If only he could truly show Astarion exactly what he saw when he looked at him. It wasn't like he could be like the glass in that window. It wasn't like Astarion could really see through his eyes.

Wait.

Except he could, couldn't he?

Jacquimo snapped the notebook shut and looked across the room, at each of his companions. Those who shared the tadpole infection were able to connect their minds together, weren't they? He remembered seeing himself through Lae'zel's eyes on the Nautiloid. Seeing Astarion's memory of watching him walk through the confines of the pod. Giving him his memories of breaking free of his own pod in response. Seeing paths carved through the hells through the eyes of Wyll and Karlach. The tadpole connection allowed them to see through each other's eyes, see thoughts and memories, feel what each other felt.

An idea in his head, the bard placed his notebook back in his pack and got to his feet, making his way over to where Astarion had set up. He clearly heard his lover's approach, as he closed the book he was reading, looking up to meet his eyes. "Always a pleasure to see you sauntering over. Did you need something, my dear?"

"I had a thought. Or an epiphany."

There was a subtle twitch up of the vampire's lips. "Using that brain of yours, are we?"

"I know, I know, a rare novelty. Really, though, I think I might have figured something out. How I can show you your face again."

A nearly imperceptible shift in his eyes. Interest. Curiosity. Hope? "Really now? Well, I have to say, you know how to pique my interest, darling." His voice held no sarcasm, the thought of seeing his face once more undeniably enticing.

"It's rather obvious in hindsight." Jacquimo mused, more to himself, before addressing the elf properly. "I can't promise you'll like it, but it's an option if you want to use it. The tadpoles. They give us that connection, allow us to see each other's memories. You could look into my memories, or perhaps even see through my eyes now. See yourself."

He froze, processing the words. It seemed almost ludicrous, but he was right, everything he said was right. "You would let me into your head, just to see my face? You'd let me just...poke around inside your mind like that? I could find anything in there."

"I would." He didn't even hesitate. "I trust you. I would trust you with my mind any time. And I want to do something for you."

Astarion reached up, ghosting his fingers across the bard's cheek, his voice coming out soft and vulnerable. "You have already done many things for me, you know."

"Then what's one more thing?"

"And you trust me far more than you should. It isn't wise, darling."

"Who ever said I was wise?"

Astarion retracted his hand, glancing around to ensure none of the others were eavesdropping. When he spoke, it was quiet, and completely serious. No teasing, no lighthearted foppery, no sarcasm. "And you're sure about this? About letting me into your head? I...I don't want you feeling you have to do this. You are far too self sacrificing, do far too much for others, I don't want to do this unless you're entirely comfortable with this. This is your mind we're talking about, every inner personal part of you. Just...please tell me you're sure about this."

Jacquimo nodded, confident. "I'm sure. You're only looking at my memories of your face, that's all I'm showing you. I trust you not to go anywhere I don't want you going, and I think I know how to keep people out of things when I need to - I was able to block Z'rell, Minthara and even the Emperor out of certain thoughts, and they were trying to dig into things I didn't want them seeing. I think even with the connection active we can respect each other's privacy just fine, I don't think either of us have been ones to pry. I wouldn't offer this if I wasn't sure. As much as I joke that I am an idiot, I do think things through, you know. For the most part, anyway."

A smile graced those beautiful features. He so wanted to see his face again, to remember that part of himself long forgotten, and it seemed this reward was worth the risk. Jacquimo had a way with words, of making him feel like it would be okay if only he put his faith in him, and it seemed it was time to put his faith in him again. "Then yes, darling. I would like to try it. It's about time I saw how beautiful I really am, after all."

The decision made, the bard gently reached out and took the rogue's hands, eyes meeting and holding each other's gaze as they opened that connection, reaching out with the squirming, wriggling tadpoles within, a power none too pleasant, but this time for a worthwhile cause.

And then there he was, right where he could see himself.

Astarion turned his head this way and that, taking in every inch of his own face as seen through his lover's eyes. Jacquimo let him in, focusing on memories, on that face. On the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips, the curve of his brow. On delicate lashes framing piercing red eyes that could grow so round, almost doe-like under the right circumstances. The laugh lines that made themselves known during moments of joy, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Soft curls framing pointed ears, almost shining when the light hits them just right. And not just the way he looked when happy, but sad as well. When he cried, or knew he'd gone too far, when fear and anxiety took hold. The way anger could peel his lips back in a snarl. Baring fangs in threat. That first meeting, that look of suspicion. Plotting looks, teasing glances, moments of internal conflict. Everything. Every part of him, of who he is, of who he was. Every fine detail. Everything he'd lost and forgotten in all those years of torment. Bringing a hazy, indistinct image into focus, making it clear once more.

Letting himself be the mirror Astarion wanted, needed, for as long as he wanted or needed.

((Jacquimo is my half orc bard urchin Tav, an uneducated disaster bisexual aligned chaotic neutral-chaotic good. Astarion and Jacquimo dialogue was painful to write, I'm so rusty with writing dialogue, hope you enjoy because I am cringing myself inside out lol))

Cedar/Luca ficlet

 Cedar was woken by a gentle shake of his shoulder. At first, he wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, pretend whatever or whoever was there didn't exist. Unfortunately for him, they persisted, and when they saw him begin to stir began to call his name as well. Burying his face further into his pillow regardless, he managed to grunt out something vaguely resembling a 'what do you want?'.

"Wake uuuuuup!" Prue whined in reply, punctuating her words with a slap to his shoulder.

"Go away, I don't feel well."

"You're always sleeping!" Another hit. He turned onto his back and levelled his little sister with as harsh a glare as he could muster while only just shaking off the dregs of sleep. And oh no, now he was waking up, he really didn't feel well. God, he at least hoped he didn't hurl on the kid. "It's boring and spooky here when you're asleep."

"Look, I'm sorry it's spooky, but I'm tired-"

"You're always tired, you have been for weeks."

Cedar took a deep breath. "When you're a little older you're gonna get this same thing every month just like I do and you'll feel so bad about hitting me awake like this." Cramps were a lot less horrible this time, he mused to himself as he spoke. Normally he chalked up the constant feeling of about to puke to how much pain he was in, but here he was, not that bothered by the stupid light cramps and still feeling sick as a dog. Perhaps it was a sign his body was finally closing down the factory in response to his ongoing terrible health. Not that he was going to miss that particular function.

Prudence huffed and for a moment he thought she was going to leave him be. Then she poked him in the cheek. Hard. "Are we getting lunch today?"

He gave a noncommittal grunt, more in response to his own twisting stomach than to her. She seemed to take it as an affirmative though, because she ran off to tell Gannon just as much. Which in turn meant he would eventually have to get up and find some food for them. He'd already spent all of his last paycheck, so that was a no go. Turns out tutoring one superhero, who Cedar frankly suspected was also homeless, in hand to hand doesn't get you very far. He wondered if they could just turn up at the watch tower Luca worked at uninvited and get a free meal. The other options were theft or dumpster diving, neither of which he felt up to right now.

Well, if nothing else, he hadn't seen his boyfriend in a few weeks anyway. He worked hard at keeping his life as Cedar and his life as The Censor separate, and The Censor was the one bringing in money for the family. Luca was a doctor for a superhero team as well, and more often than not had his hands full. Often times their different, uh, careers, kept them a bit more separate than they'd have liked. With a sigh, he rolled over again, reaching for a change of clothes, close enough to clean to work.

-----

He had, at the very least, apologised for turning up unannounced to, essentially, beg and mooch, but otherwise greeted Luca with a smile and a hug, pretending he wasn't feeling off kilter. He was quickly introduced to the newest resident of the tower, baby Ray. He remembered the team leader had been heavily pregnant when he'd last seen her, and the newborn she held now was adorable. Strange, with the blue skin and the beige glow that admittedly only he could see, but adorable nonetheless.

As tired as he was caring for his own siblings, Cedar had always been fond of children.

According to the baby's father, who definitely wasn't human, the rest of the team were elsewhere. Some doing hero work, one of them on a date apparently, and until he'd brought his hyperactive siblings in, the tower had been quite peaceful.

In time, they'd settled in the living room. Whisper had taken requests for lunch and was stood by the kitchenette in the corner with the children on bar stools at the table. Gannon had taken to spinning around repeatedly. Cedar had already resolved in his head that he was not cleaning it up when he inevitably puked. He and his boyfriend were curled up on one end of the sofa, while the non human hero, Shadow Weaver or Tarquin, sat on the other end with his son.

"You're not eating?" Luca asked after a moment. Cedar offered a soft shrug in response.

"Not right now. Don't feel hungry. It's just...you know..." Another shrug. "Cramps." Again, they weren't really the problem this time around, but it was the easiest way to convey the message.

"Okay. You should still eat something though."

"I know. I will. Later." He tried for a reassuring smile, then reached for the remote. "Can I turn on the sports channel?"

Luca spared a glance to the baby in the room before nodding. "Keep the volume low though."

"Bet." He found the channel he wanted and cuddled in closer. It had been a while since he'd been able to relax and watch some good sports. Back before he'd become The Censor, athletics had been his world, and he had been a prodigy. It was good to go back to that and feel a little more...normal, sometimes. Admittedly, it was a golfing show on at the moment, so not really his thing, he'd always been a boxer. Still, there, held in a gentle embrace with the TV playing and the occasional words between the two, he felt safe and content. And drowsy. It wasn't long at all before he started drifting off again.

Then the chill went down his spine and he didn't feel comfortable any more. A quick glance behind him confirmed his strange feeling, and he felt Luca tighten his grip around him.

"You okay?"

"...Your weird friend has been staring at me since I got here." He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the third man on the sofa, who had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught, but still continued to stare.

Luca raised an eyebrow in question, meeting those eyes himself. Tarquin chewed his own lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain himself, before simply giving one word and walking off. 'Fluttering'.

Cedar, ever confused by this, turned back to Luca. "What the f-...udge does that mean?"

Not the easiest thing to explain, but he'd give it a go. "Shadow Weaver has sensory powers, like you do. His are...he can sense life. He told me once that most life feels like a consistent pulse, like a heartbeat, but he can't really tell the difference between different beats. With one exception. Some things aren't a proper pulse, but instead just feel like a weak fluttering sensation. Usually parasites or, um, foetuses."

"So your friend is saying I'm either pregnant or have a tapeworm?"

Luca gave a slight laugh at that. "Something like that."

"I don't think either of those apply to me right now." Cedar replied dryly.

"You sure? He's not normally wrong."

"Well I-...uh..." Well, lately he had felt sick, and tired, and sore, and hadn't wanted to eat anything...and if this had been down to monthlies, it was pretty damn late, and putting on his binder that morning he was sure his chest was bigger and more sensitive..."Fuck, I might be pregnant." He quickly looked back to check the others weren't paying them any attention before pulling away a little and sitting up straighter, a silent permission for Luca to use his powers, check there wasn't anything more sinister.

"You're pregnant." He confirmed after a moment, reaching for his boyfriend's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Fuck." Cedar echoed quietly, pulling away. "I can't have a baby...not as a broke ass bitch in a squat filled with drug addicts, anyway."

"You could always move here-"

"I don't-! I don't want to bring the full force of the Rainbow Brigade or whoever else back here, and I don't want to be a burden or-"

"You're not a burden. You're my boyfriend, and you and your siblings? You're my family, and you're our family, and we'd all be happy to have you here."

'Not if you knew who else I was', Cedar thought but didn't dare say. He must have been quiet a little too long, because Luca chose to fill the silence.

"If you...don't want to have the baby, or really can't-"

"I want the baby!" His voice came in a frantic squeak which really made him mad at himself. Cedar shook his head and took a deep breath. He was aware of more eyes on him, which he really didn't like. "No...no, what I mean is...I like kids, you know I like kids, but I'm struggling enough with just my siblings. When I was little, I really, really wanted to someday have a kid of my own, y'know? I remember thinking I'd be fine carrying a baby even...even if dysphoria kicked my ass. But, uh, after a lifetime of no friends, then no home, I just sort of thought babies were gonna be things that happened to other people, and I'd get my full parenthood experience just being the big brother. And I was okay with that. You manage with the cards you're dealt. I mean, I also wanted to become an Olympic boxer and that's not ever happening." He smiled and shrugged. "Do you want a baby?"

Luca hesitated, but answered with a nod. "I'm...nowhere near as good with kids as you are, and that's a fact, and it's hard to imagine myself as a father, but I...I would like that. I know what you mean, about a lifetime of loneliness, about feeling like you can't get what you really want and always feeling like you have to settle. There was a lot I accepted as just my life, no getting around it, and it's hard to change that way of thinking, to tell yourself good things can happen and to let them happen."

"I want good things to happen to you. No, scratch that, you deserve good things to happen to you." He glanced back at the others, who tried to look like they hadn't been watching and listening since the squeak-yell, and dropped his voice to a gentle whisper. "You are the best person I've ever met. You're so genuinely nice it's sometimes hard to believe you're real, like that nice, and that smart, and that good looking, and right here and now? It's perfect, and you don't deserve anything bad."

Luca took a moment to reply, feeling emotion swell in his chest. "You flatterer."

"I mean it."

"I know. I love you." He gave Cedar a quick peck on the cheek.

"Love you too. But I'm going somewhere with this. Like...you have good things in your life, right?"

He pretended to think about it, then counted off on his fingers. "There's you, your siblings, my friends, this tower, the food Hex and Shard make, because that really is amazing, that cool shirt with the frogs on it...I have good things."

"And would an unexpected baby right now be a good thing?"

"...If it makes you happy, absolutely."

"Sap." Cedar snorted, taking one of Luca's hands and giving it a squeeze. "Look, I'll be happy as long as we can be safe. Which means not at the squat hole."

"You realise you're always safe here, right? Safer than anywhere else."

"Luca, the last two times I stayed here overnight, y'all got attacked by members of the Rainbow Brigade."

"We've...updated security and done some research on them. We know all Greenfield and Ballad's powers, and the others appear to be either deceased or inactive. If something does happen, I mean, this team stopped a demon taking over and burning the entire planet, they can handle those guys."

"An actual demon?"

"Yup."

"Wow. Wish I'd seen that."

Luca laughed. "So do I. That was before I joined up with them. I've heard a lot of stories and I'm assured they're all true."

"You have to tell me those stories."

"Oh, I will, that's a promise." He gave Cedar's hand a reassuring squeeze. "The long and short of it, though, is we can keep you safe here. I promise that, too."

"So...are we having a baby?"

Luca raised an eyebrow, watching Cedar expectantly. Cedar answered with a sigh.

"Let me guess, it's up to me because I'm the pregnant one?"

"Duh."

Like a very mature adult, Cedar stuck his tongue out. When he next spoke, it was with a decisive finality. "We're having a baby."

With the matter decided, he wrapped himself around Luca in a warm hug. He hugged back and the two stayed that way for a while, talking quietly as the world moved around them. They stayed like this until Cedar dozed off, head on Luca's shoulder. When he awoke it would be to the feeling of fingers running through his hair, the smell of something baking, the soft voices of people speaking low so as not to wake him. Sensations which would remind him of his old home, with his mother and stepfather, where he had been safe and very much loved. For once, though, this thought wouldn't make him sad, because now he had a new home. A home with Luca and his friends, and in less than a year, their baby as well. A home where he was safe, and very much loved.

((Whisper and the kids when Cedar shouts about wanting a baby: ??????
Tarquin: Oh yeah I think Luca got his boyfriend pregnant somehow.
Whisper: Aight...))