#kid!fic

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"Can you say cucumber?" Shane leans forward on the handlebar of the shopping cart, enunciating the word clearly so Emiliya can see his mouth move.

"Cucucu!" she babbles excitedly.

"Cucumber," Shane repeats.

"I can barely say this," Ilya mumbles, dropping a bag of heirloom tomatoes in the cart. "Two times it's cu and it's not pronounced the same."

Shane gives him a grin and Ilya briefly pinches just above the waistline of his shorts.

"Papa," Anastasia taps her hand against Ilya's hip, "Can we get strawberries?"

"Only if you say it in Russian," Ilya replies and she frowns at him, then rolls her eyes.

"Klubnika," she says, then dashes off to grab the biggest basket she can find.

"Will she eat all of those?" Shane asks. Ilya just raises his eyebrows at him.

Anastasia doesn't enjoy a lot of fruits and vegetables due to their unpredictable nature, but strawberries are one of her safe foods and have been since she was tiny. She has to get her vitamins somewhere, Shane thinks. Their pediatrician says it's not a big deal and that kids, even with a restrictive diet, usually get their nutrients. It does still make him feel a bit queasy about her well-being.

"Grab blueberries for your sister," Shane tells Anastasia; Emiliya squeals when she hears the word blueberries.

Anastasia looks around critically, squinting. They let her. Grocery shopping with two children takes forever, but they have nothing but time.

"Where are they?" she eventually asks.

"Read the signs, baby," Shane encourages her. She squints again, trying to read, but he can tell she's growing frustrated now.

"Daddy, help, please," she eventually whines, reaching out for him.

"Come." Shane beckons her over, then takes her hand. Ilya grabs the handle of the shopping cart, making a funny face at Emiliya, who giggles in response.

They find the blueberries together, and Anastasia picks out an equally as large container of blueberries. Their monthly berry budget must be crazy. Luckily, Shane thinks, they're in the fortunate position of being able to grocery shop without checking their account balance first.

"Emmy will like these," Anastasia declares.

"Do you think so?" Shane asks, getting a nod in return.

"Heck yeah!"

It bring a grin to his face; at least she has stopped saying fuck yeah.

"Look Emiliya, your favorite," Ilya says in Russian. Emiliya squeals and claps when she sees the big bucket, then immediately reaches for it.

"Look, you getting those for her made her so happy," Shane tells Anastasia; she gives him an excited smile. They've been doing this for ages now; her therapist recommended verbalizing and explaining emotions.

"Yes, she's laughing!" Anastasia says, then reaches for her sister. She's only just tall enough to grab her leg, so she plants a kiss on Emiliya's knee, which makes Emiliya giggle.

Shane catches Ilya's eyes, and they exchange a smile. Sometimes, the girls are in a horrible mood, getting into fights, breaking stuff, hitting and biting each other, not sleeping. It's hard.

It’s so hard trying to find platonic from new fandoms yet all you find is explicit stuff…

And that's a wrap.

So many thanks to @alchemistc and @screamlet for hockey proofing (they made this so much better, and make us sound so much more like we know what we're talking about).  And to @ziusik for Russian proofing.  Any mistakes or misunderstandings are all on @cecilyv and me. We really appreciate the help.

Chapter 1 - Summer + Preseason

Chapter 2 - Fall

Chapter 3 - Winter

Chapter 4 - Spring

NEW - Chapter 5 - Summer

Eight years and two Cup runs into his career, Shane knows what it takes to reach the finish line. To hoist the Cup over his head, to celebrate with an undying sense of relief that we did it. It’s over.

It hasn’t been an easy year — they squeaked through as the first wild card — but they’ve got everyone back. Healthy, for degrees of healthy at the end of the season. Everyone’s nursing something.

He told Ilya that he couldn’t think about them, the plan, the future – had to concentrate on the team, the game; he could only think as far as the first round.

It’s a lie.

He tries. The playbooks replace the parenting books. He meditates, visualizes the results he wants to see. Sets his meal plans. Preps and cooks food for the week. Goes out with the boys in the name of team cohesion. Desperately tries to ignore their unceasing attempts to pick up a girl for him. Ignore their language. The shit they say when the Admirals get knocked out in four games.

It’s a relief when Ilya texts him / I said yes to give you space to focus, but tvoy syn needs good night moon because your boyfriend also needs his beauty sleep tonight /

Reads Sergei Good Night Moon three times before he drops off, and then falls asleep himself, phone line still open, listening to Ilya’s faint snores that mean he’s nursing the tail end of a cold. Plays better in practice the next day than he has all week.

Firstly, im not convinced they'd EVER have kids. But if they did, I imagine they're the last of their friends to do so. Of all of the princess alliance, they're the ones we know of with direct experience with childhood abuse. I cant imagine it'd be a quick process to untangle all that

I dont see either one of them carrying a kid, I feel like they'd either adopt or surrogate. Strong leaning towards adoption

I think they'd pick a magicat kid to adopt, easy

Catra insists she doesnt care what child they raise, but ultimately, it's adora who brings up the small population of magicats on Etheria, and Catra's unique understanding of what its like to be one. Adora is hiding her nefarious plot to see Catra napping with their magicat baby because that would be fucking cute.

They're both anxious wrecks throughout the entire decision making and then later the actual adoption process. Adora launches into overplanning mode and Catra is grumpy for weeks on end. Glimmer considers killing both of them more than once

Out of their friends and acquaintances, many of them question Catra's readiness and ability to bond with the kid, to the point that they fail to check in with adora about her anxiety

This causes a small argument, when Catra gets frustrated about one too many check ins and "are you sure" conversations. Its resolved when Bow finally asks adora how she feels, and she breaks down into tears in relief to finally confess all her doubts

They're worried about being good parents. They didnt exactly have a good upbringing, and neither of them really had parental figures to model off of. In fact, they dont know how a nuclear family is even supposed to function

Its not until Bow smiles and asks if they really think they're on their own that Adora realizes that none of her friends expected her to be perfect, and that the kid will be fine no matter what

Adora also regularly spirals re: what happens to the kid if something happens to her and Catra? Catra puts a stop to that quickly by just naming off their friends

When they hold their baby for the first time, Adora cries. Catra doesnt, but she sniffles suspiciously a few times

During the transition between preparing for a baby and parenthood, its actually Catra who picks up on and has an easier time with the natural caretaking and protective instinct. Adora takes longer to find her motherly groove.

Once everything clicks, Catra has to fight Adora for more time holding the baby.

The exhaustion is insane.

The number one issue they have with the baby during the infancy and toddler years was teething, closely followed by the claws. Teething was to be expected. But as it turns out, kittens are sharp. Catra's skin is a little tougher and a bit better suited to resist claws from a young magicat, but Adora spends a solid six to nine months covered in needle-thin scratches that usually drew blood.

They have a parenting pact: catra handles the care taking schedule. Making doctor's appointments, scheduling school activities, homework. But adora is solely responsible for socializing with the parents of the kids friends. There are multiple reasons for this, most of them involving the war. But the other one is that exactly one time Catra took the baby for a socializing event as a toddler, and she came away having invented three new curse words and caught herself a permanent ban from "mommy and me discover music class" in the village outside of bright moon palace.

Adora is fine with this, but the kid quickly decides its embarrassing to have either of their parents around their friends because everyone is so starstruck by their moms.

Adora is gutted the first time her baby picks out their outfit all on their own. Catra is excited for one less decision they have to make, considering it took them fifteen years to stop wearing a post-war version of their Horde uniforms.

Catra refuses to go to meet the teacher night, until one teacher tries to teach her kid something clearly wrong and stupid. Its the only time she ever threw her weight around as the queens advisor in front of her kid.

“Boldheart,” he said into the phone, attention still mostly on the board. Maybe it needed some string. Or at the very least some of those flames Nimona had drawn and cut out for him to add.

“Mister Boldheart, this is Principal Conroy from Gloreth Elementary School.”

Oh no.

He didn’t quite manage to keep in his sigh.

“What happened this time?” he asked. He refused to say ‘what did she do now’, if only because Nimona usually had a reason for whatever chaos she wrought. Like trying to free the pet gerbil from ‘his stinky, tiny prison’ or punching a kid who made fun of her because ‘you couldn’t even get two normal foster parents, you ended up with two foster dads’.

Of course the school hadn’t done anything about the other kid. He was a legacy at the private school, and he’d ‘just been stating facts, after all’.

“It appears Nimona bit another child.”

Well, that was new.

I’m keen to read Your Best Friend, Blaine Anderson by stut_ter, but on AO3 the images say ‘content not viewable in your region’. I just wondered if anyone has a PDF they’d be willing to share that includes the images of the letters?

Thanks!

Here's the PDF. Enjoy! ~Lynne

1/4 chapters, de-aged Robert Robertson, 10k, read on AO3 here.

Teaser:

Chase was in the process of watching his 7th call to Robert ring out dismally when the increasingly irritating jingle gave way to a new and exciting beeping noise. Unknown Number flashed at the top of the screen and he stubbornly mashed his finger on the green symbol below it, slamming the phone up to his cheek. 

“What the hell you want?” He hissed down the line. From across the office, Blazer was waving at him unsubtly, eyebrows furrowed in the most explicit gesture of anger he’d ever seen on her usually mild face. He wafted her away, silently explaining another failed attempt.  

Robert was an hour and a half late to work. This was beyond abnormal; even if he was dragging his heels and still snoring, Robert was always on time. If anything, he was early. He’d gotten deep into the habit of arriving an hour or two before he was due in specifically so he could take advantage of the unusually empty gym. Seeing neither hide nor hair of him was seriously fucking concerning.  

“Uh, is this Chase Wright?” 

“Yes. Damnit.” Blazer looked increasingly annoyed, and she seemed to be making a threat, though he couldn’t quite discern what it was. “What do you want?” 

“This is Officer Foreman. I have a… Robert Robertson here with me? He’s asked you to come and pick him up from the station.” 

Chase froze. “What?” He tried to express to Blazer that he had a lead, but she just squinted at him, confused. “What the hell is he doing there?” 

“I don’t know, sir. The kid won’t tell us anything. He’s a little roughed up but he’s not hurt.” 

“Ain’t much of a kid.” Chase grumbled, already digging around the clutter on his desk in search of his car keys. The pressure to finally get a car had kicked in with his arthritis diagnosis; he could no longer just run any distance he pleased. “He’s meant to be at work.” 

“Uh, Mr Wright? That’s… not legal.” 

Chase paused again. Blazer was marching over now, winding through busy dispatchers and office staff with her mouth already open like she was about to chew him out. He waved her off hastily, trying to warn her not to interrupt.  

“What’s not legal? Employing a man? Ask him why he can’t drive his own damn self back from the station!” 

“Well, he’s ten, sir. Ten year olds aren’t allowed to work.” There was a long pause, then an unsubtle cough. “Or drive.” 

Hands on her hips, Blazer slammed to a halt, face expectant. Chase silently counted down from ten in his head, then took a long, calming breath.  

“Let me get this straight. Robert Robertson is at your police station, and he is visibly ten years old?” 

Blazer startled, anger evaporating in a blink. 

“Um, that’s right. So, when can you come and get him?” 

“I can come and get him right now.” Chase ground out, leaving no room for Blazer to argue. She still looked a little stunned, her eyebrows nearly peaking over the top of her mask.  

With a sharp goodbye, Chase hung up, shoving his phone deep in his pocket and draping his coat over one arm. To her credit, Blazer didn’t actually try to stop him, but Chase paused before he left nonetheless.  

“I’m gonna bring this little shit in. In the meanwhile, take a look at that Tempo motherfucker.” 

Without even complaining about the blatant lack of respecting the chain of command, Blazer nodded and turned back towards her office.  

Tempo was a recent up-and-comer, as well as a perpetual pain in SDN’s ass. Her power was strong enough to put her in the big leagues, far bigger than Robert and the Z-Team had to worry themselves with, but Chase had a special and unique hatred for her.  

The sound of her voice—allegedly angelic, though Chase was sceptical—could literally sap years of a person's life from them. Despite being roughly sixty in any official documentation, Tempo could retain eternal youth by stealing time away from her victims.  

So, Chase’s distaste was personal. First of all, he did not want to give up more years than he already had; secondly, he would literally chop off an arm for the chance of reclaiming a good few years of his youth. Every time he went to work, the first name he checked for in the databases was hers. He had dreams of seeing a big red ‘CAPTURED’ stamped next to her name.  

There was a reason Chase had thought of her first though, far beyond whatever personal issues he had with her. As far as anyone knew, there were no other troublemakers in Torrance who had the ability to fuck with time. And, logically, if she could take years away, couldn’t she also, potentially, give them away? 

Why she would, Chase didn’t know. Why she chose Robert, why she chose to make him a child, all of it was a mystery, but it had Tempo’s name written all over it no matter what.  

Chase stewed on this mystery all the way to the station, where he promptly put on a grumpy-yet-fragile old man performance so that a nice young officer would personally escort him through the raging crowd. He shook the fellow off the moment he spotted a horribly familiar head of auburn hair.  

It was attached to a little head, connected to a little body, perched atop a desk. Little Robert Robertson swung his legs, head bowed as he waited for someone to pick him up.  

It was definitely him. At certain points of Chase’s life, he’d seen that dork’s face more often than he’d seen his own, and he knew it like the back of his hand. A small part of him had been distantly hoping that it was all some elaborate joke the Z-Team had set up to try and get him in trouble at work, but this image swiftly dashed those dreams to smithereens. With a sigh, Chase straightened up a bit and beelined for the desk.  

The officer who was sitting at it, presumably the aforementioned Officer Foreman, poked his head up at Chase’s approach. He muttered something indistinguishable to Robert, who spun around in a snap- 

And promptly looked right past Chase, searching for a familiar face which had aged right out of existence. Chase sighed, shaking his head, and stepped up to cuff Robert’s shoulder.  

“Kid, you know just how to hurt a guy's feelings.” 

Chase watched the flow of emotions on little Robert’s face as he put the pieces together. Confusion, shock, recognition, back to confusion; he hurled himself into Chase’s arms, nearly knocking him right off his feet, then peeled back just to glare up into Chase’s face. “Are you really Chase?” 

“As if there’s some other motherfucker stupid enough to drive out here just to pick your dumbass up!” Chase grumbled, bapping the side of Robert’s head. The kid ducked just a moment too slow to dodge it, his reflexes not quite honed just yet.  

His reaction suggested that his mind, too, was that of his ten year old self. The possibility that this was regular grown-up Robert shrunken down would have been favourable. He still would have been able to go to work. This, though, made the situation far more difficult.