#The first time that comparison happened was when a friend told me Roy 'looks much better with hair cause he looks like stoner Jesus'

[goleb]

Got told today by a friend that Roy looks like a cross between Grendel and Jesus Christ, which... I suppose is one way to describe him, but more notably marks the second time a friend of mine compared Roy to Jesus, which must mean something. 

[mayordeas-clone]

extremely random musings that only appeal to me regarding byleth in smash

me not wanting byleth before he was revealed and the aftermath of the reveal

okay so byleth, or any three houses character, getting into smash was very obvious. one would have been in the base game had the game released during ultimate's development cycle. and as awesome as it would have been to see one of the cool tri-colored lords who DIDNT wield a sword nor had blue hair (or in edelgard and claude's case, had no blue in their color scheme at all, a trait only shared with robin in smash), we all knew they couldn't pick one over the other. if they had to go on a neutral major character from three houses to put in smash with no accidental slant towards one route of the game, it had to have been byleth, the avatar. (i heard some people say they could have handled this by doing a pokemon trainer style character where byleth switches between all three but i think we all knew that was super unrealistic)

i remember before he was revealed that i was vehemently anti-byleth. i literally loved three houses when it came out so much (main personality trait from summer-fall of 2019) but i really wanted dimitri cuz he was my favorite lord (yeah the white male of the three lords was my fave 😔 maybe it's me or maybe it goes to show how they handled the other two in comparison). i was sort of prepping for a three houses character in the game by temporarily implementing dimitri into my headcanons and getting a small bromance started between him and link. i also wanted an air of mystique surrounding the professor (byleth) he brings up, so having him involved in smash was unideal. however, i was also aware of the previously mentioned point of them not picking one lord over another. dimitri was not gonna happen, but i still wanted byleth to not be in smash, so my mindset was "if no three houses lords, then no three houses rep at all"

so anyway byleth got into smash and i remember it so vividly. i could not watch the reveal live (with how the reveal was handled, thank god) because i was in class but during down time one of my friends who also liked smash ran up to me to tell me. i heard whispers online but i was in denial until he straight up told me unprompted. i kind of screamed "WHAT" a little too loudly (cuz i was still in a classroom we just weren't working 😭). and when i saw their renders online (which tbh look sick as hell like the rest of ultimate's renders) i think i temporarily started spiraling but i couldnt explain why i was acting funky because the reason why was so stupid lmao

(sort of reminds me of a time when i was anticipating persona 5 on switch in like, 2019 and heard an announcement was SURELY gonna reveal it, but then it didn't that and i was visibly disappointed during my morning math class to the point where my teacher TOLD MY COUNSELOR and i had to get pulled during the day to see her so she could check up on me LMAOOOO)

~

the reveal trailer that seemed to have been lab-tested to reflect as poorly on the character and fire emblem in smash as possible

it should go without saying that byleth might have one of the most unfortunate reveal trailers for smash, especially with the standards smash ultimate and especially the fighters pass had set. the fact that he was the LAST fighter of the first fighters pass is crazy in hindsight, imagine if it just ended there.

the only other character that could compare to the disparity between "expectation vs reality" was corrin who was revealed in the final smash 4 presentation (which promised to reveal the winner of the smash ballot so corrin just padded the runtime). corrin was also from a game that was not yet released outside of japan (i dont think it was even revealed to get a localization yet????) so not only was it kind of unecessary it felt like a very blatant ad for The New And Upcoming Fire Emblem Game!! (i know roy did this first, melee predates the release of binding blade after all, but it hits different when the character is revealed in a presentation loaded with expectations)

and of course, the awkwardness of corrin's reveal was the main start to souring people's opinions towards fire emblem in smash. i like corrin and i even like fates but... deserved. even if corrin's moveset was cool as hell.... nothing short of unfortunate

but back to byleth. both avatars actually have similar issues in their reveal trailers actually. the main sticking point is that they both just recycle a cutscene from their home game 💀💀 byleth at least got some new scenes in the style as the ""story"" of the trailer progressed but yeah the opening is straight up ripped from three houses. and crucial context is that this reveal wasn't revealed in a direct where general nintendo news was expected; this was revealed during a dedicated smash reveal, revealing the FINAL character of the first wave of dlc, so expectations were crazy high. the previous four dlc fighters were also ALL third parties that were either out of left-field or miracle picks, so byleth coming in was both mundane and comically funny with how out of place he looked in the lineup.

there was also the awkwardness of byleth's female alt being given her own splash screen, which some people watching thought was wierd since this wasn't extended to previous fe avatars revealed or even the other dragon quest heroes. this was because in japan male and female byleth have different names, so another splash screen for girl byleth was necessary, but that kinda got lost in english so now the trailer has an awkward pause revealing an alternate costume that was expected 😭

in general even if the trailer was plopped in a less... i guess high-stakes context (a mystery presentation dedicated to revealing the final FP1 character) and instead in a nintendo direct, it still would be a bad trailer because i must reiterate THEY REUSED A THREE HOUSES CUTSCENE TO OPEN THE REVEAL. like you could tell it was for smash and not say the three houses dlc since it's pulled from a random ass part of the game's story. there's no suspense since byleth is one of the first characters seen in the video too... maybe it could have been interesting if sothis, instead of helping byleth out of his bind, says "fuck you i'm joining smash" and then the splash card is like "SOTHIS DIVINELY INTERVENES" or some other shit but sothis doesnt really do anything in three houses so that does not seem plausible.....

uh but anyway, given the context and how mid their reveal trailers were i always toss up between corrin and byleth between who is worse. i guess corrin since he didn't get any new animated material in his trailer (after the ripped cutscene it's just gameplay footage), plus byleth being revealed to use the different hero's relics did surprise some people. corrin also being super unknown at the time also didn't help and he did poison the well when it came to fan reaction towards fire emblem characters.... but to be honest i kinda get a kick out of the "why side with one of the kingdoms when you can JOIN SMASH INSTEAD!!!" hook of the trailer/the reason why corrin joined smash. he's like jill in path of radiance, he recruited himself into the roster without anyone asking.

ok this section became more about corrin than byleth but the point is that byleth's reveal is similar to corrin in that it was so underwhelming given the context they were revealed in and the actual execution of their entrance into smash. unfortunate.

~

male byleth's voice actor

a fun bit of trivia i know as an english voice actor enjoyer: male byleth in english has been portrayed by two voice actors. in the launch of three houses he was voiced by chris niosi (who i only knew from octopath traveler but that's neither here nor there), but starting in a post launch patch onwards (including smash brothers) he's voiced by zach aguilar. why the change?

well i think there's been some word floating around that niosi was a kind of shitty person, but i think the more concrete reason was that he broke nda with nintendo by revealing he was the voice of byleth before he was allowed to announce it. i think i heard that he specifically said in some discord server that he was voicing a character that was guaranteed to be in smash.

now look at byleth now. he's in smash and not voiced by him. it's just really funny to me.

another thing that kind of tickles me is i recall when i used to watch zach aguilar's streams he'd usually introduce himself by stating the major characters he's voiced, as a voice actor may understandably do. and among his most important roles he always brings up byleth. makes sense since three houses was really popular and also he's in freaking smash! and sometimes i can only imagine chris niosi punching the air seeing someone else always state he voices byleth constantly when that could have been him if he didn't brag about it too early 🙃 (or idk maybe he doesn't care, i'm not really invested in whatever's going on with some random guy, i'm mostly just amused by the irony of it all and how it turned out in the end)

~

that's all. byleth was a very expected and mundane addition to the smash roster from a franchise that is not exactly well favored by smash fans, coming after two fire emblem characters who disappointed a lot of people (corrin, due to the circumstances previously mentioned, and chrom, the infamous Clone of a Clone), yet i always have so much to say about his existence in relation to smash.

[elliesgaymachete]

Re: the Mario discourse but also the ongoing “can you PLEASE just cast voice actors in animated films” debate

I LOVE animation but it’s happened so much in the last 5-10 years or so that I’m watching an animated movie and I immediately recognize the voice of a main character. Even if I don’t know off the top of my head who it is, I know it’s SOMEONE. And I look it up either during the movie or after the movie but I’m always like of COURSE. I KNEW it was someone. And idk it just takes me out of the film because all I can hear is this person. A good example of this is The Lego Movie because it’s also chr*s pr*tt. He’s a well known guy with a recognizable voice so it’s all you can hear

I’m not saying no live action actors are capable of voice acting, but oftentimes they rely on their physical performance or costumes or makeup to distinguish a character so when you take that away and all you can hear is their voice it just sounds the fuckin same all the time. Sure there’s emotion behind it and they are acting, but not well for the medium.

I’ve seen the comparison of live action actors trying theatre or vice versa, which is a good comparison, but not all actors can switch between mediums. It’s TOUGH. It’s a COMPLETELY different acting style and anyone who thinks it’s easy clearly knows nothing about acting. If live action actors want to try their hand at VO they should at least try to understand the new medium

Theatre actors are trained to act for the STAGE. Movie stars are trained to act for the SCREEN. Voice actors are trained to ACT with their VOICES. Whether their method is accents or dialects or something else, they actually embody a new character in simply their voice that, even if you recognize someone’s voice, you hear the character first, and THEN the person.

A good example of this for me personally is Travis Willingham. I knew him first from Critical Role but for those of you who don’t (even though I am like at least 75% a critical role blog lmao) he does a lot of VO for video games and dubs for anime, etc. He does have a deep/booming voice so is often cast as like a big buff/tough guy, but that’s not always the case!

When I first watched Fullmetal Alchemist I was told Travis Willingham was in the dub and I thought that was cool but I never heard his voice and about halfway through the show my friend asked me about Travis and I was like “hm, I’m not sure if I’ve met his character yet” and they looked at me like I was crazy

So I looked it up and it wasn’t until then that I realized he voiced Roy Mustang, aka one of the main characters who had been in nearly every episode of the show! It wasn’t his usual typecast and it was a while ago so he was much younger when he did the role, so once I realized THAT was him, I started to hear it when I listened but it still blew my mind. I didn’t recognize his voice AT ALL because I only heard the character, not the actor

That’s how a good animated production SHOULD treat its casting! Get someone who will make sure the audience hears the character first, not someone who’s voice just brings recognizable star power

[masterthespianduchovny]

Let’s talk about this Nate and Rebecca comparison again. 😊

There is a reason why I forgave Rebecca and why I’ll forgive Nate if he has the same introspection and emotional beats that she did surrounding the apology sequence.

Keeley gives Rebecca an ultimatum. “Either you tell Ted or I will.”

So the pressure to own up to the clusterfuck she created was there. It was time sensitive and she stood to lose a friend if she didn’t comply.

Rebecca calls Ted into her office saying that she’ll get straight to the point and not procrastinate while ironically doing neither.

We see this is difficult for her. It’s clear that she cares a lot for Ted and is realizing how much she stands to lose—not just her image, but Ted as friend as well, which is why she loses her nerve and sends him away.

Then Rupert comes in and drops a bomb, he and Bex are expecting. He dresses up this revelation as kindness and compassion opposed to callousness and cruelty. That he came to tell her face to face to watch her become distraught in real time. He revels in her pain. He wants to be the cause of it.

And the thing is: they both know this.

They both know he’s not trying to soften the blow of the new, but rather, add to it.

Rupert tries to frame her as hysterical. He tries to make her feel not good enough to have his child. Something he emotionally manipulated her into not having. A discussion they probably had for years, which he made her feel bad about.

Only to impregnate a younger woman and deem her “worthy” of having his child.

And he does hurt her.

We see the tears and the understanding as to how vile and evil is in Rebecca’s face. We see the understanding that Rupert gets off on emotionally harming her.

In that moment, Rebecca decides that she’s not going to be Rupert, she’s not going to end up like him. She’s not going to get off on others misery even if it’s his. It’s not her and so many people have gotten hurt, or could’ve, in the process.

Although she wants to keep ted in her life, as her friend, he has a right to know what she did. He has a right to quit and go the press. She’s not justified in what she’s done to Ted just because Rupert harmed her. And harming all of those people in the process just to hurt Rupert wasn’t right.

Rebecca sheds her fears and owns why she did because she doesn’t have the right to be shielded from Ted’s rightful anger. She doesn’t have the right to shield herself from something that is long overdo. She doesn’t have the right to take solace in a friendship that she feels she doesn’t deserve.

She deserves whatever Ted throws at her.

So she goes to face Ted and doesn’t justify or excuse her actions. There is not only remorse, there is also ownership of her actions. She doesn’t ask to be spared, plea for anything, beg, or influence Ted to take it easy on her.

In fact, she expects him to quit and tell the press, which she expects to weather after he airs our her dirty laundry.

And you know what, she was 100% prepared to accept accountability and responsibility for her actions.

Now this doesn’t erase the harm she did, but 1. Rebecca expressed remorse 2. She apologized 3. She was accountable 4. She didn’t try to influence him to forgive her and didn’t expect him to. 5. She gave him the space and freedom (no crowd) to make whatever decision he felt was appropriate even if she suffered massive consequences, which would’ve been deserved.

To be far to Nate, he’s in the middle of his story. So he didn’t have the same gut punch moment. We’ll see what that looks like at the end of the season.

What we get is Beard calling him out for what he said to Colin, Nate wondering if Ted knows, and being told to apologize.

I must note that Nate doesn’t appear to be remorseful about what he said, he just doesn’t want to get in trouble with Ted. Even if you argue that either Nate shouldn’t have to apologize to Colin since Colin used to bully him or that their relationship is too complicated to get to that point yet, Nate is still one of Colin’s coaches. If Nate isn’t mature enough to separate their history from their current relationship, he shouldn’t be a coach.

Remember, Roy was literally called out about this an episode or two ago and immediately corrected his behavior when called out by Ted. He cannot be a coach and selectively coach players. It doesn’t work that way.

Nate not only doesn’t give Colin the space and freedom to process his apology, the apology was insincere. There is no reckon king, reflection, or sincerity in his words. He’s apologizing because he has to and not because he means it.

The thing is: Nate should’ve apologized for allowing their past history interfere for his coaching responsibility and acknowledged that Colin did emotionally and physically hurt him, but it’s something he’s working to move past to be great at his job.

However, the person who really deserved the apology was Will and that’s what further highlights the entire charade. More so than Colin, Will deserved the apology and to be treated with respect. He deserves not to yelled at, afraid, and not to go to work at a hostile environment.

Instead, Nate further focuses on Will and his hostility increases.

Again, we are at the middle of Nate’s story, so anything can happen. But don’t get mad at me for using this comparison when I wasn’t the one who made it. Rather than people mentioning how Rebecca was forgiven for the fucked up shit she did, people should’ve said, “look at where Rebecca was around the half way mark in the first season and look at where she was in the finale; even though it looks bad, Nate still has time to turn this around.”

Instead people want to say, “y’all forgave Rebecca and Jamie for worse shit.”

Rebecca and Nate’s apologies are vastly different. After Rebecca apologized to Ted, she went and genuinely apologized to Higgins. Nate read a mean tweet and went and verbally abused and threatened Will.

For the third time, Nate is in the middle of his story and it does him a disservice to compare him to people with completed arcs. To people who has self reflection, made amends, and made active changes to become better people and useful to the bigger picture. Because we went on these full journeys, we’re able to forgive. Nate is still working through his shit and his actions aren’t a good look at all.

Let’s not set Nate up to fail currently by comparing him to people who have dealt with their shit heads on and learned from it. Let’s compare Nate’s journey to the middle of their stories and stress that his story isn’t over yet.

And let’s acknowledge that people have the right to feel angry and disturbed at Nate. Or how the power imbalance is vastly different from kitman and player v kitman and coach. This isn’t to say Jamie and co weren’t wrong to bully Nate, however, currently, as an assistant coach, he has more power over Will than the players did over him. Although Ted and Beard can override him, that relies on them always being around and seeing shit AND Will not being frightened to come forward. He may not think he’ll be able to or have support. Especially because they’re a crew, the Diamond Dogs.

Relying on other coaches to save or spare Will undercuts any reckoning and accountability for Nate. He needs to come to the realization that his behavior is fucked up and he shouldn’t be tormenting the kitman for any reason.

[whitherliliesbloom]

yet with each descent do we rise again

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #26 - when pigs fly ]

[ alphinaud/wol ]  ★ [ 2,548 words ]  ★ [ fairy au ]

illya skawi & alphinaud leveilleur. in an au where il mheg is home to a nation of fae folk, all of whom are ruled by titania illya. mentions @ancientechos​‘ laurelis, @firstblesssed​‘s elletha and @windupnamazu​‘s lunya. contains the origins / lore of porxies in this au. i also reveal illya’s fae name for the first time in this fic but who really cares-

if porxies were the manifestation of the impossible being made possible, why did the sight of them bring titania so much grief?

He’s seen no skies clearer than one that hung over Il Mheg, a testament to the majesty that was the fae folk and their magics, no doubt. Despite being told again and again by no few fairies and pixies alike that their kingdom was not how it used to be - her luster tarnished by the leeches that were the mortal race and the marks they’d left upon the land’s beauty - he, in all his ignorant mortal bliss, still believed the kingdom of rainbows to easily be the most beautiful place he’s had the fortune to set foot upon. 

And as he greets the stunning soft gradients of blues and cotton candy white that was the sunny morning sky, looking up and being momentarily blinded by the scorching, yet welcoming sun above, he hears a flutter and a twinkle behind him, the back of his neck tickled by a light gust that urges him to spin around as quickly as his artificial rhotano blue wings would allow him.

“'Q-Quel amrun, Alphinaud!” A voice of exceeding melody, one that rose in the air and echoed in his ears like the gentle rustle of leaves upon the wind greeted him in a language he had not yet mastered, and he finds color rising up his cheeks as he takes far too many seconds to find the words to respond.

“A-and good morning to you, your majesty.”

Evidently pleased at his understanding her verbal fae tongue, the queen smiles wider than he’s accustomed to, and the radiance she exudes as if she were a beam of pure, unfiltered light almost sends him reeling. 

“’Tis good to see fae blood still courses through your veins.”

Alphinaud bites back a chuckle, and he resists the urge to speak as he bows, watching beneath a curtain of thin lashes as the queen turns her head to breath in the scent of morning dew before directing her tender gaze towards the young man.

His gift - and by extension his duty was still something of an awkward point of conversation between him and the ruler of Il Mheg, despite knowing full well that this arrangement, as gloomy as it made him to remember, was only temporary. Once he finds the cure and the source of the curse, and fulfills his responsibilities as far as it pleased Titania, he will surely be made to leave. Il Mheg was no place for mortals, not after what they’ve done to the fae. 

And he was still very much mortal, despite the ring of silver and golden flower embellishments he wore upon his finger, and the gossamer wings that sprouted from his back. 

“What’s on your schedule today? Helping Beq Thon with those awful weeds again?” The queen asks, swinging her dainty little legs as she hovered just several feet above marble. Her crystalline wings flutter gently with uncanny grace like petals, and from their tips fell sparkling dusts like thistledown that swirled and were carried away with the chilly lake breeze. The flap of his wings by comparison were harsh and clumsy, and he’d very understandably been called a disgrace to all fairies by all who saw his poor attempts at flying as they do. 

Thankfully not, he almost answers, but his conscious is immediately assaulted by a pang of guilt as he remembers the grace in which Illya had granted him stay within her kingdom, and the boundless amounts of kindness that not only she, but the other residents of the fae nation has shown him thus far. Instead he manages something of a forced smile before shaking his head. “I came to see if you needed any sort of assistance, your majesty.”

“Me?” The young fae widens her eyes, hand rising up to rest upon her chest. The limpid silken scarf that hung from her hands ripple upon the wind with her movements. “Oh.. No, no.. There’s nothing I need help with.”

“Is that so? Have you some sort of business outside the castle, then? If you do then, surely, there’s some way I can help you.” 

A dust of pink spreads across her pallid cheeks and up to the tips of her pointed ears, but she is quick to hide her blush beneath the light shadows of her pure white bangs

“I-I was... just here to feed the porxies.”

“Porxies?”

As if summoned by the call of their name, a passel of squeaky porxies burst through the bushes, their sizeable ears flapping as they gathered around the queen and oinked in delight. Alphinaud is taken aback for but a moment, mouth agape as he watches Titania toss her pearlescent cane into the air. It sparkles for a moment before it morphs into a hefty palm-sized satchel that lands safely in the queen’s palms. 

“Here you go. There’s enough for everyone, so don’t be greedy!” 

Illya beckons to the porxies with a wave as she opens the sack, and the pungent smell of grime, rotten fruits and crushed flower paste sends him gasping and grimacing, to which the queen could only flash an apologetic wry smile for.

“Ah.. I’m sorry for the smell..  Their diet is rather um.. peculiar. ” 

“N..No! Pray.. forgive me my response.. I was just.... surprised..” Alphinaud pauses, watching as the porxies feasted happily upon their breakfast completely unaware of the stench. “I never would have thought their appetite would be whetted by such... waste.”

With large chomps and nibbles, the porxies begin to disperse in number as they eat their fill from the queen’s gentle palms, the grime of their feed leaving a dirty black stain upon her otherwise supple, clean hands. 

“They say one man’s waste is another’s treasure...” Illya murmurs as the second to last porxie in line flutters away, leaving the last of the pack to eat off the scraps of the scraps slowly, but gratefully. “W-well.. porxies, in this case.. But they help with cleaning up the trash by eating them.”

Despite the familiar euphony of her words, and the kindly gaze she held towards the lone porxie, he sensed a touch of melancholy, of a sadness that he knew she would hate for him to notice. It certainly must not have been the queen’s intentions - he knew it wouldn’t have been given her tendency for hiding any emotions that she deemed to be unqueenly of her. And if the accounts of her friends and advisor were to be trusted, it’s that Titania of all people bottled up a mountains worth of burden and sorrow inside herself - one she refused to show to anyone. 

Alphinaud is silent as he watches her, glowing and mesmerizing in her beauty as she gently strokes the top of the porxies head as it squeals gleefully at her. He can swear the sun’s rays grow twice more incandescent as they shone through her shimmering, glassy wings in pink and purple hues like stained glass, only second to the warm, glittering hues of her eyes that reminded him of a field of lavender and violets. 

She was ever like a beacon of effervescent light - not just to him, but to Il Mheg and her people. And yet she would not allow herself even the luxury of grieving, of showing her sadness to the world for fear of going against her duties. The divine royal sparkles that shone in her eyes were now clouded by the rain, of the hidden words she’s stopped herself from saying for who knows how long now.

And it pained him, enough to drive him to insolence, and he wouldn’t bemoan her if she thought to have him banished on the spot for it. 

“What has you feeling so downcast, your majesty?” 

His question sends panic rippling down her spine, and for a moment the queen gasps as she turns her head up to stare wide eyed at him. She thinks to shake her head furiously before flying away.. but caught in the headlights of his concerned, and frustratingly sincere gaze she gulps, and finally allows herself to frown.

It takes a lengthy silence, one accompanied by chirping and the distant chatters of the pixies, to be true.. but his attention is focused squarely on the lady, who places her palms on either sides of the porxies cheeks and narrows her eyes with a heart wrenching, upsetting look of defeat. And when she finally speaks, her voice no longer held the tone of a celebratory songbird, but like little windchimes, barely louder than a whisper as it rang amidst the drizzle.

“Do you happen to know where porxies came from, Alphinaud?”

The question causes his head to tilt curiously, and he answers with an honest ignorance.

“Are they.. not simply another type of fae?” 

“Well... yes and no. They’re um... like you.” Illya strokes the porxies skin lovingly, as if in apology for speaking of it. But its beady eyes remain bright and naive as it looks up at its queen as if she meant the entire world to it. “They’re not fae born.. They were made into fae by a Titania.” 

The queen closes her eyes, heaving a sigh through barely parted rosy lips.

“There was once a saying.. A figure of speech that I believe is of mortal origin.. but it was spoken by fae folk once too. ‘Iire beag roi’.. Referring to the concept of impossibilities.” Slowly Titania leans her head forward to nudge the porxies snout with her forehead, a sorrowful sign of affection before it sounds out a snort of delight and flutters away. 

“Titania had a son - Ose Iala was his birth name.. But he always preferred the names of mortals far more than one of his fae. And he kept that fascination of mortals and the outside world even as he grew older, old enough to voice out his disdain for our rules against executing mortals who stepped inside Il Mheg soil.

‘The day mortals and fae will ever coexist is the day pigs will fly’, Titania did say with a mocking glare towards Ose Iala.. and the prince, in his fury towards his father’s stubborn intolerance, casted a spell upon a herd of pigs that wandered into Il Mheg from a farm in Lakeland.” 

Alphinaud’s heart sinks into his stomach as he listens, expression awash with pity as he looks upon Titania tilting her head up to the sky, galaxy worn eyes tired and wary. And though he needn’t hear the rest of her words to know what.. or who exactly she was referring to, he allows her to pour what little bits of her caged heart she had the courage to share. 

“My father.. He made the impossible possible, preached that there was no such thing as impossibilities to his people and told me the same when I was but a sprout who barely just learned to fly. And he made the impossibility of fae folk existing with mortals a beautiful, wonderful reality.” 

Il Mheg has changed more within the past 3 generations than it did with the countless millenniums before then, for better or for worse.. The name of the Titania who brought about this tide of change was scorned by most of the fae kingdom and forgotten by the mortals who had seen Il Mheg as nothing but pools of gil and resources they could steal from. 

But that was a cruelty and a despair that has wrongfully be thrust upon the Titania of the present - of the one who bears the heaviest burden of them all. For beneath the opulence of her glamorous, glittering dresses and the pristine gemstones upon her flowery tiara, she was but a young girl - a fae equivalent to a mortal of teenage age, who has lost family and freedom both. And above all else, the lonely little fairy was now shackled with duty, of her obligations to undo the mistakes Ose Iala had done to blemish their kingdom. 

“And yet... despite the miracle I’ve been granted, I’m worthless as queen. I cannot save my people.” Her hands clench into fists, and blood drains from her knuckles and threatens to pour out of the cuts her nails leave as imprints upon her palms. “Forget Feo Sul, I...I’m not worthy of bearing the mortal name Illya either.”

Alphinaud mutters her name beneath his breath, and the sweetness that is left on the tip of his tongue as he does causes his heart to skip a beat. Feo Sul. The flower of treasures. Despite what Titania might say, the young scholar knows better than any other that her name fits perfectly better than any other fae or mortal he might ever meet. 

“But you have saved your people. The fae are able to find hope to renew Il Mheg because of you.” With a furrowed brow, Alphinaud hovers forward, daring himself to lift his hand and rest over clenched fists. 

“Elletha tells me of how much you work to keep the infirmary running, casting your magics so hard that the palms of your hands would start burning and she’d have to stop you. I’ve heard from so many pixies that the fairy that appears at night, Lunya... she was once a mortal that you saved from death despite her being a plunderer.” His words at once cause her eyes to water, but also soothes the tension in her hands, and she finds her fingers relaxing against his reassuring grasp. 

“And Laurelis.. Whenever I speak to her, she wouldn’t stop talking about you! About how you sacrificed some of your own royal blood to feed the soil of Timh Gyeus on the first day after your coronation so that flowers would bloom again.. Or how you dove head first into the longmirror lake to rid the waters of the litter and oil.” 

“A-Alphinaud.. P-please-”

“Or how you caught frost on your wings as you dug through the snowy mountains for a week looking for tsasan setgel.. Or the way you ripped the cursed thorns the Fuath had grown around the pillars of Lyhe Ghiah as a prank with your own bare hands because you could not bear the thought of having anyone else do so! ” 

His hand tightens its hold, fingers laced and intertwined with the gaps of her own as he moves closer and raises his voice. So that she will hear him, so that she will listen, and face the reality of her own kind deeds even if she’d refused to thus far. 

“You’re the miracle Il Mheg needed. The fact that you yet stand, strong and tall as you are despite everything you’ve been through, that is a miracle above all others.”

The tears that trickle down her cheeks and falls off her chin glisten as little gems, reflecting off the rays of the morning sun with a rainbow hue that he feels tempted to catch with his fingers, were they not occupied with holding hers. And the tiny panic he feels in his beating heart dissipates as when she sniffs, and forces a glowing smile upon her face.

“ Iire beag roi.. How silly a notion, I’m nothing of the sort.” 

And Alphinaud smiles back, eyes narrowing as he feels her fingers wrap around his in return. 

“ gu dearbh. Pigs already fly, remember?”

[annalyticall]

Anime Newbie in her Twenties Ranks her First 10 Anime

With the recommendations of my sister @ging-ler​ and friends, I started watching anime just over a year ago and within that time I’ve watched a total of 10 - some clocking in at almost 200 episodes and some with only 12. I told myself a while ago that once I had finished 10 anime shows I would rank them like some Anime Newbie WatchMojo list, so, here we are. Really this is just an excuse to force more of my unwarranted opinions onto unwilling followers.

I should also preface this by saying I don’t think any of the anime I watched this year was bad, and I enjoyed a lot about every show even if I ranked some low. However, the top three anime on my list are the ones I would recommend to anyone following me even if they don’t watch anime.

10. Death Note

Despite absolutely loathing the “protagonist” since episode one, I really enjoyed the first half of Death Note! The story was intriguing with all of its wild twist and turns and I found myself immediately invested in what was going to happen next. Unfortunately, after the death of who I thought was by far the best character, the show seems to go off the rails as it introduces new characters and contrived plot devices in the second half that were frankly hard for me to care about at that point. The ending was satisfying but I forced myself to sit through a lot of painful meandering to get there.

9. Cowboy Bebop

Cowboy Bebop was the first anime I watched as suggested to me by @mcsherrybr​. The smooth and jazzy art, atmosphere, animation, action, and music were all a lot of fun, as were the lovable ragtag group of misfits that made up the main cast. I enjoyed myself a lot while watching this western/sci-fi melding pot of a show, and I only ranked it so low because the last few episodes were a huge disappointment to my found-family-trope-loving heart.

8. Violet Evergarden

Violet Evergarden, following the story of a child soldier learning to love, is absolutely beautiful to look at and listen to. The music in this anime is, for me, THE best music from any show on this list. This is also the only anime that made me sob several times while watching it. The collection of short episodic stories that explore the deep facets of human love and connection are incredibly resonant and will stay with me for a long time. However, the strength of the small story arcs made the rushed overarching war story and finale weaker in comparison. Similarly, the memorable characters introduced in the one-off side plots were more interesting to me than the cast of rather bland reoccurring supporting characters. While I will remember a lot of great individual moments, I can’t seem to remember a single character’s name besides Violet’s, but that might also be due to being one of the shorter entries at only 12 episodes.

7. Hunter x Hunter (2011)

Going from one of the shortest anime on this list to the longest, Hunter x Hunter was an great and engrossing story during the entirety of its 160+ episodes. It’s colorful and playful, but can also be very dark and at times even heart-wrenching. Because it contains so many distinct arcs, there is a wide variety characters and stories to get attached to, and some, like the Chimera Ant Arc, I even cried over. But this also left me with issues regarding the pacing. The show has great action and introspective moments but will often drag with long drawn-out pauses between fights to explain simple concepts (though I understand that’s a common trope in old shonen anime in general). The world-building is rich but also caught me off guard with some strange ideas, and admittedly not all of them I liked. Some eccentric characters and concepts rubbed me the wrong way and ended up hindering my enjoyment of the show. Overall though, it was a lot of fun and I left with a few more endearing favorite characters, like Leorio and Killua.

6. Erased

Also a 12 episode anime, Erased was amazingly impactful for how short it was. Even as I followed the unfolding murder mystery, I was also touched by the meaningful themes and kind-hearted characters I met along the way. The already-strong story is accentuated with great symbolism, art, and music. The only problem I had was with the mystery itself; I was able to tell who the true killer was within the first 4 episodes, which didn’t lend itself well to suspense and I spent the remaining episodes frustrated that the main characters couldn’t see some obvious clues.This is a minor problem, though, since the finale has less to do with mystery and more about the morals and resolution of themes that I felt was satisfying.

5. Demon Slayer

Demon Slayer is gorgeous. The stunning art style, fluid animation, and breath-taking music are all valid reasons to watch it, but the main character Tanjiro and his unwavering devotion to find a cure for his sister-turned-demon Nezuko are the reasons to stay. Tanjiro is unbelievably gentle as he shows even the evil demons he has to slay a hard-fought kindness, and it’s those tender moments between all of the amazing action sequences that really elevate this show for me. The issues I have lie with the rest of the cast. While I love some supporting characters, like the pig-headed Inosuke and the stoic Giyuu, others have very niche personalities that can get annoying if they’re on screen for too long, which they definitely tend to be. Still, the bond between Tanjiro and Nezuko is so strong that it gets me through even those dragging scenes.

And it’s written by a woman!

4. My Hero Academia

Hey so this might come as a shock for anyone who’s followed me for a while: My Hero Academia is not my favorite anime! I do love it a lot - it’s the only anime on this list that has inspired me to read the manga, write fic, and buy merch. There are so many lovable characters and exciting arcs in this show that there is bound to be something for everyone to enjoy, both inside and outside of canon. It’s a wonderfully paced and animated deconstruction of the superhero genre and besides its deeper themes and commentary, there’s also just a lot of endearing teenage goofin’ to be had, and the show balances the tone of these two almost-equally engaging aspects of the story fairly well.

The downside, for me, is the show’s sexualization of female characters, especially the teenagers. With the likes of pervy fellow classmate Mineta, it’s a flaw that’s hard to avoid and takes up an unfortunate amount of screen time. There are in-universe characters that protest against this behavior, and the female characters are still well-written for the most part, but that doesn’t make up for the canon material including it at all. It’s not a huge part of the show but it’s present enough that it really knocks the ranking down for me.

3. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Out of my top 5, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is the only one that is complete. Because of that, I can tentatively say that so far, it is the best completed story on this list. From beginning to end, the pacing was perfect - the action never dragged, the characters were never unnecessary, and the plot twists were never unearned. I found myself more invested than I thought I would ever be for the large cast of characters, and everything, including its ending, was satisfying to watch. The animation is fluid and lent itself well to the most impactful scenes, especially involving the flame alchemist Roy Mustang. It’s also written by a woman! Really, the only nitpicks I have were with tonal problems - serious moments would sometimes be ruined by too much slapstick or visual gags.

As I mentioned before, my Top 3 are shows I would recommend to anyone who’s unfamiliar with anime simply because they’re good solid stories with almost no distracting anime tropes. This is a good place to start.

2. The Promised Neverland

The Promised Neverland is deceiving; on the surface it looks like a sweet show about a bunch of adorable kids playing together in the spacious green backyard of their quaint orphanage. Once you finish the first episode, however, you will quickly discover that there is definitely something more sinister lurking under the surface. This show is an expertly executed dark horror/thriller that always had me on the edge of my seat. The cute aesthetic never distracts from the suspense, in fact, it adds to the discomfort when the horrific visuals and expressions are contrasted against the character designs. I loved all of the characters, including the antagonist, who manages to be just as sympathetic as she is menacing. The sound design and music are also beautiful and adds so much to the rich atmosphere. I am definitely excited to see where this series will go!

1. Mob Psycho 100

ONE, the creator of Mob Psycho 100, said the single word he used for the concept for the series was “kindness”. Kindness shines through so much of this story following the life of Mob, a super-psychic kid that just wants to fit in, and I adore every second of it. While many shonen anime stories force the child protagonist to get stronger, become more powerful, and fight in battles against hostile adults, Mob Psycho 100 says “that’s stupid. Kids shouldn’t have to be traumatized by immature power-hungry adults. The only strength that anyone should pursue is strength of character, motivated by self-love and love for others.” And it says it with the most beautiful animation I have EVER seen in a show. The simplistic character designs mean the animators can have as much creative freedom as they like with expressions and movement, and they absolutely use that freedom. Humor is a large part of this mostly-comedy anime, but it makes the serious and introspective scenes so much more important when they do happen. The shifts between these two tones never feel awkward or imbalanced.

Mob Psycho 100 has inspired me to become more experimental and joy-seeking with my art, as well as just become a better person in my own life, which I can’t say for many other anime or many other pieces of media period. Even though a Season 3 hasn’t been officially announced yet, I can still safely say Mob Psycho 100 will forever hold a special place in my heart.

[your-worst-knightmare]

Hoist the Colours

“Yo ho, all together Hoist the colours high. Heave, ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die.”

The docks were noisy. They always were, during this time of year at least. The clamour of the people coupled with the pounding rain made for a strange melody. Calming, almost, if you were accustomed to it. Fishermen hauled barrels of fish off their boat, proud of their catch for the day. School upon school of fish swam through these waters this season, and with their bounty came people. And so, the docks were noisy. 

Noisy docks meant good business for barkeeps and innkeepers. It also meant good business for thieves and pickpockets, who took advantage of the lackadaisical wealthy who happened to wander too far into the Narrows. But if you had enough sense in your head, you knew better than to wander. Roy liked to think he had sense. His most perilous adventures were the immeasurable stack of dishes in the kitchen. Except for the influx of barfights newcomers brought with them, there was only one thing he had to worry about: Pirates. 

Oh, they were thieves of a higher breed and more ambitious in nature. They also possessed a strange sense of nobility, one that no particular barkeep could classify. Roy could, to an extent at least. But that was only because he had considered himself one in his youth. He had hung up the title long since, now spending his days mopping up spills or refilling some ruffian’s drink. Mundane tasks, but it was honest work at least. Unlike one of his oldest friends, he preferred an honest life to one of trickery and adventure. 

Jay Todd. The Damned Prince. The surname ‘Todd’ never stuck after he joined his first crew and insisted he was nobody. It almost made Roy laugh. Jay and Jay Todd were two different people completely. They did have one obnoxious trait in common though: they were both always ready to go for a round, them against the world. He was a captain now, in charge of a ghost ship, as they called it. A pseudo captain, if you will, because the captain was the only one on the ship. It wasn’t hard to imagine Jay out there, lonely as Lady Lune, with only memories for company.

Despite his conviction of loneliness, Jay always made his adventures seem wonderous. Tales of glory and swashbuckling, tales which seemed too tall to be true. Roy knew there was more to Jay’s life than emprise and endeavour, but he sometimes wondered: was a pirate’s life really all it was cut out to be?

––––––––––––––––

Damn. A pirate’s life was really not all it was cut out to be. Jason had just finished a job for an anonymous employer, and though the pay was good, he could use a break. Perhaps he’d pay Roy a visit. He wouldn’t be noticed much anyway, not with the amount of sailors that passed through that port this time of year. 

Jason set his course north, hoisted the sails and climbed the shroud to watch the endless waves. He made himself comfortable for the journey, an old sea shanty playing on his lips. It was funny, how much he sang to himself now. Roy would tease him endlessly if he found out, Jason could all but hear it right now. “‘Ey, look ‘ere boys, the old bird’s finally singin’ for us!” 

Despite the time that had passed, he still knew exactly where to find Roy. Only the side of town with a raging infamy for brawls of the most dramatic kind would house Roy. It was always wise to enter town with some sort of concealed weapon, but especially when one entered the place Roy called home. It was as if he used his circumstances of living to satisfy his thirst for adventure.

The bar was busy, and so Jason wasn’t noticed when he stepped inside. All the attention the bar could hold was directed on one individual: a woman challenging sailor after sailor to fistfights. She had a captain’s hat on over her russet hair, merely to show her rank. It was braided back on one side of her head, a clever combination of style and practicality. She looked familiar, and Jason kept trying and failing to place her. He would have thought about it all day if Roy hadn’t found him first.

“ Hey, ‘ya  finally come ‘ta visit and ‘ya don’t even stop for a hello.” 

“I came here to find you, ‘ya big crybaby. I’m here now, so stop whining,” Jason said, giving Roy a hearty clap on the back. Roy brought out some food and they sat down, as far as they could from the commotion.

“So, Jaybird, how’s life been treatin’ ‘ya?”

“Not bad. Finished a job in the Southern Isles. Came ‘ere for a little break before my next job.”

Roy slammed his mug on the table wiping his mouth. “Where’s all the charisma gone? The adventure? The next thrilling tale in the saga?”

“Aw, Roy, not every job is exciting. Some o’ them are jes’ messy an’ tiring.”

“‘Ol captain ready to hang up the hat then, eh? Ready to settle down with some nice lady?” Roy raised his eyebrows, mocking. 

“I won’t hang up the hat ‘till I go down to Davy Jones’ locker or Angel comes ‘ta take me. Can’t, rather. My mistress will have to live with it then, won’t she?” 

Roy let out a good-natured snort. “Unless you plan on wooing the Red Amazon herself,” Roy said, gesturing to the red-haired pirate in the middle of the bar, “ you’re goin’ ‘ta spend your days alone, mate.”

“Is that what her name is?”

“Aye. Loud as a pistol and twice as destructive, she is. Had to drag at least five folks out jes’ today.” Jason kept staring, his intent clear in his eyes. “Oh no, you’re not going to. She’s knocked every ol’ seadog here into sharkbait. ‘Ya don’t stand a chance.”

Jason got up, heedless of Roy’s words. The latest challenger stumbled out of the Red Amazon’s reach, yielding before he was hurt too badly. She smoothed her hair, annoyingly, before pausing to look Jason up and down. “Pray, sir, who might you be? Another challenger?” Her accent suggested a respectable upbringing, which caught Jason off guard.

“If ‘ya wish me to be, miss. I ask for a conversation if I do win.”

She thought for a moment, watching him twist a gold ring on his finger. “When you lose, I’d like your ring.” 

He looked down at it. It was an intricate thing, and probably held quite some value. Alas, he could find another ring, not another conversation. “Fine. Draw your cutlass.”

She raised her eyebrows. “A duel? If that’s what you want, then.” She held a hand out, reaching towards thin air. “To me, Mistress.” When called, a huge, polished sword came flying to the Amazon’s hand. A magical item, then. 

Jason drew his own cutlass, quite modest in comparison. The Amazon smirked, a mischievous light burning in her eyes. Green eyes, he realized. Her first strike was so fast that Jason struggled to meet it. The clang of metal against metal echoed in the now quiet bar while the audience held their breath. 

The blows were so rapid that the fight quickly became a show of instinct and muscle memory. Jason was proud to say that he held his own quite well, albeit a nick he had sustained to the arm. She held no wounds, as of yet, but if Jason couldn’t prove his skills, he’d prove his spirit. 

The Amazon deflected Jason’s latest strike onto the ground.” Really, I’d like to know who you are.”

Jason thrust another strike towards her breathlessly. “ The Prince, miss,” he said, stepping back, tipping his head. “ The Damned Prince.”

“Well,” she began, taking the opportunity to disarm Jason of his weapon. It clattered to the ground loudly and he grimaced as she pressed her blade against his throat. “I’ve ne’er seen a prince so ragged as you.”

Discreetly, he unsheathed his concealed knife, pressing it to her side. “Looks aren’t everything, mate,” he smiled. “A draw, then?”

The Amazon bared her teeth, sneering. She sheathed her sword, but not before giving Jason another small taste of its blade. “ A dirty rapscallion, y’ are.” 

He handed her the ring as Roy found seats for them and drove their audience away. “ A good duel, wasn’t it?”

“Tell me what your business is before I find you a dance with Jack Ketch.”

“I heard news that you was lookin’ for a bow. My ol’ employer wanted it too. What’s the fuss wi’ it?”

“It’s a calamitous weapon. Lord knows what would happen if it were taken by th’ wrong buccaneer.” She pushed her chair back, ready to leave. “I’m not looking for any hands. You may go.”

“I know where ‘ta start lookin’.”

She stopped, now interested. “ Pray, then, where?”

He told her what he knew, from the gossip he had heard in the Southern Isles. The journey would be long, but work was what he had come looking for. “All I ask is that I accompany you.”

“Fine. No prey, no pay, Prince. We leave at dawn.”

A share of any loot was fine by him. He’d leave his ship for Roy to take care of until he came back. He just needed to make sure his old employer, whoever he was, didn’t get his hands onto the bow. Jason took off his hat and extended his hand. “Jay Peter Todd.”

The Amazon returned the gesture. “Artemis Grace. Don’t be late.”

 Should I do a part two?? 

[dibs4ever]

First dates (part3)

Barbara was finishing up case work, so that she wouldn’t have to worry about it during her third date with Dick. He hadn’t told her where they were going, but said when he got there he would tell her what she needed.

There was a knock on the door and she quickly went over to the door knowing it was Dick.

“Hey Hands—-Lian?” She opened the door to see Dick in her doorway, Lian on his hip.

He rolled his eyes continuing in, “Roy is working so....here I am”

She looked oddly “Nobody else could watch her?”

Dick set down the squirming toddler “I don’t know, ever since Jade abandoned her he’s been stretched to his limits. He showed up at my apartment this morning and said he had nobody else to watch her. I’m lucky he gave me a car seat. Otherwise I don’t know how I would of got here.”

She watched the little girl who had just turned 2 explore the apartment. “So do you want to cancel?”

He quickly shook his head “We can just bring her with us”

“On a date?” Barbara rose an eyebrow

Dick nodded “She can enjoy where we are going. It’s to the water park” he smiled

Barbara grinned “Was this just so you could see me in a bathing suit?”

He smiled “Perhaps but it’s a win for both of us cause you get to see me. In a bathing suit.”

Barbara smiled “Oh is that what is under this white tank top?” She placed her hand on his stomach, now taking notice of his blue swim trunks

He smiled “Wanna feel them?”

He flexed his abdomen so she could feel his abs “You asking or telling?” Barbara’s hand began moving to the hem of his shirt

“Uncie Bick!!! I wear bafing soot!” A little voice pipped pulling them apart.

Dick jumped “Of course sweetie! Uncle Dick has your new bathing suit right here.” He patted the white plastic bag

Barbara smiled “You bought her a bathing suit?”

Dick nodded “Yeah. Couldn’t take the kid in a her birthday suit. “ he teased “Oh you’ll love it” he dug into the bag holding up a tiny one piece bathing suit that looked like Wonder Woman’s suit “Isn’t it cute?”

She laughed “Adorable. I guess I’ll go put on my suit.” She thumbed to her bedroom. Dick nodded “While you’re doing that I’ll change her into hers.”

Barbara stepped out of her bedroom to find Dick chasing Lian as she giggled “I’m gonna get you Wonder woman” he spoke in a mock threatening voice. He was currently crouched down behind the couch while Lian, in her new bathing suit tip toed around the living room looking for him. Her face filled with anticipation.

When she reached the couch Dick jumped out rolling with her and landing on his back with her on his stomach “I caught you!” He said triumphantly

Lian began punching his stomach and chest with her tiny fist til Dick pretended to be passed out.

Lian laughed again

“Alright you two are you ready to go to the water park?” Barbara asked

Lian smiled “Wata-Park, Wata-Park!” She cheered.

Dick smiled scooping her up as he stood “Alright ladies let’s get going.” He grinned

They had a great time at the park, mainly playing in a wave pool, passing Lian back and forth. Then sitting together in the shallow end while Lian played on the children’s play structure only a few feet away from them.

Just after lunch, the phone rang Roy called saying he’d meet them at the entrance to pick up Lian.

After he got her that allowed them to do what they wanted and go on the larger slides, swim together in the larger pool and be a little bit more intimate.

As they drove home Barbara was smiling

“What?” Dick asked finally

Barbara shrugged “You were really good with Lian today. Playing with her and taking care of her.”

He shook his head “It was nothing Babs.”

“Dick not all men would change a kid into her clothes, make sure her hot dog is cut up so she doesn’t choke and play with her till her hearts content. Some fathers aren’t even that good with their kids.” She shook her head “Don’t sell yourself so short handsome.” She patted his leg

Dick smiled taking her hand from his leg and squeezing it lightly “Well Yeah, you know how much I like kids.” He reminded

She nodded “Do you want one someday?”

“Is that an invite?” He waggled his eyebrows

Barbara rolled her eyes

Dick shrugged “Id absolutely love to be a father one day. But given my life, given I’m Nightwing it’ll probably never happen.”

Barbara nodded unsure of what to say because she get the same way herself.

They arrived back at her apartment. Once again departing with a heavy make out session before bidding goodbye.

She reached her apartment smiling when the door closed. Just as a FaceTime call came through. Quickly she answered it “Hey Dinah” Barbara smiled

Dinah’s face appeared “ Hey girl” she examined Barbara “Oh my God What’s his name?”

She shook her head “What’s who’s name?”

“It’s written all over your face Barb.” Dinah rolled her eyes “Who’s the new guy?”

Barbara smiled “ Who said there’s a new guy?”

Her friend shrugged “I haven’t seen you this giddy in years. Who has you feeling like a cheesy rom com?”

Barbara laughed lightly at her comparison “ Okay it’s a guy but he’s not new” she admitted. She bit her lip “It’s Dick!!!” She exclaimed

Dinah furrowed her eyebrows “Dick? But haven’t you two already.....” she waggled her eyebrows

Barbara bit her lip “We are taking a break from that.”

“And how is that going?” Dinah snorted

She laughed “It’s not easy, but it’ll be worth it if it helps us become a couple in the end ....which” she sighed blissfully “I want so badly Di, Dick is just .....amazing.”

Dinah smiled “How long have I been telling you that you won’t think any guy is ‘right’ unless he’s Dick Grayson .”

Barbara smiled “I know you should have seen him with Lian today it was adorable, or when we went to the Whitman museum last week and he read poetry...ugh it was so hot. Oh and when he kept sending me these cute little smiles at dinner on the river a few days before that.”

“Sounds like someone is head over heals. “When you finally do the dirty again, send me the video.”

Barbara’s eyes widened “Dinah!”

She rolled her eyes “Oh don’t pride yourself. You know that you two are hot together”

Barbara smiled “I’ll catch up with you later Di.”

“So is that a yes to sending me a video? I think Ollie would enjoy seeing it too” Dinah continued to tease

She laughed “Bye Dinah”

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-eight – The Last Stage

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm terribly sorry for all the delays lately; getting ready for conventions has had be too busy to write. But con season is done for me until October, so I should be able to get back on a steadier schedule! Thank you all for being patient. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

-----

Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Last Stage

CITY OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1423 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

For the second time in a week, vehicles bearing the Amestrian military crest entered through the massive arched gate, led by a lone horseman, proceeding cautiously up the avenue. The pair of trucks sent rumbling engine vibrations echoing from building façades, drawing a few stares from pedestrians, but far fewer than their predecessor's arrival.

As before, they drew up in front of the open entrance to the library, all the travellers disembarking as soon as the engines were turned off. None moved faster, however, than the black and white blur that shot from the lead truck, barking happily at the sight of his mistress.

Crouching, Riza allowed Hayate to fling himself bodily into her arms, smiling as he licked frantically at her cheek, whining softly. "I know, boy, I know," she murmured, one hand holding him to her, the other ruffling his ears. "I missed you, too." She glanced up at the others just beginning to approach, and gently nudged Hayate to stay put as she got to her feet.

As the ranking officer present, it was Alex Louis Armstrong who stepped forward, offering her a crisp salute that she returned with perfect precision. "Reinforcements arriving as requested, Lieutenant," he said solemnly, his tall frame blocking out the afternoon sun to cast her in shadow.

"We're grateful you could come, Major," she answered formally. Taking a step to the side, she turned partially to indicate those waiting just behind her. "You already know Major Miles, and you know Scar, of course," she said, conscious that she was omitting that the two had met via a fight in the streets of Central. "The other gentleman is Scar's teacher, and our liaison with the Ishvalan priesthood."

Armstrong bowed deeply, the sun glinting from his shaven, shining scalp. "An honour," he intoned, before straightening, and indicating the rest of his party. "I have with me Second Lieutenants Falman, Breda, and Catalina, specialists in research, strategy, and combat, respectively. I have also brought our communications specialist, Master Sergeant Fuery." He drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "And I am Major Alex Louis Armstrong, of the Central Investigations Office."

The Master stepped forward, answering Armstrong's earlier bow with one of his own. "You are well met, Major," he said in greeting. "We know you have important work to do, so we won't put your group through the formal welcoming. However, if you will consent to it, we will offer a blessing on your work to be done here."

Armstrong seemed slightly taken aback, but only momentarily. "I have no objection," he answered after a moment, and then, in an aside to Riza as the Master turned to an acolyte, he added, "Where is the Colonel?"

"Get through this first, sir, and then I'll take you to him," she answered in a low murmur, before taking several steps to the side. Hayate followed at her heels, loath to part company. From the corner of her eyes, she saw both Rebecca and Breda giving her quizzical looks and she waved their concern away with a single motion of her hand.

The Master stood forward on the library steps, flanked by three acolytes on one side and two on the other. He spoke briefly in Ishvalan, some kind of prayer, by the tone, and then switched to Amestrian. "Our God Ishbala, we ask your blessing, your protection, your guidance, and your strength on those who come to aid your people, on those who have journeyed so far for such a noble purpose. May the work they do be to the benefit of all, and may they go in safety."

As one, the five acolytes stepped forward, each of them placing a protection charm around the neck of a new arrival. Taking a step back, they bowed, then turned and filed into the library, leaving the Master alone on the steps. He smiled. "I'm sure you're all anxious to get settled, so I won't delay you any farther." He nodded to the trucks. "Leave your vehicles here, and my people will see to unloading them. Lieutenant Hawkeye will show you to the quarters we have allotted for you."

He bowed, and disappeared inside, leaving the group of seven Amestrians alone in the plaza among a smattering of Ishvalan pedestrians.

Riza took a moment to survey the array of expressions on the faces before her – ranging from wariness to confusion – and gave a small smile… albeit one that wasn't entirely heartfelt. "If you'll follow me? I have all the information for your lodgings and the Reconstruction Authority offices at the accommodations given to the Colonel and I."

She didn't wait for the reply, merely turning and starting for the pedestrian arch that led north out of the plaza. There was a pause of a few seconds before the others got themselves in gear after her, footsteps shuffling the sand as they moved. One set detached themselves from the group at large, hurrying to catch up, and Riza was not surprised when Rebecca fell in beside her.

"What's going on?" the brunette demanded, ignoring military protocol as she usually did when it came to Riza. "You and Mustang are practically joined at the hip and yet you show up to meet us without him?"

"The Colonel is otherwise occupied at the moment," she answered, knowing the words sounded stiff and forced, but not knowing what else to say. She could hardly explain herself properly when there were civilians around, especially civilians who had no idea what had been happening behind the scenes in the city. "He sent me in his place."

"Occupied how?" Fuery asked curiously from behind her. "Has something happened in the case since we left?"

Riza's reply of "You could say that…." was so quiet that only Rebecca heard, and from the grim look on her friend's face, she instinctively knew better than to ask what she meant.

---------------

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1450 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

Curiosity was the primary expression on each face as the newcomers followed Riza through the door into the small adobe house. Armstrong had to duck substantially to fit his six-foot-nine frame through the entry, and when he stood straight again, his lone blond curl came dangerously close to brushing the ceiling.

"Not bad," Rebecca said, her eyes roaming over the entryway, and the kitchen and dining nook off to one side. "Kind of… homey, for the desert."

"Ours are going to be similar?" Fuery asked, closing the door behind the group as the last one to enter.

"The Reconstruction Authority has given you clearance for two of the houses in the immediate vicinity," Riza explained, pausing to scoop little Hayate into her arms; he settled immediately against her shoulder. "Falman, Fuery, and Breda will have the use of one; Major, you and Rebecca will have the other, unless you have any objections?"

"Not objections so much as questions," Armstrong replied. Standing straight, he fixed her with a firm, disciplinary stare that was not unlike his eldest sister's trademark look. "You still haven't answered the question from earlier, Lieutenant. On where the Colonel is and what exactly has him, as you put it, 'otherwise occupied.'"

"She probably hasn't told you because she's not sure what to tell you," a new voice chimed in, from the direction of the open living room.

Riza breathed a soft sigh, then turned toward Roy's voice, motioning the others to follow. "It happened shortly after I finished issuing the orders for you all to join us here," she said, moving down the short hall from the entryway into the living area, its normally sunlit walls dimmed by curtains drawn across the window. Enough light remained to see clearly, but when the room came into the group's view, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

Roy sat in chair across the room, his posture not quite straight, and almost… listless. Riza felt her stomach shift in nervousness as his eyes, seemingly blacker than usual in his abnormally pale face, lifted from the sheaf of looseleaf notes in his hands. His lopsided grin was still boyish, but lacked convincing strength.

There was a hissing intake of breath from Breda, and then cold silence settled on the room, the new arrivals clustered near the hallway, all five staring in mute shock at the man in the chair. The man, who, quite literally, paled in comparison the Roy Mustang they knew.

After a long, tense moment, Roy sighed and held the papers out to Riza. "The others said they would be back before too long, but they left that for us to look over and bring everyone up to speed," he said, fatigue pervading his voice. "At the very least, it gives us the information we need to formulate a proper plan of attack."

She took the small stack, nodding solemnly. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Especially now that we have the reinforcements we need to carry out any plan successfully."

"Looks like you could use us," Breda observed doubtfully, the first to find his tongue after the initial shock. "No offense, Chief, but you look about ready to drop."

Annoyance flashed across Roy's face, and Riza felt something twitch guiltily in her chest. Another new symptom could only mean progression. Progression meant the Roy she knew was taking another step away from her… and was therefore one step closer to a slip that could plunge him down into a prison of his own mind's making. And who knew what kind of personality would take his place?

Thankfully, whatever instant of anger had shown on his face lasted only that long: an instant. When he spoke, his voice was just as calm as before. "I can handle it," he assured his master strategist. "I'll be fine by tomorrow. I'm already better off than I was yesterday."

Armstrong's brow furrowed more sharply as his concern deepened. "You were worse than this yesterday, sir?" Blue eyes went from Roy, to Riza, and back again. "I suppose we can be thankful for that, but… what exactly is this?"

"Another question, if I may?" Falman half-raised a hand for attention as he spoke, then pointed to his own charm, the others around him, and finally to Riza's. "Why are we all wearing these… but the Colonel isn't?"

Roy looked his First Lieutenant, his smile wry but without much humour. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?" he asked, his voice already weary at the thought of it.

Riza settled to a comfortable seat on a large cushion, motioning the others to do the same. She settled Hayate on her lap, the little dog already starting to blink sleepily after all the excitement. "I can. But you'll all want to sit down; we're going to be here for a while."

---------------

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1242 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

For what felt like an eternity, all the two of them did was stare at each other in blank shock. Slowly, feeling like he was in a dream, Roy lifted one hand to the slowly fading sting on the side of his neck, feeling dread begin to pool in his chest as his fingers touched something warm, damp, and sticky.

He knew, even before he pulled his hand back to study his red-stained fingertips, that it was blood.

No sooner had his gaze settled, wide-eyed, on his fingers, than Riza scrambled from her spot on the bed and bolted out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. Still feeling a sense of disconnect, Roy didn't move, didn't react as he heard the water run, heard her rinse and spit.

She… bit me. Okay. Don't panic yet, he told himself. Forcing the worry and dread back, he got to his feet and followed her, only to find her with her hands braced on the bathroom counter, her head bowed as she stood over the sink. Strange, he thought, the words coming to him as though from a great distance, this is the second time in less than two weeks I've followed her as she bolted into a bathroom to spit out blood.

She didn't register his presence behind her, evidenced by the way she jumped at the sound of a short length of toilet paper being torn from the roll. She whirled, and Roy put his hand up. "It's just me."

His voice sounded flat and mechanical, even to him, and it certainly didn't do much to dispel her worrying. Brown eyes darted to the side of his neck… and she was abruptly herself again. Riza took a sharp breath in through her nose, letting it out in a businesslike huff as she squared her shoulders.

"Let me see," she said quietly, moving aside to let him lean back against the counter. She took the folded piece of tissue Roy passed to her, then stepped close, reaching up to dab away the blood.

"If it's any consolation, it doesn't hurt," he said, staring at the way her hair fell smoothly behind her shoulders. It had been tickling his nose mere moments before she bit, he had felt it brush over his forehead, over his chest as she ducked her head to sink those pointed teeth into his exposed neck –

"Maybe not," she pointed put, her tone dark and guilty, "but I'd say we have a bigger problem on our hands."

"Didn't your father always say I'd get you into trouble one day?" He grinned unsteadily as she looked up, her eyes blank with surprise that he would or could make a joke at a time like this.

"Roy, I'm the one who's just gotten you into trouble," she pointed out. Her eyes strayed to the marks on his neck, staring at them in muted horror. "I don't… I didn't mean to–"

"Sshhh, I know you didn't," he soothed, taking the tissue from her hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. "Maybe after an extended period with the vampire persona in charge, it was reflex?" He tugged gently on the pouch around her neck. "With this on, it should block most vampire effects, shouldn't it?"

"Most, yes," she agreed, then shook her head. "But not the weakness in sunlight, not the paleness of the skin… and maybe not the transmission of vampirism through a bite." She looked up, the guilt heavy in her eyes. "I suppose we won't know for sure, until…."

"Until the symptoms either show up or don't." His lips pressed into a grim line. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. It shouldn't take long; Kimblee bit you in the middle of the night and you were deep into the fatigue the next morning. If there's anything working at infecting me, I'd say we'll know by dinnertime."

She regarded him a moment, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right… and it's not as though we don't know how to fix it, if you are infected. Once the vampire that turned a victim is taken out, then –"

His eyes widened at her implication, and his hands went automatically to her shoulders. "Why would you say something like that?! Riza, I'd sooner live ten lifetimes as a vampire than have you sacrifice yourself like that so I could live a normal life!" He faltered a moment, slightly confused by the way she was staring at him in surprise. How could she think that he wouldn't fight to keep her safe, even from herself?

"I…." He hesitated, then started again. "After the last six months, after I only just got you back from being under Bradley's thumb…. I don't want to give you up again. Not even for something as serious as this."

She was smiling by the time he finished his explanation. "You think I would voluntarily leave you after those six months?" she asked, her hands lifting to gently slip his from her shoulders. "Don't forget that I only just got you back, as well. No, what I meant was that to cure you, the vampirism on me has to be lifted. To do that, we have to destroy Kimblee. Destroying him destroys my vampire self, which is responsible for turning you. Does that make sense?"

"A chain reaction." Relief flooded his chest, and he grinned awkwardly. "Sorry, I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"That's all right." She eyed him again, this time with a measure of satisfaction. "You know, you're taking this very well, for a man who might start transforming into a blood-hungry supernatural creature in the next few hours."

His grin was unsteady, but genuine. "Well, I'm much less calm on the inside." He shook his head. "What are we going to tell Scar and Miles, not to mention the others?"

---------------

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1525 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"The symptoms started later that night, around nine," Riza said, wrapping up the story. "We suspect it took longer than we thought because my full vampire persona hadn't emerged when he was bitten. The bite still had the ultimate effect of infecting him, but it was a small amount and thus worked more slowly."

Roy had not moved from his chair; if anything, he seemed to have sunk farther into it. "About nine, I fell asleep on the couch, and I don't remember waking up until noon the next day." He looked to his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye tells me she got Scar and Miles to drag me to bed, which I might have paid money to see." He lifted his left foot and let it drop back to the ground. "At least now I can do that without having to take a nap afterward."

"The first symptom is extreme tiredness," Riza explained. "While the vampirism leaches your body's energy to feed itself. After that, as you may have noticed, is annoyance and flashes of anger, which he's just started to exhibit."

"You don't have to treat me like a museum display," Roy muttered, half under his breath, as though in demonstration. Riza shot him a sidelong look, which he caught, and he immediately dropped his gaze. "…Sorry."

"You always did wear strong emotions on your sleeve, Chief," Breda said, forcing his tone to sound light. "But how did you come to be bitten in the first place?"

Riza had her answer ready, and delivered the reply calmly. "I had dropped a glass and broken it, so the Colonel offered to fix it with alchemy. Secretly, of course, since the Ishvalans don't approve of the practice," she lied. "I must have stood too close when the transmutation activated; and for whatever reason, the proximity to the energy transfer caused the vampire persona to show through, not much, but enough. Just long enough for me to bite him."

Rebecca frowned. "I thought you said your vampire side was suppressed?"

"It was. It is." The blonde Lieutenant's lipped thinned in self-recrimination. She reached up, touching the cloth pouch that hung around her neck. "Falman, you asked about these. All of you were given these when you arrived and told they were a token of blessing. They're actually an Ishvalan religious charm we've developed as protection against vampirism."

"Ohhh, I get it." Fuery's eyes lit with understanding behind his glasses. "They protect us by being repellent to vampires, and they keep your vampire side suppressed the same way."

"Exactly." Riza glanced to where Roy watched her, his eyes seeming to grow darker in the shadows of the room. "You also noticed that the Colonel isn't wearing one. We don't know what would happen if a fledgling vampire were forced to wear a charm; it could be the new persona wouldn't be strong enough to withstand the suppression, and if it were harmed or destroyed at such an early stage, it might take the host with it."

"I see…" Armstrong rumbled. "His vampire self is being allowed to develop so that it can later be suppressed with a charm at a lower risk to his body. Risky, admittedly, but the smart move to make."

"A smarter move is letting you all know what we're up against." Roy's gaze shifted from person to person, watching for reactions. "You all know that the serial killer from Central and East City is a vampire. That's been made abundantly clear. But what you may not be aware if is that this vampire is a blast from the past. Five pasts in particular: Scar's, Miles', Armstrong's, Hawkeye's, and mine."

"As for the rest of you," Riza said calmly, tightly gripping one hand with the other to help keep herself collected, "you all at least know the name Solf J. Kimblee."

There were more than a few soft gasps and suddenly clenched jaws in the room. Armstrong immediately stiffened, standing taller and coming perilously close to cracking his head off of the ceiling. Fuery gulped audibly.

"I thought… he was dead?" Falman asked, sounding uncertain, as though his own flawless memory might be playing tricks on him.

"So did we. He was eaten by Pride after failing to stop Alphonse on the Promised Day and being left mortally wounded," Riza explained. "However, vampires have a tendency to be classed as undead, which is what he became after Pride was destroyed. There's some very complex, very dark alchemy involved that I don't fully understand, but suffice to say that this vampire version of Kimblee is made up of what's left of Gluttony's hunger, Pride's arrogance and hatred for humans, and Kimblee's own psychotic personality."

"Great," Rebecca muttered. "So it's not just a vampire serial killer, it's a psychopathic vampire serial killer. I think I'd rather have Homonculi and those creepy, soulless white creatures you guys talked about."

"All of this begs the question," Falman interjected, "of just what we're planning to do about the vampire problem. How do we stop him?"

"The consensus so far is that we'll have to kill him," Roy answered, his tone heavy with weariness. "There's exactly one way to keep him confined, but it amounts to putting him back in prison. A very arcane and unconventional sort of prison, but prison nonetheless. And simply locking him away doesn't fix the problem that Hawkeye and I would both still be vampires."

Fuery spoke up, sounding slightly unsure, but gathering confidence. "From everything I've read… if you kill the vampire 'sire,' the one who turned a victim first, then you remove the vampiric curse – I guess it's a curse? That's what all the books called it. – on the people he turned, and once they're no longer vampires, the people they turned change back, and so on. It's a kind of cascade failure."

"Our thoughts exactly," Roy said, with an approving nod.

"How do you kill something like him?" Breda asked, the introspective look in his eyes suggesting he was already trying to think of a solution. "Vampires are supposed to be immortal, aren't they?"

"Not this kind," Riza assured him. "They're certainly extremely resilient, and I wouldn't trust them to fall immediately from a gunshot or explosion… but the damage from such a wound would kill them eventually."

"The trouble is that they could still cause quite a bit of damage even while mortally wounded," Armstrong added, and Riza nodded in affirmation. "So whatever method we use to bring him down will have to ensure he falls immediately."

"I don't know about you," Rebecca said, her nose wrinkling in distaste, "but I can only think of one way to do that."

"We've had a few days to talk it over, when I wasn't nearly passing out," Roy said. His dark eyes glittered at the thought of what needed to be done, and while Riza didn't entirely like it, she knew it was the vampire persona reacting, not his own mind. His voice was strong in the quiet room when he spoke again. "Like you said, there's not really much other choice.

We've got to take his damn head off."

----------------

RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBOURHOOD, JADAD, ISHVAL

1607 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"It took you a little longer than we thought to reach the city," Riza commented, walking with Rebecca along the short, sandswept street to one of the houses allotted for the reinforcements' use. "What held you up?"

"One of the trucks got a flat about a day out from East City," the brunette answered. Her eyes roved constantly around the street, taking in the architecture, the people, and occasionally her friend. "We paused long enough for Armstrong to repair it with alchemy, but getting those things on and off the axles takes time. Aside from that, the only stops we made were for bathroom breaks, meals, or refuelling."

"I see." Riza gave her a sidelong glance, keeping her voice quiet. "And were you able to bring the special request I asked about?"

"Of course." Rebecca grinned. "It's all in a crate at the very back of the truck, away from any prying eyes. I labelled it as spare truck parts, so as not to raise suspicion, and so that whoever unpacked it on this end would leave it where it was."

"Well done." She smiled, a real, genuine smile she hadn't felt up to giving for a day or so. "I knew I could count on you."

"Who else?" Linking her arm through Riza's, she tugged on the sleeve of the brown, homespun dress. "Now, when are you going to hook us up with clothes like this? Armstrong stands out enough already, and even though we're all in civilian clothes, the rest of us could stand to draw a bit less attention."

Riza eyed her friend's dark brown curls with doubt. "I don't know how well your hair is going to fit under a headscarf, but there should already be Ishvalan clothes in your rooms in the guest accommodations. The waist sash can be a bit of a trick to tie, since the tie doesn't show, but I think you'll get the hang of it."

They continued with their small talk until they reached the house, similar in construct and layout to Roy's and Riza's. Opening the door and stepping inside, the two women found Armstrong already there, unpacking in a room clearly meant for him, due to the larger than average bed.

He emerged, having to duck the low doorjamb, his blue eyes watching Riza with concern. "Lieutenant, would you happen to have a moment?"

"For you, Major? As many as you need." She looked to Rebecca, lowering the hooded portion of her headscarf to lie around her shoulders. "I'll catch up to you in a bit."

"Fine, but don't blame me if I end up wearing these clothes inside out and backwards." Flashing a grin to show she was kidding, Rebecca headed off toward the house's other bedroom to explore the new surroundings.

Riza followed Armstrong back inside his room, waiting by the window as he closed the door behind them. When he turned to face her, his face was lined with the kind of worry only a man with four sisters could exhibit. "You seem to be much recovered from… your time away from the Colonel," he commented.

"You can say I went rogue, sir," she answered, her smile small and rueful. "It's essentially what I did, even though I wasn't exactly in my right mind."

"You weren't," he agreed. "And that's partly why I wanted speak with you. I know from my own breakdown during the civil war that being out of your right mind can have a strong effect on a person." He looked at her directly. "You seem much recovered. Are you?"

This time, her smile was reassuring. "Yes, sir. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I essentially have a split personality, but knowing that it's suppressed helps." She sobered, watching him with the same scrutiny he was directing her way. "But I'm guessing you're also concerned about how I'm handling the Colonel's situation?"

He smiled. "Astute, as always."

"I'm handling it guiltily," she admitted. "Given that I'm the reason he's becoming what he is. But I'm handling it all the same." She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "At the very least, I know what to watch for, to know when he's growing strong enough to withstand the suppression of the protection charm. Getting it on him may present a challenge come time to do so, but I'm confident we can handle it."

He was watching her with curiosity now, moving to sit on the side of bed. "And just what are you watching for?"

Riza took a deep breath, ordering the symptoms in her mind. "An uptick in anger or aggression, an increase in physical strength, insomnia, lowered pulse and breathing rate, drop in body temperature…." She hesitated briefly, then added, "I'm not sure we'll actually notice this one, but from my own experience, an increase in libido goes with it all."

Those same blue eyes widened briefly, blinked once, and then returned to normal as he accepted what she had said and let it slide past. "I see. Well, since you've told me, I can help keep an eye on him as well. And I suppose Scar and Miles know what to watch for?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we're well on our way to being fully prepared." He stood, offering a hand to her. "We're all behind you. You know that."

Reaching out, allowing her hand to be engulfed in his much larger one, Riza nodded. "Yes, sir. And I think I speak for both the Colonel and myself when I say that we fully appreciate it, and that we're extremely glad to have all of you here."

Armstrong didn't have a chance to reply as there was the briefest of knocks on the door, and then Rebecca breezed inside. She had on one of the homespun dresses, minus the waist sash, and had successfully mimicked the sweep of the headscarf as she had seen on Riza. However, as predicted, the sheer volume of her hair was causing the lightweight fabric to billow outward instead of falling neatly.

"All right, Major, you've had your turn, and now it's mine again," she said. "I need my friend to come braid my hair so that I don't look like I'm trying to smuggle pillows with my head."

Riza smiled, clamping down on a laugh, as she looked resignedly to Armstrong. "Sorry, sir. Duty calls."

[elementalwriter67]

The Death of Penguin

Pairings: Best friend Jason x Reader, Best friend Roy x reader

Word count: 3019

Summary: Jason has just killed the Penguin on live TV and you and Roy rush to help me knowing that a certain Bat isn’t going to be too happy about what just happened and fearing for the life of your friend. 

You dropped the coffee cup that you had been holding your mind racing a mile a minute as you tried to process what you had just seen on TV uncaring of the fact that you were currently being scalded by fresh coffee. Your mouth was hanging open and your hand was still hanging in the air as you stared at the TV that had cut away to a news report, you couldn’t believe what you had just seen. Your best friend, the man you had known pretty much your entire life, had just shot the Penguin at point blank range on live television in all of Gotham. Jason Todd had just killed the Penguin on live TV after he had promised that he wouldn’t kill anyone. You stood there for a few moments still staring at the TV not even listening to what the newscasters were saying before your brain finally caught up to what was happening and you jumped into action pulling your phone out of your pocket as you raced to your bedroom.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on pick up, pick up you son of a bitch pick the fuck up.” You muttered as you rushed about your room gathering your gear and hurriedly pulling it on as you listened to the annoying ringing of the phone desperately waiting for the person you were calling to pick up.

“Hey! This is Roy Harper speaking how may I help you?” Roy’s voice came over the speaker you hadn’t felt so relieved in a while as you pulled on your body armor.

“Roy! Thank god. It’s (Y/N) how quickly can you get to Gotham?” You asked him as you fell on to your bed pulling on your shoes.

“Depends what’s going on?” He asked but you could hear him getting ready on his end, you weren’t one to call and immediately ask if he could get here without there being a good reason.

“It’s Jason he just shot the Penguin on live TV, so I need you here like yesterday.” You informed him and there was a beat of silence and for a second you almost thought that Roy may have hung up on but he spoke up before you could say anything.

“I’ll be there in a hot minute, any idea on where he could be?” Roy asked and you shook your head as you pulled on your own helmet switching your phone call to the one in your helmet.

“No idea he hightailed it off the scene but Jason going awol isn’t my biggest concern it’s Batman that’s my concern.” You said as you grabbed the rest of your gear and then climbed out of the window of your bedroom and out onto the fire escape.

“Shit you’re right, ok, alright, how far away are you from where it happened?” Roy asked as you climbed up onto the railing of the fire escape and dropped down to the ground below rolling on impact and coming to the stop beside your motorcycle.

“I’m on the other side of the city, but I’m heading out now to find him how quickly can you be here?” You asked him as you hoped on your bike, starting her up and peeling out of the alleyway without a second thought.

“A minute maybe three, I’m leaving now add on some time to find Jason but I’ll be as quick as I can,” Roy responded and you nodded as you raced down the streets of Gotham weaving in and out of traffic as you went ignoring the angry honkings of other people.

“Ok, just get here as quickly as you can, we have to find Jason before Bats does.” You told him.

“Got it, be there soon,” Roy responded before the line went dead.

“Call Alfred Pennyworth.” You stated as you took a sharp turn kicking your leg out and dragging your foot across the ground to stabilize you as you took the turn. In the corner of your eye, you watched as Alfred’s little profile pic popped up followed by a calling icon for a couple of seconds before focusing on the road again and pushing the bike to go faster. The phone rang a couple of times before Alfred finally picked up the phone just as you zipped around another corner speeding towards the last place that the cops had seen Jason.

“Alfred please tell me that Bruce saw none of that.” You begged him and there was a moment of silence before he sighed and you already see the look on his face.

“I’m sorry miss (Y/L/N) but he’s already left to deal with master Jason as he put it,” Alfred responded and he didn’t sound happy about what was going on either.

“Fuck! God damn it! For once in his life could he not be a fucking stalker.” You cursed as you pushed the bike to go faster hitting the nitro button because now this was a race against the clock, if you didn’t get to Jason before Bruce did then there was no telling what Bruce would do to him.

“(Y/N).” Alfred’s tone was heavy and serious pulling you out of your panic thoughts and back to the current call you were on.

“Make sure that Jason is ok, while I do not approve of what he did he has never been one to kill just because he can so you make sure that Jason is ok and. You give Bruce hell.” Alfred’s voice was filled with determination and a part of you was relieved that Alfred didn’t hate Jason because of what he did, a fact that you knew Jason would need later.

“I’ll do my best.” You stated before hanging up the call and sighing heavily as you burst out on to one of the main roads only to come to a screeching halt as you looked up at the sky above you in complete and utter disbelief.  There was a building the size of a city block was currently falling from the sky. You blinked a couple of times as you continued to stare at the building your first instinct said to find a way to stop the building from crashing into the city, but you were coming up blank as you stared at the building. How the hell were you supposed to handle this and find Jason at the same time? A crashing spaceship maybe you could have managed that, a crashing plane you definitely could have handled but a crashing flying building as big as a city block fuck that the city was screwed. You’d need the justice league to handle that and there was no way you were calling the justice league lord knew what they would do with Jason when they found out what he did.

“Can this night get any better? I mean can it?” You muttered to yourself as you drove into an alleyway. Cutting the engine you jumped off the bike and grappled up onto the nearest building getting a better look at the building which was still very much falling.

“Please tell me you see the falling building too?” You looked over at Roy as he landed next to you staring up at the sky just as dumbfounded as you.

“Yes, I see the building too.” You responded and he nodded.

“Ok good, where’s Jason?” Roy asked moving on from the building accepting what was going on and how the two of you couldn’t stop it as he looked around the area trying to see if he could spot Jason anywhere. You, however, looked up at the falling building your stomach sinking as you remembered a conversation you’d had with Jason about how cool his new super secret hideout was and how no one would find it.

“How much do you want to bet that he’s up there.” You said pointing up at the building and Roy looked up at the building sighing heavily as he dragged a hand down his face.

“So first he shoots Penguin in the face and then he’s in a flying, crashing, building the size of a city block? Do you ever wonder what we did with our lives that made them so boring in comparison to his?” Roy asked and you shrugged.

“I don’t need to wonder I know, we didn’t die when we were sixteen.” You responded and Roy chuckled as he notched an arrow and aimed up at the burning building while you raised your grappling hook.

“Damn us and our inability to get kidnapped by the Joker when we were sixteen.” Roy joked and you smirked barely hiding your own chuckle as you shifted your finger to the trigger and prepared to fire at the building.

“Yeah damn us.” The two of you were about to fire at the building when suddenly the entire building exploded right before their eyes.

“Jason!” You and Roy shouted in unison as the two of you stared at the explosion in abject horror. You dropped your hands to your sides the grapple hook dangling loosely from your fingers as you stared at the falling remnants of the building, that was when you noticed there was something that didn’t look anything like falling debris. Blinking you reached up and pressed a button on the side of your helmet your vision zooming in on the falling object to see that it was Jason who crash-landed on a roof a few buildings away.

“Roy! Over there! You shouted dropping your hand from the side of your helmet to instead grab ahold of Roy’s arm and pull him towards the edge of the roof.

“Woah? What? What’s going on now?” Roy asked watching as you raced forward without any hesitation jumping off the roof and onto the next roof rolling on impact because of the significant drop in height.

“Jason’s alive and he landed on that roof not too far away! Follow me!” You shouted back as you jumped and grappled on to the next roof. Roy’s eyes widened but he didn’t question you as he chased after you, the two of you running and jumping over the rooftops only to come to an abrupt stop as you saw Jason and Bruce fighting on the next rooftop. Well, fighting wasn’t exactly the word you would use for it, it was more like Bruce was currently using Jason as a punching bag. Gasping you took a step back when you saw that not only was Bruce using Jason as a punching bag but he had also been hitting Jason so hard that he shattered Jason’s helmet.

“Oh, my gods.” You breathed out as you watched Bruce punch Jason so hard in the face that he went flying backward landing several feet away from Bruce.

“He’s beating the shit out of Jason, we have to do something now before he beats him to death,” Roy stated as his grip on his bow tightened and he glared at Bruce.

“I know, but what the hell are we going to do? There’s no god damn way we’ll be able to take on Bruce by ourselves we’re not strong enough to do that.” You responded as you watched as Bruce ripped Jason’s symbol off of his chest and tossed it to the side. You clenched your jaw as you put your grapple hook away, your hands twitching to grab your guns and shoot at Bruce.

“Then we don’t fight Bruce, we distract him enough to get Jason out of there and then we go somewhere safe,” Roy stated and you nodded watching as Bruce started dragging Jason across the roof by his broken helmet anger raging inside of you at the sight of that.

“I’ve got a safe house not to far away from here that Bruce doesn’t know about we can go there and make sure Jason isn’t dying before we get out of the city. You know what to do?” You asked him as you stepped up to the edge of the building and Roy nodded as he pulled an arrow out of his quiver and aimed it at Bruce.

“The old shoot and gas got it,” Roy said. You nodded in silent agreement as you pulled your guns out of your holsters and you waited until Roy had moved to another roof not too far away before speaking up. Once Roy was on the other roof you jumped down onto the one that Bruce and Jason were on.

“Hey, Batass!” You shouted as you raised your gun and fired at Bruce, nothing that would kill him but it was enough to get him to drop Jason in order to dodge your bullets. You winced at the sound Jason’s head made when it smacked against the roof but you didn’t take your eyes off of Bruce your guns still raised and pointed at him.

“(Y/H/N) what do you think you’re doing?” Bruce asked his hands balling into fists as he glared at you taking a step towards you. The anger that was radiating off of him sent chills down your spine and had the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You had never seen Bruce this angry before and if you were being honest it was starting to scare you and you forced yourself to stay where you were your eyes never leaving Bruce.

“Stopping you from continuing to beat the shit out of Jason what does it look like?” You asked him your voice firm and aim steady as you stared at him waiting to see if he would attack you like he’d attacked Jason.

“Stand down (Y/H/N),” Bruce said after a minute of silence and you shifted your grip on your guns slightly as you also shifted your stance, there was no way that you were getting out of this without a fight.

“I’ll stand down when you leave Jason alone and walk the hell away from us right now.” You stated your words dripping with firm anger as you continued to glare at him. There was no way that you were going to let Bruce keep doing what he was doing.

“You know I can’t do that, he killed Penguin he deserves to be punished,” Bruce stated and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You got being upset with Jason about killing Penguin, you got being pissed off about the fact that this is the second Bat to kill a villain under his watch, but what you didn’t get was how he thought that Jason deserves this. Deserves to be beaten until he was barely conscious and looked like he was about to die any second now.

“He deserves this? He deserves to be treated like your own personal punching bag? He deserves to be beaten to near death? He deserves to be treated like he’s nothing more than another one of your goons?! HE DESERVES THIS?!!! Do you even hear yourself?!! How does he deserve this?! How does he deserve to be treated like your personal punching bag?! How does he deserve any of this?! All he did was kill penguin! How is this any different from what Batwoman did to Clayface?!” You shouted at him doing an amazing job at keeping your hands still because all you wanted to do right now was slap him silly with the butts of your guns.

“This is completely different from what Batwoman did!” Bruce shouted back and you shook your head in exasperation as you stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“How is this different from Batwoman?! Because he did it in front of all of Gotham?! Because you can’t sweep this under your all magical Batman rug and hide it from the eyes of the public?! Because he killed another one of your little play dates?! This isn’t any different from what Batwoman did! They both killed one of your little play dates the only reason you're more pissed off at Jason is because this is the second one of your little cronies to go off the deep end and kill someone! Face it! You’re just pissed off about the fact that you can’t control them anymore! That they’re not your good little soldiers like you want them to be! BECAUSE ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOUR STUPID LITTLE REPUTATION AS THE SUPPOSED PROTECTOR OF GOTHAM!!!” You shouted and that little jab seemed to be the final straw as Bruce lunged at you.

“Roy! Now!” You shouted as you jumped away from Bruce narrowly missing his hands as he tried to grab you. You rolled away from him landing next to Jason and Bruce spun around to attack you again but before he could Roy fired his arrow and it landed directly next to Bruce. The sudden appearance of the arrow caused Bruce to pause for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for the bright pink smoke in the tip of the arrow in one giant puff of smoke. You were quick to grab ahold of Jason’s body pulling him away from the smoke that was quickly enveloping the area as Roy landed next to you and helped you pick Jason up off the roof.

“(Y/N)... Roy?” Jason groaned out as he leaned heavily into the two of you.

“It’s ok buddy we’ve got you,” Roy said as he placed a hand on Jason’s chest stabilizing him slightly and making sure that he didn’t fall over.

“Come on Roy we’ve got to get him out of here before it’s too late.” You muttered to him and Roy nodded. The two of you hauled Jason towards the edge of the building and got him down to the ground and into the nearest car before speeding away from the building and to one of your safehouses as fast as possible. All before the smoke even cleared leaving Bruce standing there alone on the rooftop more pissed off than he had been before but for now the three of you were safe.

[emperorsfoot]

YJ fic. # 2, “Emergence”

Originally posted on FanFiction.Net on 1/6/12

This was a fill for a prompt in the “Young Justice Fandom Challenges” forum. Amazingly, the forum is still active: https://www.fanfiction.net/forum/Young-Justice-Fanfiction-Challenges/86355/

The prompt was to write a fic where Superman wanted to adopt Superboy and Supey was the one to reject him. 

There was some wiggle room for interpretation. 

My summary: “Fathers generally get nine months to get used to the idea. But when the child's already walking, talking and asking for attention, nine months might be to long to wait. -ONE SHOT”

Emergence:

Clark watched Bruce with his new ward. The two worked well together, better than one would have expected a newly orphaned nine-year-old circus boy to work with a still unfamiliar adult and far better than one would have ever expected the Dark Knight to work with… well anyone. Even the teamwork of the World's Finest would be hard-pressed in a comparison.

The Man of Steel hung back as he used his telescopic vision to observe Gotham's hero and his new protégé take down a small-time roof-hopper that Clark didn't recognize. The Batman was fiercely territorial about his city and Superman wasn't looking to step on his toes, he just had to see this for himself. He knew Bruce Wayne had adopted an orphaned circus acrobat a few weeks ago. The young billionaire bachelor and his flavor-of-the-week date for that week had been in attendance as spectators the day of the accident that had killed all but two of the Flying Graysons, leaving the youngest son orphaned and his only surviving uncle to injured to care for himself let alone the nine-year-old boy. That was note-worthy news for the gossip columns. But what brought Clark to Gotham tonight, almost a month since, were the rumors that the Batman was now being seen with a young boy by his side.

It was no surprise to the reporter that Bruce would take in a young boy whom had also witnessed the brutal death of his parents. He probably saw a bit of himself in the boy, felt a sort of comradery through their shared tragedy. But what the Man of Steel found hard to believe was that the Dark Knight would place such a young child in harms way by taking him out on patrols and cases every night. But there they were, a duo that seemed to be developing a very effective dynamic for fighting crime.

He waited until they had dispatched their quarry and finished their circuit of the city and returned to the Batcave. Bruce had just shifted the Batmobile into park and cut the engine when Superman entered the cave.

"I was wondering when you'd finally stop hovering and say 'hi'." The Dark Knight commented dryly as he hopped out of the driver's seat, cape swishing behind him. "Spying doesn't become you."

Before Clark had the chance to respond, he was cut off by the excited exclamation of the Wonder Boy, "Oh wow! You do know him!"

He did a forward flip out of his seat and landed, feet first, on the hood of the Batmobile. A second flip landed him directly in front of the Man of Steel. He beamed up at the famed hero with an almost worshipful grin on his face. But before the boy had the chance to say more, his legal guardian cut him off.

"Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"Right, right." The boy groaned and then was cartwheeling towards the stairs that lead into the mansion proper. Clark waited until the faux grandfather clock had shut firmly before turning his attention back to the Dark Knight.

"I must say, I'm surprised."

"What are you doing here, Clark?"

The Man of Steel suppressed a smile. He might have adopted a son and become a parent, but Batman was still the same blunt and sometimes abrasive Batman. "Honestly, I had to see it for myself. Bruce Wayne adopting a kid I can totally see, Batman taking a kid out on cases is just so out of character and plain irresponsible, to me."

Bruce pulled his cowl off and ran his fingers through sweat matted hair. "Since you're new to the whole spy thing I'm guessing you didn't see that he's more than capable of holding his own on cases."

Clark had noticed that the boy was rather talented, but he was so young and Batman's cases were usually so dangerous… "I just don't see why you'd want to get you're adopted son involved in this part of your life."

Bruce flopped down in the swivel chair in front of his monitors and said with a shrug, "Its our version of father-son quality time."

Clark thought about that for a long time after leaving Gotham. Father-son quality time, huh. If Clark Kent were to ever adopt a child he would never be able to include his hypothetical ward in his… extracurricular activities. Not unless the boy (or girl, he supposed) could also fly, had super-strength, and was invulnerable. His villain gallery may not be as mentally unbalanced or creative as Bruce's but that didn't mean they were any less dangerous. In fact, in many instances, his gallery was much, much more dangerous than the Dark Knight's, he could never in good conscience involve a child in that. If he were ever to have a sidekick or a protégé, they'd have to be a kryptonian like himself, with the same abilities he had. But that was something that would never happen. Kryptonian physiology wasn't compatible with humans'; no matter how much the two races resembled each other, they could not procreate. He would never have any progeny by normal means.

He could never include an adopted son in the 'Superman' part of his life and he could never have a son of his own. Clark supposed he'd never be able to relate to Bruce where that aspect of his life was concerned.

…

Barry was the second member of the League to take on a sidekick. His newly wedded wife, Iris, apparently had a nephew whom was blessed (cursed) with a keenly inquisitive mind and a pre-inclination towards science. He had not only discovered his newly acquired uncle's identity, but also managed to reproduce the experiment (accident) that had given him his super-speed. Now the Flash had a 'Kid Flash' underfoot trying to be a hero like his uncle.

Between bites of pizza and popcorn, Barry would regal anyone willing to listen with tales of his adventures and misadventures with the boy. He would whine and kvetch and complain about his youth and his inexperience, but behind the grousing and grumblings, Clark could hear amusement, affection and even pride in his voice. For all his complaining, Barry was happy to have a partner to help-out with keeping his own little rouge gallery in check.

"There is one good thing about having the Kid around." Flash gave a dramatic sigh, waving his arms wide before slumping his shoulders in defeat. He waited for someone to follow his cue. After a prolonged pause Clark decided to bite.

"Alright, Berry, and what's that?"

"Its good practice!" He answered with a smile. "Ya know, for when Iris and I have little speedsters of our own."

Clark had muttered something non-committal to that, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He made his excuses to the Flash and exited the mess hall. Barry could have little speedsters; the accident that had given him his powers had not robbed him of his potential to become a parent. But Clark would never have little boy scouts of his own; he wasn't human and so did not have the potential to ever become a parent with a human woman.

…

Ollie had been the next one, another adoption case. Clark had been rather busy with an off-world mission at the time and so didn't get to hear the full story of young Roy Harper from Green Arrow himself. Instead receiving the cliff-notes version from Aquaman upon his return.

"Batman seems to have set a trend." The Atlantian king joked. "What about you, Supes, any plans to become the next 'Justice-daddy'."

"The next what?"

"Its what Berry's started calling the members with sidekicks recently." He shrugged. "I'm not fond of the term, but I must admit that the idea of having a partner on certain missions would be advantageous. So, what about you?"

Clark answered with an uncharacteristically short and sober, "No."

A few months after that had been Aquaman's faithful battle with Ocean Master in which two students of the Academy in Poseidonis aided him; and Orin suddenly got himself a sidekick of his own. Maybe Batman really had set a trend that the rest of the League was slowly following by one means or anther. But it was a trend Clark could never follow himself.

He had long since resigned himself that he would never have any progeny, he also knew that no one born on Earth would be able to keep up with him and his villain gallery. He now began resigning himself to the belief that he would also have no one to pass on all the knowledge Jor-El had left him with. The legacy of Krypton would die with him.

Not for the first time, but the first time in a long time, the full weight of his title hit him. He really was the Last Son of Krypton.

…

Independence Day had been a shock to his system.

Superboy's existence gave him a great deal of food-for-thought. Upon later reflection, the usually-Boy Scout had to decide that his handling of the news and the boy himself had been less than admirable. But personal feelings (on both sides) aside, the boy's existence meant two things to the Man of Steel: first, there were very few places where Cadmus could have gotten a viable sample of his DNA which meant that one (or more) of the people on the short list of those he trusted were compromised, and secondly, grooming the boy as a weapon to destroy him so carefully and concealing his existence from the League so completely implied some greater and deeper plot than their standard run-of-the-mill Big Bad's quest for world domination. Before he claimed any sort of personal responsibility for the boy he had to get those two questions sorted out.

He had told the boy that the League would figure something out for him, and the League had. He was living at Mt. Justice, he was working on a Team under Batman's careful observation, he was surrounded by friends… the boy didn't really need him. Clark pushed the boy out of his mind.

Besides, it wasn't like the Superboy was his son. Superman couldn't have children.

…

Clark had all but forgotten about the boy until August when he showed up in Metropolis to help with a collapsing bridge.

At first he'd been annoyed. The clone's landing had been rough and shook the bridge enough to make the Man of Steel to a double take. He floated up totake hold of the bus that Superboy was trying (and failing) to pull back from plunging nose first into the bay.

"I had that!" The boy snarled at him.

Clark met the hostility with some blunt harshness of his own. "I didn't want to take the chance. As it is, your landing could have destabilized the whole bridge."

"But it didn't!" He argued.

"But it could have." Superman shot back deciding that he didn't have much patience for the boy right now. "As it is, we don't yet know the limits of your powers."

He had expected the boy to snap back with defensive anger, or lash out with an insult or maybe just shout that the Man of Steel didn't know what he was talking about and to take his advice and tell him where he could shove it. Instead, the Superboy gave him the same hopeful but vulnerable expression he's worn back in July.

"Maybe… you could, ya know, help me with that…?" The boy gazed up at him pleadingly.

Clark was assailed by a sudden stabbing of guilt. He hadn't seen the kid since July, hadn't thought of him in two months and when he did think of his clone, it was as the living weapon he'd been created to be, a tool made by a nefarious organization for an ambiguous purpose with no real mind or will of its own. 'He doesn't like to be called an "it".' Kid Flash's words echoed through his head momentarily.

"Batman's got that covered." Clark suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He wanted to get away.

Luckily, Green Arrow happened to call just at that moment and he was gifted with an excuse to leave.

Let it never be said that metas were never saved by norms.

…

Perhaps his outburst at the diner had been a bit of an overreaction. But Bruce was pushing. If their rolls had been reversed and it was the Man of Steel pressuring the Dark Knight to take on an unexpected responsibility he'd have punched him in the jaw (there was some question as to with or without his kryptonite ring). So, yes, his public outburst might have been a little unreasonable given the setting, but it wasn't an overreaction. No.

But what had really set him off was not the fact that Bruce was asking him to take responsibility for the boy, but that Bruce had dropped the F-bomb. 'Father'. He had called Clark the boy's father and that was something the Superman had not been prepared to hear. Something he had not been ready to think about. He had lived almost his entire adult life under the belief that he could never and would never have any children of his own. Superman might be many things, but 'father' had never been one of the possibilities. …And now Bruce was implying it was not a possibility but his reality.

Clark lay awake chewing on that little tidbit.

He thought about how much Bruce's life seemed to have improved after he adopted Dick. How he seemed less angry, less hostile, more casual, more comfortable; overall the Dark Knight seemed just generally happier since the boy appeared in his life. Clark had never thought he would have children so he had never given the idea much thought, but now that he actually was thinking about it he began to wonder if another reason why he never gave the idea much attention was because he might have (on some level) been a little jealous. Jealous because Bruce had something that he believed he would never have and he saw how happy it made him.

But then he thought about Oliver and all the grief Roy gave him, not just with their falling-out and the boy's subsequent solo act, but grief over the boy's short heroin addiction a few years prior. Clark saw the strain it put on not only Green Arrow but Black Canary as well.

The decision to adopt the boy as his son and take all the emotional baggage that when with it would not affect solely him; the decision did not rest solely with him. The boy would be Lois' son too, she should have a say in the decision as well.

Clark rolled over and gently shook his wife awake.

"Wha'…?" She slurred drowsily. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Lois," he whispered. "Are you awake?"

"No." She groaned and rolled over… and was back asleep before Superman could say 'Great Scott!'

"Lois…" He gave her another gentle shake and rolled her back over to face him.

She moaned in irritation. "You can do whatever you want to me, just don't wake me up."

"Sweetheart, I want to talk."

"Okay, I'm listening." Her eyes fluttered and then closed and she began to snore. Clark shook her awake for a third time. "Damn it, Clark! What!"

He recoiled at her ire but still asked what he wanted to ask. "Have you… have you ever thought about us having a kid?"

She yawned and ran a hand through her sleep-matted hair. "Why? Are you pregnant?"

"What! No! Why would you even…"

Maybe she was still asleep and this really was a conversation best left until morning. But he had been avoiding the subject of Superboy for so long, he wanted to stop procrastinating. The boy was on his mind right now, there was no guarantee he'd give a care about him in the morning.

"Well, you're an alien, Clark, for all I know on Krypton men could have babies." She stretched and cuddled up close to him.

"No." He said flatly. Then, before the conversation could swing off into a bizarre tangent he said, "Lets start over: Do you remember a couple months back when I told you that the League had found a clone of me?"

"I remember the incident at the bridge today a lot more clearly than I remember you telling me about him."

Clark suppressed a wince. Lois hadn't been anywhere near the Hobb's Bay at the time, but the emergency and his and the boy's response to it had been televised. Thankfully the cameras had been far enough away not to catch their conversation, but their body language had been just as telling. It was a far more accurate summary of their relationship (or lack there of) than the short, 'Lois, the League discovered a clone of me tonight,' he'd given her back in July.

"How would… um, how would you feel if I invited him to live with us?"

She missed one… two… three beats before saying, "Sure. But I think the rest of this conversation is best left for when I'm awake."

Unfortunately they did not discuss the subject of Superboy the following morning. A hurricane drifted unseasonably high up the eastern seaboard and Superman rushed off to offer his assistance in any way he could while Lois rushed off to cover the story. When they finally found a few minuets to once again be alone together, they were wet, dirty and in Lois' case exhausted, certainly in no mood to discuss a new addition to their household. The subject of Superboy went undiscussed for some time after that.

…

In mid-September he and J'onn helped defeat the pair known as the 'Terror Twins' in New Orleans. Bruce, in semi-classical Batman fashion, had a plan to sneak two members of the Team into Belle Reve as undercover operatives. Clark had stood silently in the Cave's briefing room while the Dark Knight explained the mission, but he had really only been partially listening. Seeing Superboy again had reminded him that he and Lois still were yet to discuss the possibility of his coming to live with them.

Standing behind Bruce and trying to stay out of the way, Clark watched the boy's expression shift from the blank stare of a soldier awaiting orders, to sharp attention as Batman began to speak, to fierce determination when he singled the boy out as one of the operatives. The Man of Steel was quickly reminded that, while he resembled a sullen teenager and Bruce insisted the boy was his 'son', he was actually a living weapon, a weapon created to kill him. Did he really want to bring something like that into his home? Expose it to his family?

He did not speak with the boy at all either after the briefing nor at any point during their brief jaunt in New Orleans. After he'd neutralized Terror and sent him and his sister plummeting towards the 'switch-point' he had prepared to leave. His portion of the mission was over; Bruce could handle everything from there. Before flying away his super-human hearing couldn't help but pick-up a brief exchange of dialogue.

"But I don just gone toe-to-toe wit' Superman!" That would be Tommy Terror, his grammatically challenged southern drawl was rather distinctive. What surprised Clark was the person who answered him and their reply.

"Congratulations. That's more quality time than he's ever given me."

Clark recognized that voice, it was his own voice only two decades younger, it was Superboy. The boy wanted to spend 'quality time' with him? Why? They'd only ever been in the same room together a handful of times; they'd only ever spoken to each other twice. What reason could the boy have to expect any sort of 'quality time' from him?

He remembered the pleading gaze the boy had given him back in Metropolis the previous month. It wasn't that the boy expected anything from him, but he did want certain things from him. Namely, just some of his time. He might be a living weapon, he might have been created to kill and replace the Man of Steel, he might be just a clone, but he was still also just a boy and like all boys, he wanted the time and attention of a parent. Bruce had called him the boy's 'father'; did the boy view him in the same way? Was that the boy's only interest in him?

The kid might be a weapon, but what was a weapon but a tool? And what were the merits of a tool but the way it was used? 'He doesn't like to be called an "it".' Kid Flash's words once again echoed through his mind. If he didn't like being called an 'it' he probably wouldn't appreciate being compared to weapons and tools either.

Clark sighed. Bruce thought that him claiming the boy was what was best for him, but was that really what was best for the kid? Would it really be healthy to have the boy live with a person whom still viewed him, not as a fully formed individual, but rather a boy-shaped tool? A weapon that could be turned against the hand the wielded it just as easily as any other. If it was just him, he wouldn't have to think so hard about it, he could take care of himself, but would he be putting Lois in danger by inviting the boy into their home? Or, would he be avoiding danger by reaching his hand out to the boy and offering him the guidance and 'quality time' he seemed to crave so much?

He chewed on that question for a while, too.

…

"Lois, c'mon we're gonna be late." Clark paced the living room of their apartment with impatience. While their two year anniversary had actually been two weeks prior, this was the first night that both of them had actually managed to find the time to celebrate and he wanted to celebrate before some cookie-cutter baddie decided it was a nice night to try to take over the world.

"Oh, you actually made reservations somewhere?" His blushing bride emerged from the bathroom looking radiant in a blue silk gown with yellow trim. It hugged her figure, showing off the delicious curve of her hips to their best advantage while still concealing their creamy flesh to his eyes (well, to a normal man's eyes, if Clark wanted to see her creamy flesh all he had to do was…). She threw her arms around him and waggled a finger in his face. "Ah, ah, ah. There'll be none of that, you naughty boy."

"Lois, I'm insulted that you think I'd be so lewd as to-"

"Uh-huh." She crossed her arms over her chest, the action pressing her breast together in a way that was thoroughly pleasing to look upon. "So, what are we gonna do?"

Clark helped her into a heavy coat before handing her her purse and lifting her up, carrying her bridal-style to the window. "I was thinking we'd do a little dancing." He said. "Maybe make a little love… generally just get down tonight."

She gave a snort. "Smallville, you are probably the corniest person I know."

He waited to see if she would follow that up with a crack about corn farming in Kansas but she did not. Instead she changed the subject.

"But I meant, what are we gonna do about the Superboy?"

His happy-playful mood deflated at the mention of the boy and he backed them away from the window and put her down. "Lois, its our anniversary, do we have to talk about this now?"

"Its just that its been a couple months since you last mentioned anything about him." She said. "The last time we talked about him, you woke me up in the middle of the night to ask if he could live with us, you haven't mentioned him since. I would kinda like to know what's going on…"

"But do we have to talk about him tonight?"

"No, I suppose we don't." She admitted. It was hard enough finding time when the two of them could spend a romantic evening together. She didn't want to spoil it any more than he did, but his lack of mention about the clone had begun to bother her. "Just know that I haven't forgotten and I expect to have that talk some time soonish."

"Yes, dear."

…

It would be late November before the subject of Superboy came up again in the Kent household.

Lois and Clark had flown to Kansas to spend Thanksgiving with Martha on the Kent Farm. They sat around the table laughing and joking about the latest antics of the Smallville townsfolk, the misadventures of the Daily Planet in Metropolis and the latest exploits of the Superman. It was a perfect evening; the only thing that would make it more perfect was if Jonathan Kent were still alive to share it.

…But then Ma shattered the mood with the kind of calm command that only a mother could wield.

"I've been thinking." She said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. "You should convert the guest room in your apartment into a bedroom for the boy."

"What boy?" Clark had blinked in confusion only to realize what his mother must be talking about all to late.

"Lois and I have been talking, Clark." Neither her voice nor her posture changed, there was no outward indication that she was suddenly mad, but the Man of Steel had lived with his mother long enough to know when he had upset her. Forgetting about the boy had been his second mistake, but thinking that his wife wouldn't discuss a possible addition to the family with his mother had been his first (and bigger) mistake. "She told me that you mentioned an interest in taking in the Superboy I've been hearing so little about recently. I want to know why you haven't yet."

"I've been… thinking about it…" He answered her lamely.

"Well, its time to stop thinking and start doing." Martha Kent's eyes narrowed at her son. "You'll start by making a space livable for him, a teenage boy needs a room that's all his own. The next time Lucy or the General come by for an extended visit, I'm sure they can make do with your couch. You will invite the boy to live with you and you will make darn sure he feels welcomed, Clark, like he belongs. When he's settled, you'll bring him here for a visit. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma."

…

In between chasing stories as Clark Kent, saving the planet as Superman and one very awkward Christmas dinner with the Lanes, the Man of Steel found himself spending his free time going through, rearranging and moving things out of the guest bedroom. He and Lois had been using it as a sort of home office-slash-storage room for evidence they might have collected on their cases, copies of old articles, photos (both personal and work related), etc.

Clark had been willing to shred or burn most of it, but Lois refused to destroy a single page. And so he had spent almost all of December and the first week of January flying copy-boxes from their apartment in Metropolis to either the Kent farm to be stored in the attic or the Fortress of Solitude to be copied into his archives at a later date. When that was done, Lois put him to work rearranging the furniture a bit.

The second bookcase had to be taken out; it took up to much space and made the room feel cramped. Lois made him move it into the living room and then stood back and gave orders as to how the rest of the living room furniture was to be rearranged due to the addition of the new piece. Clark spent two obnoxiously long hours doing that, it would have been longer, but to his unexpected relief, Intergang decided to rob the Federal Exchange with a tank, and that sounded like a job for Superman! Their adventures in moving would have to wait a bit.

When Clark returned later that evening it was to find that Lois had acquired a new dresser for the boy. (Because, apparently, she felt a closet wasn't enough.) The movers had left the solid wood chest of drawers in the middle of the living room floor and guess who she asked to move it into the bedroom for her. They then repeated the furniture dance for the bedroom just as they had the living room until Lois was satisfied with the arrangement and thought the boy would be likewise satisfied.

The desk stayed. She said the boy would need a place to put his computer and when Clark asked why couldn't he just put it in the living room where they had moved theirs she told him that she didn't want the boy doing what teenage boys usually did with their computers in the living room. At that Clark had politely blushed and dropped the subject.

…

It was towards the end of January and the boy's room was all ready.

Clark stood back and surveyed the room that he had made for his clone, the boy that Bruce kept insisting was his 'son'. For a moment the farm-grown alien hero had the insane idea that this must be what it was like for normal expecting fathers when making up a nursery for their child. He squished that thought back down very quickly, however. He was not an expecting father, Superboy was not his son, this room was not a nursery. He was asking the boy to move in with them, he wasn't yet ready to officially adopt him like Bruce had adopted Dick or Oliver had adopted Roy. And he certainly wasn't ready to start calling the boy 'son'.

Still, the boy was going to move in. All that was left was to actually speak with Superboy about the prospect. But once again, Clark found himself hesitant.

Lois entered behind him, her arms encircling his waist. "Are you excited?"

'Excited' was not the right word. 'Nervous' was more accurate.

…

Superman did not go strait to Mount Justice. Instead he flew to Gotham, he wanted to talk to the original 'Justice-daddy', he wanted to revisit their conversation from Bibbo's back in August.

The Dark Knight was reclining in his swivel chair, watching his monitors, his black booted feet resting up on the consol, his cowl down, a bowl of cereal in his hands. He seemed so casual and laid-back. Four years ago Clark never would have imagined he'd walk into the Batcave one day and find Gotham's Hero with his feet up enjoying a bowl of… what was that, Apple Jacks? Fruit Loops? All the brightly colored ones looked the same.

"Something wrong with your JLA comm. or did your farm-boy upbringing never teach you to call before dropping by uninvited?"

"I was kinda hopping we could talk." He cast his eyes about for the Boy Wonder and found him nowhere in sight. "Where's Robin?"

"School." Bruce answered flatly.

Right… that was another thing Clark would have to think about. Superboy was still a minor and would need to receive some version of schooling. With his powers it would be a little to dangerous for him to attend public school with other children, he ran the risk of easily hurting or even killing another student. But he and Lois lead such busy lives, neither of them would have the time to home-school the boy. He supposed they could hire a tutor, but on reporters' salaries they'd have to tighten their belts and budget carefully. Good educations didn't come cheap and unlike Bruce he wasn't made of money.

How was the Dark Knight handling the boy's schooling? Someone as careful and paranoid as Batman would never allow a civilian tutor to come to the boy at Mt. Justice. Was he having different Leaguers teach the boy different subjects, maybe?

"Listen… I, uh, I want to talk about Superboy."

Bruce set his bowl of cereal aside, lowered his feet down from the consol and turned his chair to face the Man of Steel. He folded his hands and waited for Clark to continue.

"I, uh, Lois and I were thinking… um…" Not for the first time the Superman found himself at a loss as to what to say on the subject of the Superboy. Perhaps it was because he himself hadn't quite yet sorted out his thoughts and feelings about the boy. He was firm in his decision to take the boy in, but that didn't mean he was sure of his view of the boy. Recently, he had been imagining him as a lost relation of his that had somehow managed to find him from across the cosmos. It was a nice fantasy, but Clark knew it wasn't true. But it was also the best explanation for how his perceptions of the boy were changing and how that change was starting to make him feel. "How's Superboy been doing?"

Bruce raised one quizzical eyebrow at the Man of Steel. "Lois wants to know this?"

"Well, no." Clark fidgeted under the Dark Knight's questioning gaze. "I was just wondering how he's doing… and stuff." 'Great, real eloquent, Kent!' "Its, um, its been a while since he and I last spoke… I just wanted to touch base and see if he's adjusting alright…"

It had been almost six months since the Man of Steel actually exchanged words with the Superboy and they both knew it. Bruce's eyes narrowed suspiciously at his sudden interest in the boy he'd been ignoring for almost half a year.

"Also…" Clark continued with increasing unease. He hated it when Bruce gave him that look. It was the same look he'd often seen the Knight give criminals from his gallery during interrogations, it made Clark feel as if he were being given the third degree when he was the one to come to Batman, not the other way around. "Also, I was wondering if you still wanted me to take the boy. Lois and I… we've made up a room for him and… and well, I… I, uh, I can take the boy for you."

Those narrowed eyes and questioning gaze did not change, but Clark could detect the slightest bit of surprise from the man. It was subtle, a slight shift in posture, he probably only detected it because of his superior senses and the fact they they'd been friends for so long. He had managed to shock the World's Greatest Detective! Great Scott!

"Do you want to take the boy in?"

Clark paused to consider his answer. The boy had been a great shock to him at first and that had been his reason for not claiming responsibility for him in the first place. Then, after the shock had worn off he had viewed the boy as a possible danger, he had been created to kill the Man of Steel and so would have no problems harming or killing his wife or mother. It had been for their protection that he'd continued to refuse to take the boy. But at the bridge he had seen, not a living weapon, but a lost and lonely child reaching out to him for guidance.

That had altered his perceptions of the boy greatly. It had also heaped onto him a great deal of guilt. And because of that guilt he became afraid of facing the boy for a different reason. That guilt had latter been compounded in New Orleans when he'd heard the boy's comment about 'quality time'. The boy wanted him, needed him and for the first time in his life, the Man of Steel, the Boy Scout, the Superman had turned his back on someone in need. Clark had spent four months chewing on that realization and come to the conclusion that he'd behaved in a despicable manner. The boy was blood of his blood. Even since he learned that he had been adopted, Clark had wished to find another living blood-relative of his, the boy wasn't a blood-relative in the conventional sense, but there was no denying that they were, indeed, related.

"Yes." He said at length. "Yes, I want to take the boy."

This time the Dark Knight's surprise did show on his face and Clark found the image of a shock-faced Batman sans his mask a little disturbing. The World's Greatest Detective wasn't supposed to be taken by surprise, especially not twice in one conversation. It took the man some time to find his voice again.

When he did, the Dark Knight said, "You've missed allot."

And so, they spent the next few hours going over the mission reports for the last six months. Bruce noting things of importance while Clark nodded his recognition. He was a little ashamed that the job of naming the boy had fallen on the Martians, naming a boy was supposed to be his father's job and Clark hadn't bothered to- Hold on a minuet! The Man of Steel brought his train of thought to a screeching halt. He was not the boy's father! He reminded himself firmly. He was taking responsibility for a clone he hadn't known about, not an illegitimate son he hadn't known about. Big difference! He was willing to admit to the boy being related to him, it would be difficult to deny anyway. He was taking the boy into his home and integrating him into his household. He would guide and support the boy as he grew into his powers. But he was not the boy's father.

He hoped none of his sudden internal turmoil showed on his face. Thinking the F-bomb in his head was one thing, but he didn't want to hear it from Bruce a second time.

Then they got to the botched training simulation, the psychic no-win scenario, and Clark halted his friend's narrative with an exclamation of, "Why didn't you tell me!"

The quizzical look was back on the Dark Knight's face and the Man of Steel regretted his strong emotional outburst.

"The situation had been dealt with before the day was even over." He explained. "There didn't seem to be any reason to worry the other mentors or parents over it. After they woke up, their families and mentors were briefed on what happened so they could look for and recognize any lasting effects."

"But why wasn't I told?"

"Honestly? After our conversation at Bebbo's, I didn't think you'd care." The Dark Knight answered flatly.

"His coma could have been permanent!"

"I was aware of that." Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I still didn't think you'd care."

"What kind of monster do you think I am?" Clark had no idea why he felt so strongly about this. It had happened back in October, the boy was obviously fine. There was no reason to get so worked up. "Of course I would care! He's my- !"

For a second time in the conversation Clark found himself slamming the breaks on his train of thought. His speech abruptly cutting off before the particular word that had almost escaped his lips.

" –clone." He finished lamely. "He's my clone."

…

When he returned home that evening Clark gave the boy's room another critical look. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

Maybe this was how normal expecting fathers felt; nervous, apprehensive, wary, unsure –overall conflicted. Maybe, somewhere between his conversation with Bruce at the diner and today he had come to view himself as the boy's 'father'. He had always known that he'd never have any children though normal means, but the boy –Conner- hadn't come into the world through 'normal means'. Perhaps a clone was the closest thing to a son he'd ever have, and perhaps on some level he recognized that fact early on. It had just taken his conscious mind a bit more time to catch up.

And Conner was already mostly grown. He could take care of himself in a fight. Clark wouldn't need to worry about the boy being in danger if (when?) he took him out with him as a sidekick. The Man of Steel smiled to the empty room. He'd also always said that if he were to ever have a sidekick it would have to be another kryptonian, someone with the same powers he had (or in the boy's case, someone who'll develop the same powers he has). It all seemed so clear and simple now. Like some missing pieces of a puzzle had been found and put in place. All was suddenly right with the world. He may not be the boy's 'father' in the conventional sense of the word, but since when was he a conventional person? Since when was his family ever a conventional family?

Behind him, Clark heard the door to their apartment open and the lights flicked on. He turned to find Lois in the doorway juggling groceries and he rushed forward to help her.

"Thanks." She smiled as she passed custody of the bags over to him and took off her coat. She scanned the apartment with her reporter's critical eye. "I can't help but notice that Superboy still isn't here."

"Conner." Clark corrected her. She looked at him in confusion. "Superboy's name, its Conner, Conner Kent."

"I see." It figured he'd end up with the same initials as Clark. "And where is the young Mr. Kent?"

Here Clark turned shamefaced. "Still in JLA custody. I haven't spoken with him yet."

Lois crossed her arm over her chest, planted her feet and dropped one him in a pose that Clark recognized as her 'annoyed' stance. "Well, you better step on it, Smallville." She said. "He might not be willing to wait around for you forever."

"I know." He replied soberly. "I already missed my chance at naming him."

"His civilian name, yeah, you really dropped the ball on that one." She agreed. Oh, Lois, you were so empathetic sometimes you could apply for Sainthood. "But I doubt anyone in your League would have given him a kryptonian name."

That perked him up. "Lois, you are beautiful!"

She smiled a sultry smile and crossed the small distance between them to press her body against his. "Hm, flattery will get you everywhere."

…

Clark spent the first week of February sifting through kryptonian boys names. He had narrowed his choices down to three, Jor-El III, Kon-El and Erok-El. Jor-El in honor of his father and grandfather, Erok-El after his ancestor, the first Bethgar of Urrika and Kon-El just because he liked the sound of it. Clark had written his final three choices out in Kryptonese to see how they looked aesthetically, hoping to break the three-way tie between them. He sat in the Watchtower's mess hall, tapping his Daily Planet pen on the stainless steel table in thought.

"Hey, Supes, what'cha' doing?" The Flash plunked his tray laden with food down next to the Man of Steel. "Some kryptonian word game or something?"

"No." Clark shook his head and allowed a tentative smile to creep onto his lips when he explained, "I'm trying to decide on a kryptonian name for Superboy."

Berry paused in his meal to stare shock-faced at the Superman. "For Conner?" He gaped. "Are you and he speaking now?"

"Well, no…" Clark had to admit. "But I will soon. Lois and I are gonna take the boy in and I just thought it might be nice to have a name for him, to show the boy that I'm serious."

"I… see…" The Flash fidgeted, suddenly very awkward. "Supes, um, a bit of advice from a 'Justice-daddy', you shouldn't take so long when dealing with children. They're young and impressionable and impatient. Its better to do things sooner rather than latter. Otherwise they'll decide that they can't depend on you."

"I understand that." Clark assured him. "I just needed some time to get my own feelings sorted out. I'm going to see Conner soon."

Berry patted Clark's red-caped shoulder with something the Man of Steel would have sworn was preemptive sympathy. "Good luck, Big Guy."

…

'Soon' for the Man of Steel turned out to me the first week in March. Shortly after he and Lois had celebrated Valentines Day there had been a call for some off-world aid and that sounded like a job for Superman. Clark had been gone two weeks, returning just in time for the months to change. He was frustrated with all the delays, but now finally seemed to have found the time and opportunity to speak with Conner.

It had been nine months since Independence Day.

…

Conner leaned most of his weight on Kaldur as he limped down the boarding ramp of M'gann's bio-ship. To spite a twisted ankle, an injury of his own making, the Boy of Slightly-Less-Durable-Than-Steel (apparently) couldn't help but grin with satisfaction.

"Best. Mission. Ever!" He declared. Then paused when he saw who was waiting in the hangar with Red Tornado. What was he doing here?

"Dude, are you mental?" Kid Flash zipped out of the ship only to skid to a halt in front of their unexpected visitor. "Whoa! You're not Batman!"

Well spotted, Wallace. Clark shook his head at Berry's nephew before turning his full attention to Superboy –his clone, Conner –his son. "How did you injure your foot?"

Conner glared at the Man of Steel with eyes full of distrust and guarded emotion. He missed, one… two… three beats before saying, "Its nothing for you to worry about." He lifted his arm from where he'd slung it over Aqualad's shoulders and limped over to Tornado. "Is Batman in the briefing room?"

The android gave his affirmative and the Boy of Steel began to limp out of the hangar. Miss Martian followed after him, insisting that they put some ice on it before Batman debriefed them. One by one the teens filed out of the hangar, each giving him a questioning or even suspicious look at they passed the Superman. Robin was the only one to stop and speak with him.

"His super-speed kicked-in in the middle of the mission." He said.

"That's great." Clark nodded. "That'll be one of the first things I'll work with him on."

Dick opened his mouth to speak. Thought better about it then closed it again. There was a prolonged pause, then the Boy Wonder said, "Wait until after the debriefing."

…

Clark did not attend Bruce's debriefing of the Team. He waited patiently outside for them to finish, leaning against the wall, his eyes focused on the lead-lined, sound proof, door of the briefing room. Ah, Bruce, your paranoia would be amusing if it weren't so damnably frustrating.

From the floor below in the hangar, Clark heard the computer register Black Carany's arrival on the base and sure enough, the blond bombshell appeared in the hall with him a few moments later.

"Hello, Dinah." The Man of Steel offered her a friendly smile.

"Clark?" She all but froze in surprise at seeing him in the Cave. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to pick up Conner." He said as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he had to marvel at just how natural it felt to him. He felt an almost nervous pride whenever he mentioned the boy by name nowadays. Was this how normal fathers felt?

"Oh, I… I, uh, didn't know you two were speaking now." Dinah said awkwardly, suddenly avoiding eye contact with the Man of Steel.

"Well, we're not really." Clark admitted. "But I'm going to change that."

"That's… nice…" The fem fatal fidgeted, uncomfortable.

She was quickly saved from the awkward moment, however, when the door to the briefing room slid open, the meeting over. Upon seeing her, Conner rushed out, hopping on his good leg.

"Canary!" He beamed and threw his arms around her in an affectionate hug. "Guess what!"

"You're practicing for a hop-scotch tournament." She guessed in reference to his hopping on one foot.

Clark stood and gaped at the pair.

"I got super-speed!" The boy announced. "Do you know what that means!"

"That we've exchanged a bending forks and breaking glasses problem for a running into walls and melting shoes problem."

"No." The boy shook his head. "It means I'm not flawed!"

"That's great, Conner!" She stroked the boy's hair with motherly affection and then cast an apologetic smile to Clark from over the boy's head.

The others gave the three awkward glances as they filed out of the briefing room on their separate ways, all trying to escape their notice and avoid becoming involved in what would undoubtedly become a train wreck. Batman was last to exit. He look one look at Clark, glaring jealously at another mentor embracing his son with maternal warmth.

"Room's free." He said and stood back for the three of them.

"What for?" Conner blinked in confusion.

Dinah offered him a strained smile. "Conner, Superman has an offer for you."

The boy glanced between them, the guarded suspicion back in his eyes.

Bruce took that as his cue to leave, the Dark Knight slipping away with the slightest notice, as was his fashion, leaving the trio alone in the hall. They ignored the empty open room, Clark diving right into the conversation.

"Conner, I'd like you to come live with me." He said.

He had hoped that the declaration would melt some of the guarded suspicion from the boy's eyes, instead it only intensified the expression. He took a step back from the Man of Steel and asked, "Why?"

Clark supposed he deserved that, his distrust. He had been missing in action in regards to the boy almost since his first appearance nine months ago. He was ashamed of his behavior and sorry that it had taken him this long to get his feelings sorted out, but he was here now. He was reaching his hand out to the boy, ready and willing and wanting to give the boy the guidance and attention he's asked for back in August.

"Well, it would be a heck of a lot easier for you to be my sidekick if you're also in Metropolis."

Silence followed that statement.

Dinah placed her hands on Conner's shoulders, a silent statement that she would support him in whatever decision he made. Clark's eyes focused on the action and he couldn't help but feel a sudden stab of territorialism that was not in his usual character.

"And…" He added, now glaring a challenge at Black Canary. "I also wanted to give you a kryptonian name and officially adopt you into the House of El." A pause. "Conner, I want you to be my son."

More silence.

Then Dinah patted Conner on the shoulder and took a step back, ceding to Clark. "I'll leave you to alone."

The boy turned, a silent protest on his lips but he said nothing. Turning back to Superman, he glared up at the man whom looked so much like himself only two decades older. The Man of Steel expected an answer.

The silence dragged on.

"Conner?" Superman finally ventured.

"Don't." The boy said at last. "Don't call me by my Earth name. I'm sure you learned it from Batman, but I haven't given you permission."

Clark paused, thought, began again. "Last summer you asked me to help you figure out your powers. I'm ready to do that now."

"Batman's got that covered." The boy said, throwing his own words back at him, verbatim.

"Conner, I-"

"Stop. I've already asked you not to use my name once. If it happens again I'll report you to Batman for harassment. That is the word applied to the action of continuing an unwelcome behavior after being asked to stop."

Clark paused.

Superboy crossed his arms over his chest. "There's an old axiom Green Arrow told me not to long ago, 'if you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a night; teach a man to fish and he'll never starve', as a companion to that one, Aqualad also told me that people either 'sink or swim'. Both are metaphors for coping with trials in life. After you rejected me last summer I was forced to 'sink or swim', I chose to swim and I learned how to fish. I don't need you anymore, Superman and, frankly, I'm not really sure I want a person like you close to me."

Clark was shocked speechless.

"If there's nothing else, you can go now."

The boy turned to leave.

Clark found his voice again. "Don't… don't you at least want to know your kryptonian name?"

The boy paused but he did not turn to face the Man of Steel. "No, I don't."

He left.

…

END

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (14)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n 10k views on ao3 and nearing 20k on FFN. we're absolutely gobsmacked.as always, ty for all ur comments!!! we hope this update will satify u - ana has been waiting a very long time to write one particular scene and we've had to push it back so many times...I finally let her have it.

Warnings: Sexual Content ™, cursing Words: ~7.5k || Rated: M - Royai 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

salt-laced and arched / dorianne laux, this close

The days, then weeks go on without Olivier.

Easier than it should be, Riza adjusts to another walking out the door. Every once in a while, a sad wave of nostalgia washes over her when she sees the significantly vacant living room or looking at the bare wall that once held frames and chic paintings. Even if some called her icy and dull, she had impeccable taste and Riza misses the colors on the wall. These small moments creep up on Riza when she least expects them, during the most inane moments of the day, and it's hard not to feel the loss and how it still stings like an accidental pinch to sensitive skin.

Perhaps she judged Olivier incorrectly, a voice in her head tells her snidely. Perhaps you chose wrongly, a darker, but smaller voice said. Riza can’t fault her former flatmate’s inability to understand her affair, no matter how much or how little it stings. It burns in the hollow parts where their friendship used to be, knowing that this man has a better and more intimate understanding of her as a person than Olivier would ever be capable of or want to be capable of. The sentiment is selfish and she knows this. In other situations, she respected Olivier’s ability to remain steadfast in her convictions.

All this comes to mind on a Friday evening, a quiet one when they are rarely so for Riza. Earlier she relished at the fact that she could take advantage of the quietude to get lost in her annotated-to-death anthology of Pablo Neruda’s works; to be comfortably situated in her own bed and just take in the evoking prose, and catch up on her laundry she was woefully behind on. The space would do her some good, she reasoned. A lot had happened in the last few weeks and a bit of alone time with her favourite poets and a Greed pizza from Hell’s would do her some good. It’s been a while since she’s had a moment with just her and a book and four walls.

Riza looks at the time, the walls, the fading pages, and realizes … why did she ever come to miss this. When did she grow to enjoy company?

Rebecca had come and gone after her classes, commenting on how rare it was to see her there on a Friday. Riza tried to explain but her friend looked like she was short for time, making a racket with her closet and in the bathroom. Riza could hardly catch where she was going, she’d hardly made mention of it as she was hurrying out of the apartment and then those words were cut off by the slamming on the door. Not that she expected it, but the lack of invitation probably meant that it was a date or something of the sort. That was hours ago and Riza finds herself a little disappointed, but mostly strange, that her phone isn’t blowing up with a play-by-play of the date’s shortcomings or successes. The commentary is a specialty of Rebecca’s humor.

Her friend was right: ordinarily, she wouldn’t be here. Over the course of a few months, Riza has slipped into a routine that she is loathe to have issue with. A bus would take her on a route that went past his neighbourhood, following her afternoon biochem class. Sometimes, she’d make a detour to the supermarket nearby to pick up a few things if a mood struck for something in particular, but more often than not she was content with takeout. It was a nicer environment than the library - she could spread out all the work she needed to do on the coffee table in his lounge and sprawl herself along his couch. The hot chocolate powder that had mysteriously arrived in the pantry one day wasn’t amiss either.

This time, however, her excuse was moot and she couldn’t expect a phone call or exchange of texts to change that either, because tonight he was travelling to Central for a conference where chemistry nerds were converging to relay to each other the latest findings. Roy was not as excited as she expected. In fact, he looked particularly disgruntled by the way he told her about it two weeks ago. He whined how not even professors were spared from homework, or ‘paperwork’ as he referred to it.

Eventually, she pushes away the distractions and enthralled for the millionth by The Heights of Macchu Picchu when her phone lights up and pings on her desk. Mindful of the book in her hands that is practically falling apart, she sets it down carefully, before stretching out to pull on the charging cable. The phone falls into her hand with practiced ease, and Riza can’t help the smile that grows on her face as she sees the name - nickname - emblazoned on her lockscreen.

Spanish Inquisition, 7:02pm I had a very interesting visitor today Spanish Inquisition, 7:02pm  You didn’t think to warn me?

A chill runs down her spine. She’s trying her best not to jump to conclusions but a familiar sanctimonious smirk appears in her mind’s eye. She wouldn’t...would she? Calmly, she responds:

Avecilla, 7:02pm I would if I knew who to warn you about.

Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm So you didn’t know. Hmm. Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm Your other flatmate. Not blonde. Bushy black hair. Very opinionated. Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm And loud

Spanish Inquisition, 7:04pm Came into my office hours in middle of a meeting with another student.

Her relief is short-lived as the reality settles in. Palm meets skin and she smacks her forehead. She loves Rebecca - honestly, truly - but the girl lived in the moment and rarely considered the consequences of her actions in the aftermath. She can’t discern his reaction though, not through text alone. Her thumb hovers over the icon at the top of the app. Surely he would’ve called her if he felt the conversation warranted it.

Avecilla, 7:04pm becca? Avecilla, 7:04pm oh fuck

Spanish Inquisition, 7:07pm ah so, becca’s her name! I wish she would have told me that

Spanish Inquisition, 7:07pm She said a lot about a lot of things, but not her name Spanish Inquisition, 7:08pm tbh I wasn’t really given a chance to say anything Spanish Inquisition, 7:08pm Do you know how weird it is to be lectured in my own office

Riza mutters a string of curses under her breath.

She switches messaging windows to Rebecca’s and stares at the blank chat box wondering which side to approach this from. Her fingers rest on the bridge of her nose imagining the scene of a riled up Rebecca busting in through that office door, telling the unsuspecting student to scram and then potentially ripping Roy a new one about who-knows-what with the signature hands-on-hips stance. It’s frustrating, it should be incredibly frustrating. What she had said, the manner in which she barged in, how it’s interpreted - all of it could be her demise but a chuckle bubbles up because... Classic Rebecca.

Unaware that the screen had dimmed, she sees it light up again with a call this time. “Hello?”

“You left me on read?” The other voice on the line greets her with hints of playful tones under that indignant choice of words. He continues smoothly, “Are you starting to think you’re the exception in all of this, avecilla?”

She snorts, smiling as she sat up. As far as she can tell he’s not irritated. “No exception to the embarrassment knowing Rebecca did that. If I had known that was even remotely crossing her mind - well, I would have stopped her.”

“Something tells me even if you did know, there’s no much that you could have done from stopping a force of nature like that.” Despite the noise of what she assumes is Central all around him, she can hear the tired smile on him.  “I think you’re very lucky to have such a loyal friend who has terrifyingly specific medical knowledge on how to best remove a penis.”

“She didn’t...” Riza groans and leans back against her pillows, sliding the dog-eared anthology back from the edge of the bed before she covers her face.

“She did. I was perplexed for most of it, blinking at her as she paced in front of my desk.” Riza let the words sink down with her mortification and then she’s frozen when he says, “Does she do this with all your boyfriends?”

She isn’t sure why it tenses her; maybe its because it's finally given a name, even if it’s only a label, and an unsure, timid smile crosses her face. “Consider yourself special for getting the Rebecca treatment.”

“I consider myself lucky for other reasons, Riza.”

Her demeanor changes with the teasing lilt in his words. A half-smile begins to spring up over her lips, thankful he’s understanding - in whatever capacity - of this. “Care to share with the class?” She says coyly.

“Yes, that no one else heard. Or made any comment about it.” He says sternly and she sinks back into her pillows.

“I don’t know why she thought storming into your office would be a good idea.”

“Well it certainly worked out well enough for you, didn’t it?” Even though he’s making fun of her, she bites her lip at the memory, and the way his voice has dipped now, sultry and inflected with the accent that he was well aware that made her weak in the knees. He’s blatantly flirting with her.

Riza scoffs. “I believe our aims were a little different if we are going to be making comparisons.”

“Ah, so you did come with a goal in mind then.”

“Yes, sir. I-”

There are stifled chuckles on the other end. He is one of the few people clever enough to really get under her skin, get her riled up.

“If I recall correct, you admitted that I was baited into your office because of your stunt.”

“Mmm, did I now?” he asks, low and throaty.

At least the whiplash from the back and forth keeps her on her toes; she looks at them wiggling even now as she talks to him. “Mhm, I was there.”

He chuckles lightly and she hears someone greet him faintly in the background. “Let me call you back so I can get into this hotel room.”

“Oh, of course.”

They don’t share many phone calls but even from the first day, she’s known his voice was pleasant. Especially when he wants it to be.  His laugh was warm down the line, and inexplicably she finds herself missing him, despite talking to him this morning however briefly.

The phone rings and she greets him with a standard “hello.” When no sound comes from the other end, she checks the screen to make sure the line is connected.

“So…” he starts and it sounds like he plops on a bed. “What are you wearing?”

She blinks. “What?”

He enunciates each word. “What - are - you - wearing?”

She sinks down the length of her headboard. “You’re not serious.”

He tuts. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Clothing.”

“You’re no fun, Miss Hawkeye.”

“Maybe it’s because I’d rather have you here to show me what you want.”

“So would I.” There’s a wistful edge to his voice. “Do you have other plans? I was under the impression that you had a date with some laundry and pizza.”

“I had a date,” she emphasises. “Besides... I don’t think I’d be too good at it.”

“Trial and error, right? There’s no pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with and we can always stop whenever you’d like.”

Likewise, she gets up and locks the door to her bedroom even though she knows Rebecca won’t be home for a while yet - certainly not after that stunt. “What a gentleman.”

“I like to think so.” She can hear his smile. “So...what are you wearing?”

Riza smiles in turn, feeling foolish. It’s such a ridiculous question on top of a ridiculous act. Tightening her grip on her phone, she figures telling him the truth of her rather vanilla pyjamas would probably detract from the mood of… whatever this was. She knows enough about “phone sex” - even in her mind it leaves a weird, tingly feeling - to at least humor him. She sighs into the phone, “It’s warm tonight, so I decided to wear something comfy to bed. Something so I can wiggle under the covers without feeling ...constricted.”

“Shorts?” The voice at the other end sounds surprised and she clearly sees him, in her mind’s eye, leaning in closer with interest and probably a smirk.

Riza bites her lower lip. “Less.”

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “Well, if you’re going to have me guess what Riza Hawkeye wears on her days off… the top to her pajamas and her small clothes.” 

He knows her too well. With little movement, she slides her underwear down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. She laughs, a little nervously. “Less.”

“Aren’t you naughty tonight?”

“I’ve been asked to,” Riza teases and shifts against her pillows. “Now, tell me something.”

“Yes?”

She’s unfamiliar with this certain kind of ...adventure. Nonetheless, she’s still willing to try. “How... excited are you?”

“Mhm. Let’s see.” She faintly hears fabric shifting, zippers unzipping, and if she wasn’t listening so intently, she would have missed the light groan. “Very.”

She licks her lips, imagining him sitting on the edge of her bed. Her legs cross; as a pleasant surprise, her arousal settles hotly in between them. “Tell me why.”

“You. Your legs. Spread and losing myself between them. Your body on mine.”

“You’re worse than me, sir.” There is a throbbing pulse right at her core in rhythm with the hard thrumming in her chest. It feels warm and slick without having to touch herself, though the temptation to is becoming harder to ignore. “What would you do?” she asks, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “If you had me there.”

His laugh is delicious - she closes her eyes as a shiver runs over her bare skin. “Enough about me, avecilla. How eager would you be if you were here?”

“I’m hardly-”

“Try.”

Leaning back, Riza tries to imagine her own fantasies. “If I was there-” she hears a throaty chuckle, “- I’d get on my knees, relieve you of those pesky trousers...” A daring hand slips in between her legs and her fingers are glistening when she lifts them back up to the light.

“And?” His voice has become husky, rumbling through his throat.

“I’d take you into my mouth.” She answers automatically, distracted from her slow stroke, playing with herself. It’s true - previously, with other fumblings, she had done her part to make her partner feel good - but with him she is surprised to find herself enjoying the act so thoroughly. Maybe it’s a power thing. The image of him watching her take him into her mouth with hooded eyes and a slack jaw is something she holds close to her heart. She does that to him.

Nobody else.

It takes him a moment to respond and when he does, his words are marked with a smidgen of strain. “Fast or slow?”

She doesn’t realize until this moment that her eyes have fallen shut, her head thrown back. “Slow at first, tasting you, feeling how hard you are in my mouth and growing harder with my tongue.”

“At first?” Roy asks curiously. “You’d want me to make you go faster, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I do-” she admits, gasping with the building pleasure of using two fingers to stimulate her clit.

“Grabbing you by your hair to so you can feel me go deeper.”

“Yes…” His fingers coiled in her hair, his cock around her lips getting wetter each time she retook him in her mouth, the aching between her thighs increasing with every second -

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Riza thought a laugh would leave her, instead she moans into the phone, feeling a warmth flush her skin pink. She’s wet enough to hear it, rubbing herself. She settles on the bed properly now, lying flat with the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. Gasping lightly, Riza slides a finger, then two inside herself as her other hand grabs her own breast, ghosting over the tip of her sensitive nipple.

“And where would you like me to fuck you?”

“Take me however you’d like me.” The truth is she can’t really think. She’s lost in her own fantasies. Against the wall with her legs over his hip; from behind where he could dig his nails into her as they picked up the pace; on top of him where she could feel him reaching depths that had her voice filling the room - it didn’t matter. There is an aching in her that her fingers cannot fulfill. He was too far away. She wants him here, with her and her shitty second-hand bed and the evidence is soaking her digits to her knuckles.

His groan reverberates through the phone lines and into her ear and she can almost feel the hot breath in her ear and his familiar scent.

She breathes in as hoping his phantom scent would materialize just for her.  She begins, “I’m y-”

Her bedroom door opens.

“Rebecca!” she screeches. Mortified, she drops her phone, urging her roommate to get out. She can only imagine his confused expression as she swears black and blue and Rebecca is cackling madly in the background. She covers herself with her blanket, chasing her out and slams the door behind her. There’s a chuckle wedged in between the “I’m sorry!” Rebecca shouts from the other side of the door.

Her phone is still lit up, the call remaining in progress as she approaches her bed. “Roy..?” she breathes after the entire debacle. Paper crinkles beneath her feet. She quickly pulls them back and hisses under her breath.

“I’m here,” he responds after a moment and he sounds a little spent. “Did we have unfortunate timing again?”

She sighs as she kneels down, her blanket pooling around her feet. “What’s the matter?” he presses.

Riza groans as she sees the scattered pages across her room. The hardcover of her anthology lies face down, open. The spine of it must’ve hit the floor first. She crouches though her legs shake and picks up the annotated papers. “It’s nothing.”

Other than the shifting of someone on a bed, there’s silence on the other end until he speaks again. “It doesn’t sound like nothing, avecilla.”

She nestles the phone in between her ear and shoulder as she collects the remnants of the book in earnest. “A book I was reading before you called fell off the bed and the pages came apart.”

“You certainly haven’t shown me that kind of vigor to make a book fall apart.”

She huffs into the phone, hoping her flattened brow expression would be received telepathically. “It was old.”

“I’m not that old.”

“The book.”

She can hear him stifle a chuckle, but he fails by snickering anyway. It makes her smile too. “Now I see. In any case, I’m sorry to hear that. Which book was it?”

Riza flips the cover as if she didn’t already know. “An old poetry book I bought when I was younger. Neruda.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.”

“What’s unfortunate is that I was… almost getting into it,” she admits, slipping on a different pair of underwear.

She can just imagine the disappointed expression on his face. “That’s even more unfortunate. But there’ll be other times if the moment is ruined.”

Again, she smiles because of his understanding, despite her embarrassment and she’ll admit to herself that she’s little forlorn over missing the opportunity to hear him reach an orgasm right in her ear. “I think for right now it is. I need to clean up this mess and then there’s my other date that needs tending to.”  

“Laundry isn’t that necessary, is it? By all means, walk around naked if you’d like. I certainly won’t protest.”

Riza grins, holding back the laughter. She manages to sternly volley back, “One of us has to remain civilized.”

He scoffs. “I’m hurt.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Call me back once you’re done?”

Genuinely and warmly this time, she smiles. “If you behave.”

“So no dick pics?”

It takes a lot of willpower not to snort audibly. “Surprise me, sir.”

With his return, she realizes only a few weeks remain before classes end officially. Riza’s always taken initiative for her assignments with diligence, but there’s always the influx of assignments at the end of the term, projects to wrap up, or reports to finalize. Still aiding him when she can in the evenings, her free time becomes increasingly limited.

There’s a new, long list of journals and books that Roy requires for his research that they read and eventually determine the value of this information. On top of this already tedious work, she offers to help grade the essays from the two 100-level courses he teaches in addition to her Chemical Literature class.

It’s boring, menial and uninspiring work: the amount of grammatical, spelling and formatting errors has Riza throwing her pencil away from her in frustration on more than one occasion. The content of said work is of an even lesser quality. It aggravates Riza when it’s obvious to her that some these students don’t give a flying fuck about their education. Or they do, but they have a shit way of showing it.

Some dark part of her forms from this trial and she takes joy tearing into the worst of the essays via text messages to him. In turn, he responds with the excuses and the pleas for extensions or redacted frantic emails that come in once students factor in the weight of the participation grade.

Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm 3 years Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm 3 years and they still ignore the bolded text Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm It’s in caps you know. Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm PARTICIPATION GRADE: 35% Spanish Inquisition, 11:54 pm It’s almost like they forget that in order to participate they have to attend class.

Avecilla, 11:57 pm Strike them down Spanish Inquisition, 11:58 pm HA Avecilla, 11:58 pm I mean Avecilla, 11:58 pm How cruel are you going to be?

Spanish Inquisition, 11:59 pm Most will get a B or similar Spanish Inquisition, 11:59 pm Not enough for them to storm to the dean and complain i’m unfair, but maybe enough to encourage them to maybe try next time

 The weeks fly by because of this and she can only think of one time in the last few weeks where they’ve actually managed to do more than just kiss. Riza isn’t one to keep tallies, but it was after a late night of simultaneously grading, reading and working on her final assignments. She was tired. She knew he was too, and while she could only blame herself for suggesting it, it didn’t make her any less frustrated when he drifts to sleep with his dick in her mouth. Rebecca harbored no sympathy for her either. She merely texts ‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA’ and then sends far too many tongue-in-cheek gifs implying Riza was “thirsty.”

 Even if she was, Riza muted her best friend and finished herself off, but not before almost succumbing to sleep once or twice.

 Every time after that, when they managed to have more coffee or sleep in, they were rudely interrupted in some other way. As if it were sacrilege he had taken that one time for granted, he jested once, and it soon became laughable what the universe kept throwing at them.

 The workload was understandable, forgivable, and inevitably out of their control. Then, it was constant miscalculations of how little time they had: either she had a class or he had one to teach or office hours, or I’m about to crash and we both know how the last time worked out. It was driving her up the walls - and not in the ways she’d preferred.

 They reach a point of recklessness. They take advantage of his empty office with a locked door on the final days after class. He cancels his office hours that morning after her assurances that her assignments were up to par and she could afford the distraction. Riza finds herself pleasantly nestled between euphoria and giddiness from the frantic way they paw at each other’s clothes. Or it’s the way she sat on the edge of his desk and the cool air tickled in the moist heat in between her legs. Or the little tinge of pride from cancelling his office hours just for her. Or perhaps a combination of it all. Irresponsible, to be sure, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t flattered how much he desired her, as if it were anything to question. She thinks, in foolish desperation, that the odds are in their favour this time.

 She’s wet and ready from his fingers playing with her as they kiss, bringing him closer with her legs as her soft moans are muffled by his lips. Her hands reach for the buckle of his belt and she chuckles lightly when she detours further south to palm the erection under the cloth of his pants. Let’s free it, she thought then and refocused on the buckle, because she is fed up with all this teasing and none of the fingering. He’s given her a light orgasm already - the kind that leaves her wanting, that she only needed to bite down on her lip for - but it’s made her insatiable now. There’s just something so good about having him in her, and as much as she loves his fingers and dexterity, they cannot mimic the stretch and feeling of fullness he alone provides.  “I want you,” she murmurs under his lips, drunk from her lust, as she unbuckled the belt with practiced fingers.

 Loud and obnoxious, an alarm suddenly blares. Sound fills the room and it’s like a bucket of cold water over her; it takes them both a moment to recenter themselves back to earth. Her fingers uncurl from his pants and inwardly she mourns the loss of contact. The urge to keep going is strong; after all, when are fire alarms set off for a legitimate reasons anyway? It’s an irrational thought and Riza can hardly hear anything else. They fix themselves up hastily and exit the building; everybody they pass seemingly none the wiser. She lets herself drift away from him - a few metres and several people between them when they reach the evacuation point, reminding herself that there are other people here and this close to the end of classes is no excuse to relax her standards. She’s just...frustrated. A voice that sounds a lot like Rebecca’s teases that she’s actually just horny.

 If she’s honest, she hates the shame that trickles down her spine at this unadulterated want. In a different time, with a less conservative upbringing to influence her choices, she wouldn’t find this shame and guilt currently she’s currently wrestling with. She would be more like Rebecca or even Olivier where it’s not on her radar, coming and going as she pleases. But if her circumstances were different, she probably wouldn’t even be here, studying for a Bachelor of Science as a means to connect with her absentee father.

 Riza miraculously catches his eyes as the crowd slowly shuffles further back on the field as more people spill out of the Joseph Hunter Science Building. He mouths something to her, but her lipreading is terrible and she shrugs her shoulders, lifting up her phone to their field of vision.

 Spanish Inquisition, 10:23am 10 minutes leaves enough time to return the favor of the other night.

 The fire alarm had killed most of their time before her next class, but she forgoes punctuality in favor of four minutes of feeling his hair in between her fingers while his lips kiss in between her legs. In the end, her tardiness was excused.

 Finally - finally, she thinks they’ve managed a miracle. Her final assignments are as ready as they’ll ever be, waiting for one final read-over before submission, and his last block of essays have been graded and handed back to their respective classes. Draped over him in the same chair in his apartment study where they first fucked, she’s allowing herself to celebrate as she cups his jaw with her hands, her tongue sliding against his pleasantly.

He hardens underneath her and she’s none too shy about unbuttoning his shirt as he has done for her. Pushed down to her elbows, the shirt is rid of her and it’s a painful few seconds when she pulls away to be free of it properly. He looks sinfully decadent beneath her, a lazy smirk growing on his face as one hand deliberately hooks a finger under her bra strap, tugging it down. Her lingerie choices have been adventurous in recent weeks - the pastel blue lacy number she’s currently wearing is definitely not designed for any exercise more taxing than walking, and judging by the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, Riza knows with certainty that she’s found a keeper.

His fingers brush over her nipples, and she briefly shuts her eyes as he pinches before pulling the fabric down and draws her close, tongue soothing the puckered skin. Her hands curl into his hair, scratching at his scalp and Riza’s uncaring of the breathy moans leaving her - this is divine, and the wait has certainly been worth it.

Roy’s hands drift down and slide under her skirt, fingers gliding over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, leaving tingling sensations in its wake. He is only mere inches from her arousal and a great deal of willpower goes into preventing herself from pushing his hand forward.

He takes off his glasses and she sets them behind her on the large desk. Her hands go through his hair as he cups her breast and brings her other nipple into his mouth, using his tongue to tease the tip and even nip at it gently with his teeth. His other hand clutches at her ass to bring her closer as if the distance they have was remotely unbearable. Riza gasps into his hair, grinding her hips over his lap, and his scent is mixed with sweat. It’s a dangerous, addicting blend, and she shudders in his lap as his fingers stroke across her bare skin. He releases her nipple slowly from between his teeth before shifting back to her other one and she remembers a joke he said about her breasts deserving equal treatment.

And then, in the middle of this achingly wonderful treatment - his ringtone goes off.

Roy groans for all the wrong reasons, throwing his head back. He keeps them steady as he awkwardly reaches his back pocket for his phone. “Pfft, it’s just Hughes,” he mutters after a concerted effort and sets the cell down on the chair of the arm. Softer and locked on her other unattended breast, he mumbles with a mouth full of her, “He can leave a message.”

Riza doesn’t remember which one is Hughes and she’s not given much time to think about it when his mouth returns to her breast and his hand squeezes, massages, tweaks at the other. She’s at the point of moaning out if you say so when the vibrations and standard tune rings out again.

He stops altogether and after a few seconds, it dies to a stop only to start up again. His attention is needed again, and she’s never felt quite as pissed off at an inanimate object as she does right now. Roy growls and sits back, picking up the phone. “Let me just see what he wants.”

She nods wordlessly and he starts the conversation, going beyond standard small talk after a few moments. She can hear the other man talking; an excitable person who gets even more excited when he talks about certain topics. She can’t discern what they’re talking about exactly, but Roy gives the occasional mhm and yeah when it’s warranted.  

Riza figures she can go wait for him in the bedroom. Perhaps sprawled out with a bright, blinking sign that says ‘insert here’ in between her legs should he fail to see how much she wanted him that afternoon; she blames Rebecca’s influence for that kind of ridiculous humor. Riza starts to climb off him and stops when she’s kept in place from his hand gripping the fabric of her skirt. He wants her to stay there? She frowns and points at the phone. His brows furrow and he shakes his head, putting a finger over his mouth, telling her to be quiet.

Well, she can go be quiet in the other room. She can respect his privacy. It’s not a big deal; they had the entire evening to themselves. Well, nearly - but she’d be damned if she’d let any other distractions interrupt them after this call. She deserves to be fucked thoroughly.

Roy is apparently impatient, however. The hand holding the finger over his mouth flattens over her thigh and coasts up to the edge of her skirt. He thumbs the skin there, teasing the idea that he could touch her in the middle of this conversation. She looks at him knowingly when he crosses underneath the folds of her skirt, yet he continues on talking as though nothing has happened. He caresses the skin inside her thighs as he talks about something or the other: Riza isn’t concentrating on that, instead absorbed with the sensation of his fingers drifting higher and higher. She waits patiently, but his touch somehow makes her hotter, wetter. A devious finger lightly ghosts over the linen of her damp underwear and he says a perfectly timed “Oh?” towards the caller and to her. Riza blushes and grabs at his wrist.

She can sit up, she can leave the room, she knows that he’d respect that, but she doesn’t want to. She realizes there’s a morbid curiosity as to how and why he does things and she always wants to know. This is moment is one of them. It’s why she doesn’t stop him when he tugs aside the cloth of her underwear and wets his fingers with what’s in between her lips. Her frown dissipates and she gasps as if she’s been starved from his touch, like it’s an electrifying drug she’s been having withdrawals from. The sensations of his fingers rubbing against her clit is familiar and unknown, and she lets her head fall back, relishing in the feeling and clawing lightly at the armchair.

His fingers leave her and he cleans them off with his mouth before gesturing her to be quiet with a finger over his mouth again. She thinks she can hear his friend say “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he responds, looking directly at her with a devious glint in his eyes. “Just eating. Go on.”

A warm tingle shoots down her spine and spreads across her abdomen down to her groin. She’s been enraptured by a lunatic and she’s allowed it to happen, even now when he aims to touch her again.  With a bite to her knuckle, she grasps at his loosened shirt when his fingers return to remind her how obnoxiously needy she has become. Giving into this notion, she moves to hover over his lap for shameless access. He bites a bottom lip at this, staring her from the wrinkled mess of her skirt to her flushed, knuckle-biting face. She’s wet enough that an easy orgasm is on the horizon from the slow, rubbing stimulation on her clit. Riza makes the mistake of thinking he’ll stop there, because then one finger enters her and then another. Her reaction is unexpected, even to her. She falls back to his lap and bites the fleshy side of her palm to quell the noises. Her spread legs allow him to finger her, so he does. Slowly. In and out, and the noises would make her die of mortification if she weren’t enjoying every satisfyingly building moment of this pleasure. His palm is hitting her stimulated clit with each stroke and she’s grasping at his shirt once more, trying to salvage what solid ground she can keep as the pleasure rises within her..

He slows down when she’s at the precipice of a delicious orgasm that she even licks her lips, and decides to become an active participant in his phone call. But it’s not in English. He shifts to Spanish while his hand moves against her more patiently. She tries to catch her breath from holding it but it’s impossible not to listen to the way he’s talking. It’s fascinating how melodic a different language sounds and how much of a turn on it is for her. He speaks this language faster. His R’s roll off his tongue and somehow there’s more sensuality in his voice. It’s mesmerizing.

His attention turns back to her when moments ago he was staring at some place off to the side. He looks to her hips and she doesn’t even realize - until he does - how subtly she was moving them. Roy pauses, eyebrows furrowed before a downright hungry grin forms on his face, and his fingers begin to move once more.

“Estoy eschuchando,” he answers the person on the other line, his diction shifting into a huskier tone, each syllable pronounced lower and slower. She thought it was bad enough when he spoke it casually, but when he did it deliberately? She can only handle so much stimuli, and by this point she’s uncaring of how shameless she’s acting, how she’s become putty in his hands. She’s drunk on this orgasm she can feel barrelling towards her, on the lust and desire she feels for him. She’s never felt it quite like this before - this want that feels more like a need with every passing second. She wants to take the phone and hang it up for him, but she opts for pulling at the collar of his partially unbuttoned shirt and biting the taut muscle at the meeting of his neck and shoulder. He maintains that paced fingering in and out of her. She knows she’s tightening around his fingers because of the paced movement.

With his deliberate words at her ear, his fingers inside her, and the smell of his bare skin, she climaxes against him, taking deep breaths and every measure to stifle the moans and groans. Her head rests over his shoulder, hot breath hitting his neck. She can see him swallowing and doesn’t know why she didn’t think to give him the same torturing she just endured.

He’s hard. She can feel it and see it in this light. She palms it, clutches it, strokes it, and he swallows thickly again. He sounds strained when he cuts off the caller and abruptly says, “I’ll have to call you back.” Roy ends the call and the phone is tossed to the wayside as his fingers slide out of her.

She grabs his cock harder and he surprises her by standing up, supporting her by her underside until she’s laid on his desk directly behind her, over the papers she had spent last week meticulously highlighting. She lifts her hips to help with the removal of her own underwear. As he works with his own pants she tries to salvage what’s underneath her to little success. Distracted by her menial task, she gasps, surprised, when her wrists are manacled and set at either side of her head. Her breathing is heavy, his too. The tip of him nudges at her entrance and she moves against it, towards it just for the stretch a little bit more of him inside her.

“A little bird tells me you have a secret.”

Riza smiles coyly after a futile attempt to use her legs to bring him forward. “Hardly a secret if you know about it,” she manages, half-heartedly trying to move her arms. He doesn’t budge an inch, his smile dark and promising. She supposes at this point nothing should really surprise her when it comes to her newfound appreciation for less-than-vanilla sex, but there’s just something so inherently sexy about being pinned down by him, even as simply as she is right now. The temporary loss of control is so easy to lose herself in.

Roy observes her hungrily. “A kink then.”

The initial thrust makes her gasp sharply and he groans pleasantly. Her limbs dangle off the side as he fucks her over his desk. Where he was well-paced before, he is erratic now, but he won’t find complaint from her in that regard. She has no means of quieting herself with her hands where they are, and biting down at her teeth proves inefficient when each of his thrusts touch places she’s been yearning for weeks, when the stretch she’s been hungry for is finally given to her. Her eyes are shut, mouth open, body subject to this carnal movement. She doesn’t think to see beyond her eyes for the time being, what expressions his face is making or anything that will  take her away from the here and now of the feelings of the sex. She feels selfish for relishing in this, but fuck, it’s been a long time coming and this sex proves it.

He lets go of her wrists and brings her toward him to hang just a little more over the desk by way of her legs.  She reaches over her head at the other end of the desk, moaning into the inside of her arm, clutching the edge as if it were her salvation from plunging into the deep.

Her eyes open suddenly when he thumbs her clit. She looks at him and there’s a wolfish grin on his face, enjoying her reactions in the ways she squirms, moans, mewls, and tightens. Her fingernails scratch at the desk for purchase, for breath, but he continues with sweat beading his brow until he grunts a little louder and his final thrusts hit deeper as he cums inside her.

Her own orgasm follows shortly after, and she’s left quivering on the desk, well aware of the sight she is before him. She can feel his seed leaking out of her as her pulls out, and automatically her fingers move to catch it - like hell was she going to completely debase the paperwork that was crumpled underneath her. He utters a strange, strained grunt, running a hand through his hair roughly.

“I’ve told you, you can’t just do that with no warning.”

“Oh?” Her hand rises back up to her mouth and she wets her lower lip in anticipation. “Do this?” Her tongue darts out to lap at the milky, viscous fluid and while the taste is not delightful, the reaction that he has most certainly is. She barely has time to repeat her actions before his hand closes firmly over her own, and pulling her up to a sitting position at the edge of his desk.

“No,” he tells her firmly, though the matching smile on his lips belies any real annoyance. “If you’re going to be the death of me I’d at least like to get my money’s worth.” The kiss he drops on her forehead is soft. “I’ll get you a washcloth,” he says, fixing up his trousers loosely. The faint trail of hair sticks out against his lower abdomen like a beacon and Riza swallows the urge to coax him back for another round.

She adjusts the straps of her bra back up on her shoulders and nicks his discarded shirt from the ground. Her skirt is a crumpled, lost cause, and Riza makes a mental note to pick up an iron at some point this weekend - she hadn’t noticed it immediately, but of the many appliances Olivier had taken with her, the iron was the one she had relied on the most. Rebecca had bitched endlessly about the mini espresso machine that had also disappeared, though it had quickly been replaced.

She rolls up the sleeves of his shirt as she walks down the hallway towards the kitchen, humming under her breath. Roy would probably appreciate a cup of coffee, she thinks, focusing on doing the buttons up correctly as she passes by the island countertop and the man sitting there.

She stills, before turning to make sure she’s seeing right. The man looks up from the plate in front of him and raises his mug in greeting, the lowlights from the kitchen reflecting strangely on his glasses.

“You kids had fun?” he asks, before taking a sip. His tone is light, breezy, and he gestures to the plate in front of him when she doesn’t respond. “You’re probably hungry after that, uh-” he breaks off laughing, ducking his head “-after that workout. My wife made a quiche - you should have some, it is the best in the world, and I’m not biased.”

next

[artificialqueens]

Say You Won’t Let Go Part 5 (Biadore) - Fucking Awful

A/N: No fan fare, no excuses. Just an apologetic author who finally got her hands on a computer.

For those joining this party now – here’s the link to the first installments:

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Welcome to the post-All Stars landslide, kids. Let’s cry together. 

Say you won’t let go.

October 2015. Danny was locked in the guestroom of his mom’s house in Azusa, writing. He had only a few days left of recording in the studio, so he needed to focus on finishing up the last few songs of the new album before he ran out of time and money.

The album – he and the producers decided it would be called After Party – was coming along really well. His team was pleased that it had plenty of upbeat and synth-y tracks that they hoped might get him into radio play, and Danny was already storyboarding the lead single music video.

And as for those moodier, melancholy tracks Danny was hoping to write earlier in the summer – those came in spades after “The Incident.”

Danny used “The Incident” as mental shorthand for Roy’s housewarming party; calling it something neutral took away its power over him…and kept him from having to decide whether it was his own breakup or Roy’s hookup that upset him the most. As soon as he got home that night, he wrote the lyrics for “I Can’t Love You” on the first takeout napkin he could find. He spent the next few days perfecting the melody to fit his words – the opposite of his usual work pattern – and had the track laid down within the week. “I.C.U.” came next, after waking up in a cold sweat from a dream where he was chasing some kind of glowing light in a sea of darkness. He got that one done just a few weeks later.

Then he broke for All Stars. Literally, broke. Danny didn’t last 3 days back at Drag Race, but that was going to be common knowledge eventually. He went in as a confident artist healing from a breakup and the less-than-year-old death of his father, and he came out a shaken chiona with fresh wounds where all his Band-Aids had been.

Luckily this gave him yet another treasure trove of sadness and disappointment, from which he pulled out two more real gut-wrenchers like “Save Your Breath.”  Danny wanted some really dark stuff on this album, and Life sure as hell gave him something to write about. Music was therapy, just as it always had been.

Music also gave Danny an excuse to hide. That was why he was holed up in Azusa, going nowhere but the studio and the house, because he was working on the album – definitely not because he didn’t know how to deal with his friends after The Incident and his All Stars freak out. Danny hadn’t seen anyone but Bonnie and her boyfriend in weeks, and he’d only spoken to Chris over the phone.

Isolation agreed with him. He working on the chorus of one of his bubblier tracks when his phone vibrated. In the zone and unwilling to be distracted, he ignored it. But, much like that crazy bitch from Fatal Attraction, the iPhone would not be ignored, Dan. Periodic vibes became constant buzzing, moving from short text alerts to the long drone of disregarded calls. After a sold 20 minutes of all out iPhone assault, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!” Danny yelled into his phone, picking it up without checking the caller. “Is the Goddamn universe ending?” He had been off in his own creative world, and resented whoever was pulling him back into the real one.

After a long second of silence, a hoarse but recognizable voice spoke. “See, where was this type of anger and hate 2 years ago? Damn, you could’ve at least given me some real competition with that shit.”

Danny froze. Roy.

“Uh, I…Wha…I…” Danny stuttered, hard. He didn’t have a comeback, partially because he was coming down from his moment of rage and partially because he was so surprised to hear that voice.

“That’s more like it. Confused and adorable. How’s my pussyfart doing? Why haven’t you called me? How have you been?“

Confused was right. Why is Roy calling? Danny told him he’d be gone for 10 weeks to do All Stars, but it had barely been 5.

And Roy sounded weird. There was this thing he did with his voice when he was straining to be nice - it got quiet and soft, like he was speaking to a baby bird, and it sounded almost an octave higher. Normally it made Danny laugh, because it sounded so ridiculous in comparison to Roy’s normal voice and reminded him that Roy never understood how warm and comforting he could be without even trying. But in this moment it was unsettling, because he didn’t know why Roy was speaking to him like that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. You just surprised me, why are you calling me ri – ” Danny realized it all at once. His fucking mom called Roy and told him what happened at All Stars, that was the only possible explanation. Confusion turned into anger and embarrassment. “Did my fucking mother call you and tell you about All Stars? Oh my God, I am not a child anymore. Jesus Christ, she called you and told you I – ”

“Whoa there, calm your tits kid. She didn’t tell me anything more than you’re back home in Azusa a little earlier than expected, and that she’s worried about you holing yourself up in the studio.”

Danny had set the phone down and was rubbing his face. “Fuuuuuck.”

After a few seconds of silence and a deep breath, he picked the phone back up. “Oh my fucking God, I’m sorry she called you. I am so mort - no, I am fine. I am so totally fine. I don’t know what the hell the woman formerly known as my mother was thinking, but seriously everything is ok. Great. It’s fucking spectacular.”

Danny knew the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t thick enough to cover up how exactly not-at-all-ok he actually was, but he thought he could trust Roy enough to just drop it until he chose to elaborate. He was right.

“Clearly, you sound so balanced and even-keeled right now.” Roy was returning the thick sarcasm in kind. “Look, your mama loves you and knows I’m the only motherfucker around here who can pull you outta whatever fucked up funk you’ve gotten yourself into after being sent home.”

Danny tried to interrupt. Sent home? He must be confused. “No, Roy I -”

But Roy cut him off at the pass. “Just shush and listen to your elders for a second. Cocooning yourself off in your own little sorrow…cocoon, fuck I can’t think of another word…anyway that isn’t going to do you any good. Let’s get out and do something, I’m coming to pick you up in an hour or however long it takes me to drive from Hollywood to ass-fuck Azusa. Just do what I say and for the love of God take a shower before you’re back out in public.”

And with a click, the call ended.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Roy didn’t know how he went home. He thought he got kicked off early and that’s why he was sad. Not because he pussied out within 48 hours and left after crying to Michelle and RuPaul on national television. Not because he couldn’t handle harsh criticism from That’s So Raven. Not because he was so emotionally shattered over other events and wasn’t able to focus on a stupid TV competition. And not because he was too scared to fail so he quit instead.

All things I will now have the pleasure of explaining to Bianca fucking Del Rio. To say Danny wasn’t looking forward to that part was about the understatement of his lifetime. But at least I get to see Roy. And that thought made it all ok again.

So Danny sighed, stood up, and shuffled upstairs to shower - shouting and cursing at Bonnie with every other step, and smiling in between.

…

Roy showed about an hour later, around 4 in the afternoon. He came to the door and hugged Bonnie - Bonnie the traitor, as a still slightly angry Danny thought of her - before grabbing Danny out from behind her and pulling him into a hug.

The hug seemed to defy all rules of space and time. It was bone-crushing at the same time as it was soft and warm. It gave Danny goosebumps and made his chest tense up, but it also sent waves of relaxation down his spine and made his head buzz like it was full of fireflies. It went on forever, but was over way too soon.

“Hey kiddo, how ya doin?” Roy said quietly to Danny as he slowly disengaged from the embrace, gently stroking Danny up and down his back while he did so.

Danny let silence hang, and then it hung for too long. When he realized the pause was getting dramatic, he nearly screeched his next words.

“Better now that mommy called a clown to cheer me up.” He was trying desperately to make a joke. The situation was becoming far to sincere and intimate and confusing for his brain to process, and he was just trying to find an eject button. “What, no balloons or giant shoes? I at least expected a piñata.”

“Oh god, you know I hate when you do that fucking chola voice.” Roy rolled his eyes, the spell of the moment broken. “C'mon you little brat, let’s go.” He bounded down the steps of the house and headed for his car.

“Careful, grandpa, you’ll break a hip! I don’t think Obamacare covers clown-related injuries on anyone over sixty!” Danny yelled after him, gathering the rest of his things from behind the door and trying to shoot a glance at his mom that simultaneously said Thank you and I hate you so much right now.

Roy was already in the car and backing out of the driveway when Danny turned around. “If you aren’t in this car in 30 seconds I’m leaving Delano. You better run - run like you’re chasin’ some of Detox’s trade.”

Danny sauntered slowly over to the car, swaying his hips just a little when he noticed Roy focusing a lot of attention on his body. He held his middle finger up all the while.

…

Roy drove Danny all the way back into LA. They spent the over-an-hour-long car ride catching up on all their quick-and-easy stuff: families, gigs, albums and tours, who of their friends had hooked up with who. It only veered into uncomfortable territory once - when Roy brought up the Handsome Blonde Man who haunted Danny’s dreams. Apparently he was named Tom and also now Roy’s boyfriend. Danny changed subjects as soon as the familiar aching feeling in his chest made his stomach hurt, sharply pivoting to talk about some ridiculous fight he and Chris had over Miley Cyrus. He made sure to fully dodge the other conversation bullet - All Stars - for the full drive.

They ended up at a record store in Silver Lake. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling vinyl, used and new, from beat up old soul 45’s to limited edition Bowie box sets to brand new Chance the Rapper albums.

“Do you actually come here?” Danny asked quizzically as he dug excitedly through a bin marked “Hole.” In all the years he’d known Roy, he’d never known him to be into vintage records. Clothes definitely, books maybe - but Danny had never seen so much as a framed album cover in Roy’s apartment.

Roy was a few rows over, casually flipping through the Musicals section. “Of course, I’m here all the time. It’s not that far from my house, and they have a really, uh, great selection, and there’s good coffee nearby, and over there they’ve got books…”

Danny scoffed. “You’re such a bad liar.” Roy had just done all of his lying “tells” - rambling in a weird cadence, going into unnecessary detail, and not making eye contact.

“What?” Roy kept his eyes on the Rogers and Hammerstein. “I am not, you don’t know everything about me, Daniel. I could be here every fucking week buying records for my…” He trailed off.

“For what? Tell me what you play these on, Mr. DJ.” Danny put a hand on his hip and stared challengingly at Roy.

This was fun, he loved catching Roy in a mistake. Their natural relationship dynamic always made him feel like he was at a disadvantage - as if Roy was smart and he was dumb, Roy was successful and he was a fuck up - so Danny seized on any opportunity to reassure him that they were equal. Especially since he knew he was about to tip his own scales back towards ‘fuck up’ whenever Roy decided to finally ask about All Stars.

“My record player, it’s a…um…it’s…oh fuck it.” Roy stopped pretending to look at through the showtunes stacks and rolled his eyes at Danny. “No, I’ve literally never been here before. I asked Raja for a good place to go for music today and this is what I got. Not bad though, huh?”

Danny was surprised by how quickly Roy gave up. Usually there was at least some kind of fun back-and-forth fighting over who was right, or trying to cover up what they didn’t know, or just full on teasing.

“Why? You always listen to everything on those ugly ass Beats headphones anyway, what would you want with a record?”

There were only a few seconds of awkward silence, but Danny would’ve sworn it was a solid minute.

“I wanted to bring you somewhere to take your mind of things, and I know you love record stores.” Roy looked at Danny with that same sincerity from the hug on the front porch. “I figured you could use the distraction.”

And once again, it made Danny’s heart beat wild. Not because Roy was looking at him with genuine care and compassion. No, of course not.

And not because Roy was willing to sacrifice his very limited time off to do something he knew only Danny would enjoy, and that wasn’t something people did normal friends.

Nope, definitely not. It was certainly because Danny was just afraid to tell him about All Stars, that he wasn’t kicked off but instead made the decision to walk away…

“Oh.” That was all Danny could muster.

They spent about 45 more minutes wandering the shop before the owner came out from behind the poster-littered cash wrap and told them both he’d be closing down for the night. Danny bought a new Lana Del Rey album and a beat-up bootleg of a Nine Inch Nails concert from the late 90’s. He was surprised when Roy followed behind to buy a book on Stevie Nicks’ impact on fashion - leave it to him to find a book about clothes in a warehouse full of music.

Danny was starving, and it was far enough past sunset that he didn’t feel like a senior citizen for suggesting dinner. Roy knew of a good Mexican place with strong margaritas a few doors down, and they headed over.

Two hours later, tacos were came and went, margaritas were inhaled like water, shots were knocked back at machine-gun pace, and Danny had officially exhausted all his small talk options. Oh, and also he was drunk. As fuck. In sum, officially out of ways to avoid talking about the elefante in the room.

“So Daniel Noriega.” Roy was slurring his words just a bit, but he was at least two notches less drunk than Danny.

It’s that fucking New Orleans thing, Danny thought to himself. Roy is like a fucking steel tank. He may as well be sober.

(He wasn’t.)

“It’s time to ‘fess up. What’d you wear to piss off Michelle so much that she shoved her fist up Ru’s ass and made him send you home?” Even when tipsy Roy knew how to be hateful. Shit, maybe even more so when he’d been drinking.

“Well, you cunt, it was actually that dress youuuuu -” Danny waved another shot of tequila under Roy’s nose as he gestured towards him “- gave me for the show. Did you and your precious new boyfriend just want to sabotage me?”

Roy grabbed the dangling shot from Danny’s hand and slammed it back. “No way, not possible. That dress was fucking beautiful, it was black and sexy and it sparkled, bitch.” Roy tried unsuccessfully to tongue pop, a sure sign he was getting more drunk by the second; only drunk Roy dug unironically into the Laganja-isms.

“Yeah, well, Michelle thought otherwise. She told me I had hogbody again.”

“What? That shady whore, I swear I -” Roy tried to interject but Danny talked over him, cutting off whatever tirade against Michelle he was about to launch.

“But it didn’t matter, it wasn’t about the dress. Not really, at least. It was about me. How I didn’t care. How I didn’t try, I don’t try, I never try.”

As he spoke, Danny began to feel an unfamiliar emotion in this story: anger. When he’d recounted it to Bonnie, and every time he’d gone through it in his own head, he’d only ever felt embarrassed and sad. But now he felt a fire in his stomach - no doubt fueled by tequila, but still.

“Who the fuck did she think she was, talking to me like that? I’m the fan-fucking-favorite of all time. Of any Drag Race season. EVER. And she thinks she can tell me I don’t care and I don’t try? And that goddamn Raven…”

Danny steamrolled over Roy whenever he tried to respond or ask a question. “Raven was there?”

There was no derailing him, though. The floodgates had been opened, and the weeks of anger Danny had been repressing now flooded out like blood through the halls of The Shining hotel.

“Michelle just made it ok for Raven Simon - Simone - Salmon - ugh, however you say her name. She fucking tore me to shreds for no fucking reason. What has she done since her Disney Channel show like a million years ago? Talk about a joke, someone who doesn’t do anything. Where the hell does she come off saying I’m a bad singer or that I’m fat or that I’m lazy and untalented…”

“She said what now?”

Danny was basically talking to himself at this point. “Screw both of them. They’re idiot fucking people with idiot fucking opinions.” He knew he didn’t mean it all - he loved Michelle like a father - but he just needed to say it.

“Well that’s a constructive, adult response to the situation.”

“Whatever, I’m glad I quit. I’m better than all that anyway.” Danny said it so confidently he almost believed himself.

The moment of drunk, anger-high reassurance was gone as soon as it came.

“You did what?” Roy looked at Danny in disbelief.

Danny was so surprised by Roy’s surprise - and so drunk from the tequila - that he didn’t think to sugar coat anything.

“I quit. They were cunts to me on the first day, so on the second day I quit.”

Uncomfortable silence crashed the party once again. Roy was just staring at him, his eyes slightly squinting and his focus darting around. It was like he was trying to compute whatever Danny had just said, and it went on unbearably long.

“I stood up for myself, Roy.” He couldn’t take the quiet stare, so he broke eye contact and directed his words at the empty shot glass he was idly spinning. Danny knew this made him look like a nervous little boy.

“It was the only thing I could’ve done. If you’d been there, you’d have told me to do the same thing.”

Roy’s expression didn’t change, but he looked away now, too. His eyes searched for the waiter, who he waved at aggressively. “Hi, excuse me. Hello!”

“Roy, I know I should’ve told –”

But Roy wasn’t listening. The waiter had arrived. “Can we get the check please? Actually, just take my card.” He fumbled for his wallet, yanked out his Amex, and threw it on the table. “Faster you bring that back, the bigger the tip.”

He then proceeded to pull out his phone and start dialing, continuing to ignore all Danny’s attempts to speak. It was freaky when Roy got like this, slipped into tunnel vision and disregarded everything around him. Danny knew it was his way of keeping his emotions in check. A Roy this focused was a Roy trying to keep cool.

“Look, I –”

“Justin? Hey, sorry if I woke you up.” Roy ignored Danny and spoke to the voice on the other end of the call.  “No, no I’m fine. I need a favor - can you come get my car from El Coyote and drive it home? I’m here with Danny and I’m too drunk to drive. I figured if you’re not out you could…Ok great, thanks. It’s in the valet, I’ll tell them you’re coming. We’re jumping in an Uber. You’re the best, Thunderfuck.”

The waiter came back and Roy signed for the bill. True to his word, he left a 50% tip.

“Come on, Danny. We’re leaving.” Roy acknowledged his presence for the first time in maybe 10 minutes, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. “Uber is outside, I can’t take you home so you’ll stay at my place. Tell Bonnie.”

“Um, I’m not a child going to a sleepover.” Given the childishly defiant way in which he was speaking, and the childishly ashamed way he’d just been sitting, Danny recognized his own deep hypocrisy. “You don’t get to order me around and –”

Roy stood up from the table and finally looked at Danny. “I don’t want to fight with you right now. Can we please just go?”

The exasperation in Roy’s voice was apparent, and it caught him off guard. Frustration, condescension, even anger - those would’ve made sense. But somehow he just looked sad and tired.

“Okay, sure.” Roy walked towards the exit, and Danny stood to follow.

…

The silent car ride gave Danny just enough time to spiral. Both he and Roy were staring out their windows, probably making the Uber driver think they had just gotten into a huge fight. Danny almost wished they had - at least Roy would be talking to him if they were fighting, and yelling at each other must be better than not speaking at all.

Instead, the absence of words led him down a rabbit hole of thought. Roy has never been this quiet, not with me. Is he that angry? Did I let him down that badly? He must’ve known I couldn’t get far without him, that I’d disappoint him in the end. Him, my mom, my fucking fans…

It was a particularly dark rabbit hole, and one he’d become deeply acquainted with since he left All Stars. He knew every nook of self-doubt, every cranny of anger, every pothole of depression. By the time the car pulled up to Roy’s place, Danny was approaching the final circle of his own personal hell.

Roy had been in his own head enough that he didn’t notice. Danny trailed behind him from the car to the elevator to the hallway, tears welling up all the while.  

Inside the apartment, Roy threw his keys on the table and walked straight towards his kitchen. He wasn’t watching Danny as he poured two giant glasses of water, but he began talking immediately.

“I’m trying to think of what to say here, Danny, but I’m just at a fucking loss. You left? You fucking left?” He still wasn’t yelling, but there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone that wasn’t there before.

“You’re so special, so talented and amazing. You couldn’t just believe that enough to tough it out and win? You know you would’ve won if you had just –”

The speech was cut off by Danny’s own sob. One heave, two heaves, and then a waterfall of breathes, apologies and shudders tumbling out while he leaned on the door for support. The combination of too much tequila, chased with a mixer of his own and Roy’s disappointment, was too much for Danny to handle.    

That caught Roy’s attention; he dropped his Brita and nearly jumped over the kitchen counter, sliding his hands around Danny’s waist just as he was about to collapse under the weight of his own crying.

“Oh, hey. Babe, shh.” Roy guided them over to the couch. “I didn’t mean to make you…I just don’t understand what happened. Help me understand what happened.” He was trying to talk to Danny, who was too busy trying to catch a deep breath between hiccuping and not inhaling tears.

“I - I’m so sorry - I let you down - and I’m - such a - shit - to everybody - I -” Danny got out 15 words before another wave of sobs. He and Roy had settled into a somewhat comfortable position on the couch - Roy seated, Danny resting his head on his left pec and soaking his shirt in the same spot. He took a few minutes to gather some words.

The steady beating of Roy’s heart under the weight of his head, matched with Roy’s in-rhythm stroking of his hair, eventually calmed him enough to speak again.

“Roy, I know I made a mistake. What they said, it just -”

“What did they say to you? Dan, you have to tell me.” Roy was trying to sound calm, but in a sharp tone that Danny could tell was holding back anger.

“I can’t, and you’ll see it eventually anyway. You’re going to think it’s so stupid, I just couldn’t take their shit after everything that happened this summer. I walked in there and I was ready to fall apart from the beginning. I had just had my fucking heart ripped out of my chest, and - ”

“Oh, babe. I thought you were okay with the breakup? You told us you were fine after he -”

Danny scoffed. That’s not what I meant, idiot. Obviously I mean you.

“No, I - it wasn’t that. I guess not. I just, I couldn’t handle knowing that I was going to end up disappointing everyone.” Danny could feel the tequila making him real ramble-y and real honest, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“The way Ru and Michelle were looking at me on that stage, like I had fallen from a pedestal or something. And Michelle, when we talked it was just, like, pity. I don’t know, it just like broke my brain to see how I failed them.” He paused to wipe his runny nose.

“And thinking about how I would let down my mom and my fans and you - I mean, letting down other people is one thing but when you know you can’t live up to the expectations of the person you’re in lo -”

Even in his most hammered of hammered states, Danny would’ve cut himself off before he finished saying the words “in love with.” But before he could self-censor, he was silenced by the violent change in Roy’s heartbeat. Just as he began the phrase, the pounding on the warm chest beneath him went from the rhythm of soft jazz to the thump of an Afrojack track.

“What?”

Danny didn’t respond, he didn’t know what to say. He was mesmerized by the heartbeat, afraid to speak in case the words he wanted to desperately to hide would come spilling out. This was not the time for this conversation - not while Roy had a boyfriend, while Danny was lying in his arms blubbering like a baby, while they were both drunk, while he wouldn’t get the response he so desperately wanted.  

But Roy wouldn’t abide the silence. “Dan, what were you going to -” Roy’s voice cracked, something it never did. And for some reason that made Danny cry all over again, all the way to sleep.

As he drifted off, tears rolling down his face, he would’ve sworn he felt some falling on the top of his head like rain drops.

He would’ve been right - they were Roy’s.

…

Danny woke up around 4:30. He was still nestled up in Roy, but they’d fallen into a more laying down than sitting up situation. The right side of his face was damp, as was the bit of Roy’s chest he’d taken up as a pillow for the last five hours. He was safely wrapped in Roy’s arms, one of which wrapped around his waist while the other laid atop the long black hair he’d been stroking.

Danny gave himself just a few deep breaths to enjoy the moment - the warmth, the safety, the peace - before his eyes snapped open and his head began to throb. It throbbed from salty shots and margaritas, from embarrassment, and from the memory that Roy had a fucking boyfriend.

Knowing Roy was a heavy sleeper, Danny slowly slipped himself out of the dare-he-call-it-spooning position and stood up from the couch. He saw Roy adjust slightly at the loss of an extra body, also losing the dopey smile that was plastered on his sleeping face.

Watching this, Danny’s stomach started to turn - and not just the normal hangover nausea. He was getting the same stomach pangs he felt when his dad passed, the same ones he felt when he lost Season 6 - a pain he’d come to associate with losing something he didn’t have in the first place.

Danny knew he had to get out of the apartment. He grabbed his phone - still in his pocket and alive, thank God - and called for an Uber. He knocked back both the glasses of water left on the counter before scribbling a note on Roy’s whiteboard:

Sorry I had to leave, needed to get home for mom stuff. Don’t tell anyone what we talked about or you owe me the contract violation money, bitch. Love you x 10000.

Danny spent the hour long ride back to Azusa writing out the lyrics to “4 a.m.”