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The Kids [a E2!Barry Allen imagine]



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“Dad, me and Jace are going out! Mom already knows! We’re taking the car!” Luca shouts, running a hand through his short blond locks, tapping his blue Vans on the kitchen tiles. A deep sigh escapes him when Jace appears, tugging on his red hoodie over the white shirt. The older boy nods to the door eagerly, trying to get the message to his younger brother. Jace hurries it up, scrambling out the door; chestnut hair blowing in the wind. “Byedad, loveyou, seeyouatlikeone.” he mutters, more to himself, as he slams the door.

Sara races to the door, violet socks slipping under herself. She frowns, hearing the five year old following after her; Abby brushes her long brown hair out of her eyes, trying to peek through the window. Just not tall enough. “Dad! They’re gone! Can we get pizza now?!” Sara calls out, staring at Abby when there’s no answer. “Dad!” she yells again, bolting back into the living room; sister right on her heels.

Pushing the dark blue plastic ball down the slide, Barry claps. “Yay! Good job, Nico! Wanna do it again?! Let’s do it again! Ready?! One, two, three!” he makes a ‘whoosh’ noise, smiling when the two year old squeals. He turns his head, adjusting his thin glasses on his face. “Mom and I already took care of it. It should be here in-” he glances at his watch, scrunching his nose. “Ten minutes?” he shrugs, moving his legs in the criss cross position.

The nine year old rolls her hazel eyes, folding her arms over her orange ‘Princess’ shirt; Abby does the same. And all Barry can think is ‘oh god, this is it, they’re teaming up on me’; his green eyes go wide. Nico babbles, picking up the plastic piano and bringing it to his daddy; gray pants slipping off his pamper. “We want ice cream too!” Sara demands, nodding at Abby’s ‘yeah’.

A sigh escapes Barry, he grabs the piano, placing it on his tan jeans. “Yes, yes, sweetheart, I know. We have ice cream in the freezer.” he coos, hands reaching for the toddler, pulling him to his chest. Nico spews random syllables, reaching up to his daddy’s bowtie. “Nico, no, no, don’t - and it’s too late.” he sighs, peering down at the undone yellow tie. Barry takes off his glasses, rubbing his eye. “Girls, why don’t yo-”

“We’re gonna play dress up, daddy!” Abby giggles, following her older sister upstairs; black tutu flailing.

Putting his glasses back on, Barry coddles Nico to his chest, making little noises that resemble a song; the kid giggles. You walk through the door, pizza in hand as you blow your hair out of your face. “It’s mommy! Yay!” Barry gasps, pushing himself to his feet. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” he repeats, bouncing Nico, making you smile.

“Hi baby!” you coo, kissing Nico’s head before looking up at Barry. “Hey sexy.” you whisper, pecking his lips; he blushes. “How was everything?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to put the pizza down.

The dad scoffs, following after you, “You make it seem like I can’t take care of my own kids, honey.” he mumbles, setting Nico in his highchair.

You shrug, “Well, we do have five kids…”


So I wrote a little post SoC fic

It had been three years since Jan Van Eck had been imprisoned. Three full years since he had walked the streets of Ketterdam, certain of his empire and his future. Three years since he had lost it all.

Van Eck walked down Geldstrat with as much dignity as he could muster. He was in the tattered uniform the prison had given him, and flanked by a stadwatch guard. He pretended as best he could that his reputation was still intact. That the guard was there to protect him, not watch his every move. That he was going to his mansion to do his business dealings and host a stately dinner party, not to plead the good graces of his embarrassment of a son.

His old mansion came into view, large and imposing, the same way it had always been. But it wasn’t supposed to impose him.

Van Eck squared his shoulders, walked towards the house, and knocked on the front door.

It was opened by a man Van Eck had never seen before, a Shu man built like a fortress. He gritted his teeth. Why did the boy need to change things? They didn’t need a new butler. Much less a foreigner.

“What is your business here?” The man asked in a gruff voice. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I am Jan Van Eck, owner of this estate, and I am here to exercise my rights as a merchant in this city.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Sir, the owner of this estate is Wylan Van Eck. If you do not have an appointment or a good reason for being here, I would suggest you go away. Do you have a good reason?”

The insolence! This was Van Eck’s own mansion! “Not specifically, but I-”

“Then I must insist you get off these premises. Protocol-”

“It’s alright, Myers.” Van Eck heard a voice from inside the house, melodious and authoritative. The guard looked around. “Let him in.”

The butler bowed his head and stepped back, giving Van Eck a clear view of the young man inside. Van Eck held back a gasp. It was Wylan, but not. The boy stood in the entry hall, posture erect and eyes confident. A merch. His dark gold curls surrounded his face, but in a way that suited him, instead of making him look smaller. He had gotten older too. Another boy stood by his son, a tall young man with dark Zemini skin and a daring glint in his eye. Van Eck recognized him from that disastrous auction. The one who had offered to read to Wylan. Ha. What was he doing here?

Van Eck stepped forward, into his own house, and resisted the urge to scream. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. How could an illiterate merchant, an irony, a disgrace stand there, in his mansion, like he knew what he was doing? Like he owned the place?

“Why,” Van Eck said, barely holding back his fury, “did you let me sit in a jail cell for so long? Do you not know your duty as my son, as my own blood, to protect me from the falsehood and injustice of my arrest? Why didn’t you bail me out?” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Wylan smiled gravely. He looked like a real businessman, like someone deserving of this fortune. Disgrace. “It was my duty as your son? Should I remind you of all the duties you had as my father that you failed at?” Van Eck hissed under his breath. “You want to know why I didn’t bail you out? Why didn’t you try to love me, father? Why didn’t you try to help me succeed? I know now that there’s so much that I can do, why only show me what I can’t? Why did you lock up Mother? Why did you try to kill me?”

Van Eck glared. “You cannot read, boy. This you know. You cannot read, and therefore you cannot be a proper merchant. You cannot uphold the legacy of our family, and therefore are unfit to have a place in my household.” He had repeated these things in his head over and over in his jail cell. They were his reasons, the things he believed, and he would not abandon them now.

Wylan laughed, a short, cold sound with no humor. “Normal parents don’t disown their families. They don’t try to murder their sons and lock their wives up in insane asylums.” He looked up at the boy next to him, and some sort of understanding passed between them. The two were standing very close.

“Who is this, anyway?” Van Eck said, “why is he in my house?”

“It’s not your house, father,” Wylan said, “‘property lost when someone is criminalized will not be returned unless there is due payment or trade exchange for said property.’ I do believe you were the one who put that law into action. I trust you remember?”

Van Eck sucked in a breath. No. He did remember. The law had been changed mere weeks before his arrest, addressing the number of criminals too quickly regaining power after release from Hellgate. Van Eck spluttered, grasping for some way things wouldn’t have taken such a drastic turn. The law wasn’t there to apply to him. There had to be a way to get the better of this. He had been counting on his estate, his money. But there was nothing to say. Wylan was right. He was stuck.

Wylan waited for Van Eck to stutter into silence before continuing, as if he hadn’t just dashed all of Van Eck’s hopes against the rocks. “As for who this is,” he looked up at the other boy again, and took the Zemini’s hand in his, “this is my boyfriend and secretary, Jesper Fahey.”

Horror settled in Van Eck’s gut as he understood. “You- you don’t mean,” he gulped, “a romantic partner? A- a boy?”

The boy called Jesper laughed. “If you can raise Wylan and not realize he’s gay,” -Wylan slipped his hand into Fahey’s- “then you must be the worst father to ever be a parent. I mean, we all knew you are, but-” he gave a low whistle.

How dare he? How very dare this Zemini criminal mock Van Eck, his superior? It took a minute for Van Eck to collect his badly damaged composure. “It- does not matter than my son is a-a… homosexual. What matters is that this is my home, and if my son has any dignity, he will shelter me, at-at least until I find other, less disgraceful arrangements.”

His son and the Fahey boy exchanged yet another glance. Wylan cleared his throat. “What do you say, Jesper? Should we take pity on him?”

“I’d abandon him on West Stave,” -the Zemini said, and Van Eck stiffened- “but that’s your decision, merchling.”

Wylan nodded, and after a moment, stepped forward. He pulled a wallet from his pocket, took a sheaf of kruge out, and handed it to his father. Van Eck stared at it. “There’s a hotel a few blocks south of here. This should be enough for a few nights. I’d wish you luck, but there’s not much to be found in the Barrel. I got a job at a dyeing factory when I was first out there, maybe you could work there.” He smiled, and stepped back in a sort of dismissal.

A cold, wrenching wave of panic rushed over Van Eck. He spluttered, baffled. “But- you can’t just-” He couldn’t quite process this. This estate, this business, was his, whether or not that was official. The couldn’t just kick him out.“ I’m your father, boy. This isn’t-”

“This is completely legal, and more than fair, father.” Wylan said. “Now get out.”

“I’m not leaving!” Van Eck saw his son nod to the prison guard that had followed them into the house, “You can’t make me!” He felt the guard’s strong arms wrap around him.

His son waved casually as Van Eck was pulled out the door, struggling and protesting. This was it. He wasn’t going to be able to regain his fortune. This was the last hope of Jan Van Eck’s reputation, and it was slipping away into nothing. He looked up at his house, all that he had had, and when he looked back at the door, the last he saw of his son or his chances was Wylan and the Fahey boy bursting into laughter.


“Hold my hand, Doctor. Try to see what I see. We’re so lucky we’re still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It’s not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there! Lights are blue. And blue in through the blueness, and the blackness, the winds swirling through the air… and then shining. Burning, bursting through! The stars, can you see how they roll their light? Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.”

I’m homesick for Earth, but lovesick for you. *finger guns*

P.S. I was laughing obnoxiously while writing “swag” on Lance’s sweatshirt bc he would honestly buy something like that

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Model and Sk8-Hi ambassador Natalie Westling is adding shoe designer to her resume with a Sk8-Hi Reissue DX that she designed exclusively for  Opening Ceremony.

Photos: Christin Rose c/o Opening Ceremony