#and overdramatic. (in his glass house about the theatrics)

[oceandiagonale]

proposal:

guzma/volo classic-style ship name = foolsgold shipping

(both have gold accents, guz has the whole "y'all are stupid" line, volo is hiding his agenda most of the time, they're both Silly Geese to me, etc.)

[twobit-anime-trash]

Table Manners, a Sinja Drabble

Sinbad/Ja’far

Summary: 

“Ugh, you’re so gross, Sin”

“Oh come on babe, it’s classic vampire aesthetic!. You know you love it.”

“Please. Kikiriku had better table manners than you when he was three years old”

Inspired by this tumblr post

Beta’d by sleepyzenpanda

Tags/Warnings: Vampire AU, Modern AU, Blood, Blood Drinking, Aftercare, Domestic Fluff

Here On AO3

“Ugh, you’re so gross, Sin.”

Sinbad looks up, away from the ruined remains of the blood bag in kitchen sink.

Usually he prefers to drink from a fancy wine glass like the classy, sophisticated vampire he is, but some days he just has to sink his teeth into something. The thick plastic is almost nothing compared to warm, living flesh, but it was better than nothing at all. Patience, he tells the thirst. Ja’far has a lead on an abusive asshole that’d gotten off too easy on a technicality in the next state over. Someone the world would be much better off without. Shouldn’t be long now, the man’s personal vendetta against child abusers makes him terrifyingly efficient.

Ja’far is giving him a look™ from the stove, his own meal sizzling away on the burner. “Look at you, you’ve got your dinner all down your face.”

Sinbad flashes him a smile, all blood and teeth. “Oh come on babe, its classic vampire aesthetic. You know you love it.”

“Please. Kikiriku had better table manners than you when he was three years old.” Ja’far rolls his eyes, fishes around in his pocket for the wet wipes he always keeps on hand, and throws one at Sin’s face.

The vampire snatches it out of the air with preternatural grace, and obligingly scrubs his face and neck, “I am the epitome of a sexy creature of the night.”

“You missed a spot, Mr. Sexy Night Creature. How old are you again?”

“You wound me so deeply! You know I’m sensitive about my age!”

Ja’far scoffs at him, turning back to his cooking. Sinbad tosses the shredded blood bag into the trashcan, reaches down to fish the bleach out of the cabinet, and starts scouring the sink because I put food in there, Sin! Idly, he thinks about the next owners of this house. If they shone a blacklight around the place, maybe they’d think that the residents before them were serial killers. Which they kind of were, really. Hmm. Not that any of their victims would be missed.

“You never seem to mind when it’s your blood,” He helpfully points out, a smirk playing about his lips.

Ja’far knows him too well to rise to the bait, but Sinbad hears his heart rate pick up just a little bit. He smiles. Turns, leans back against the sink, and lets his eyes trail over Ja’far’s neck for the thousandth time.

The wound is healing nicely, the redness and swelling long gone, the beginnings of scar tissue forming over it again. Still too soon to drink from him; anemia is no joke, and something neither of them wants.

Even so, he can’t help but imagine it. The way he’d trail his fingers, lightly, barely touching the skin, over Ja’far’s face, down his neck, dipping down his collarbone to stroke back up again, until he’s trembling. Moving his lips, ever so slowly, down to his neck. Peppering the white flesh with kisses, playful little nips and bites, the appetizer before the main course, the buildup of anticipation they both loved. And finally, sinking his teeth in without warning, the surprise of the pain wrenching a cry of pleasure from Ja’far’s lips. The rich, warm taste of his lifeblood, given to Sinbad so willingly and eagerly. Nothing else satisfied him as much.

And afterwards, when Ja’far is pale, and cold, and weak, taking care of him in return, carefully cleaning and bandaging the painful old wound one more time. Pressing a glass of orange juice to his lips, helping him hold it in his shaking hands on the nights he takes too much. Bundling his shivering body up in their old fluffy blanket and carrying him to bed, despite the protests of “really Sin, I can walk, it’s not that bad.” Elevating his feet to help his circulation, and curling around him. Pulling him close to his chest, wishing that his own long dead body had more warmth to offer. Stroking his hair as he dozed against him.

“Don’t look at me like that, you have been fed,” says Ja’far, not even glancing up from his task, the same tone a cat owner would use to tell their fussy pet that no, they don’t get seconds just because they beg for it.

Down boy, Sinbad tells the thirst, not yet. He throws a hand out, the other pressing to his chest dramatically. “Yes, it’s true. But you know that I will never truly be satisfied, because my desire for you has no limit!”

“My patience for your bullshit does,” Ja’far deadpans, “Out. Go sit on the couch, you don’t want to miss your show. I’m almost done here.”

Sighing theatrically, Sinbad admits defeat for now, sneaks a quick kiss to Ja’far’s cheek and darts away before the other man can hit him with his spatula. He flops onto the couch, soberly resisting the temptation to watch his partner over the barstool counter, a flips on the TV. There’s an episode of that hilarious new vampire drama premiering in a few minutes, can’t miss that.

Ja’far settles next to him, dinner in hand, right after the opening credits. Normally they would ‘eat’ together, but messy blood bags and Ja’far’s nice upholstery don’t mix. Sinbad throws an arm over his shoulders the second he finishes, pulling him close. He laughs at the late-twenties actors pretending to be teenagers, the ‘vampire’s’ awful over-gelled hairstyle and horribly fake CGI fangs, and the look of annoyance and offense on Ja’far’s face whenever the human love interest does something overdramatic and stupid.

“It’s really not that hard to handle your sexy undead boyfriend,” Ja’far says, nudging his vampire’s side, “Right, Sin?”

“Nah,” He replies easily, “but it does take a special kind of person to do it.”

“You’re so corny,” Ja’far deadpans, but shifts closer to Sinbad’s side, laying his head on his shoulder.

Quiet, Sinbad tells the ever-present thirst. Be satisfied, this is more than worth it.

Notes: Managed to work up the motivation to write a spoopy oneshot for Sinjatober. Didn't turn out as funny as I wanted, but oh well. Validate me please~

[oikawas]

title: no love, no glory (no hero in his skies)

summary: Snapshots of a life shared, a friend lost, and a love found. (for @arkhamknignt) 

Jason Todd and Kyle Rayner had been a pair since before Bruce Wayne, before Robin, before a ring took Kyle into the stars. Before death, heartache, realizations, and anger.

It starts on a rainy day in Gotham, deep in the dirtiest parts of the city’s underside.

A small, dark-haired child bolts across the streets, clothes getting progressively wetter as he splashed through the puddles of muddy water.

Behind him, people yelled, laughing hysterically at his panic. Kyle stifles a sob, and keeps running, a few dollar bills crumpled up in his fist. He knew it was a mistake, pulling out the money right in front of those kids, but he was going to pay for a hotdog! The vendor didn’t even bat an eyelash as the much larger kids started chasing his wiry frame down the street.

That was five minutes ago, and admittedly, he’s starting to get tired. The foster house is still a few blocks down, but the kids are gaining on him and he’s running out of energy.

Kyle rounds a corner blindly, and slams into a body; another kid, just like him. Panic overtakes his senses, and he flails wildly, trying to flee.

“Can ya fucking relax?” His assailant groans, easily pushing Kyle aside and standing. Kyle finds himself looking up at the boy, blinking rapidly.

The newcomer has dark-hair, not unlike his own, and a pair of startlingly blue eyes peer down at him with annoyance. He’s dressed in dirty-smudged jeans and a ratty t-shirt. He looks taller than Kyle, by a few inches at least, as he stands and eyes the kid warily.

“You’re…you’re not with them?” Kyle asks, shoving the money back into his pockets. In the distance, the sound of angry kids gets louder and louder, and Kyle cowers further into the alley. He knew if he didn’t get back…nobody would come looking.

Someone appears in the mouth of the alley suddenly, and to his utmost horror Kyle realizes it’s one of the kids who had been chasing him. The brunette locks eyes with Kyle, but before he can yell out to his friends, the newcomer decks him.

The boy falls to the ground, unconscious.

The dark-haired boy stares for a second, eyebrows furrowed, before glancing out of the mouth of the alley and pushing Kyle further into darkness.

“I dunno what you did to get Rodney on your ass, but c’mon, Scrawny.”

“Hey!” Kyle barks indignantly, even as he followed his newfound saviour through the winding streets. It’s disorienting, but Kyle can find his way back to the foster house. “My name is Kyle, not Scrawny.”

“Well, scrawny is why Rodney decided to pick on you,” his saviour spits back, not forgetting to roll his eyes. Kyle’s sure that he enjoys theatrics and being overdramatic. “You’re lucky you ran into me and not some other jerk; there’s a lot of those ‘round these parts of Gotham.”

“Uh…I didn’t catch your name.”

“The name’s Jason. Jason Todd. Where do you even live, kid?”

“Oh. It’s nice to meet you. Um, well…I live at Ma Gunn’s School.”

Jason glances down at the newbie as he leads them through the streets, startled by the location. He knows the name, knows the kinds of people who lived there. Hell, even the streets are better than that corrupt shithole. “The hell is a kid like you doing at Gunn’s place?”

“The other foster care houses were over-populated,” Kyle explains, voice strained. “It’s not…it’s not that bad—”

“You can’t lie to a master liar,” Jason muses, after processing the words. “It fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“…Yeah. It does.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason speaks genuinely, even as they hurry through the streets. It’s getting darker and darker, the rain picking up in speed. A bolt of fear shoots through Kyle, but he trusts Jason to know what he’s doing, where he’s going, because Kyle has no clue where they were. He had only been shipped off to Gotham a few weeks prior, and knows little of the dirty neighbourhood.

He misses his mother.

Tall, abandoned warehouses loom around them as they slow, broken glass and debris littered everywhere. Jason walks on confidently, but the ghostly streets rattle Kyle to the bones. The winds whistled a haunting tune that raised goosebumps, and fear struck deep in Kyle’s heart.  

“Relax, Kyle,” Jason sounds kind, or as kind as a street-wise child can. He reaches out and grabs Kyle’s much smaller hand, clammy flesh meeting a calloused palm. It’s a comforting weight. “Do I look like the type of dick who’d let a scrawny brat like you get hurt?”

A warmth spreads through the younger boy that he can’t explain, but the sentiment in Jason’s words and Kyle’s emotions are clear. Kyle’s heart inflates with equal amounts of gratitude and trust, the sparking ignition of a newfound bond forming between the duo.

Kyle smiles.

Soon, the streets turn into more familiar scenery; Jason cuts through a few more alleys, and then they’re walking up the street to Ma Gunn’s. A total of thirty minutes had passed in total, leaving the skies to darken in response to the approaching nightfall.

Jason’s talking animatedly about cars, an obvious passion, and Kyle hangs on to every word. It’s clear the older boy has an affinity for auto mechanics, and uses words Kyle can barely understand. Then the topic switches to books, much more of a comfort zone, and Kyle finds himself rattling off a list of his favourites. Jason nods along to every title and author, promising to look them up at the library whenever he had time next. There is something achingly beautiful about the blooming friendship between the duo, a storm-kissed mess of shared circumstances.

Kyle can’t explain it, but Jason already held importance in his heart in a way that he can’t explain even if he wanted to.

They walk up the short flight of stairs, Jason still holding Kyle’s hand. Their joined hands still act as an anchoring warmth of sorts, the cold night seeming so much warmer. In the distance, sirens sound as the crime life begins to pick up under the cover of nighttime and the rain.

A figure seemingly streaks across rooftops in the distance, but Kyle dismisses it as his imagination.

“Take care of yourself, I might not always be there to save you,” Jason chimes, tone sarcastic, though his amused eyes give away his true intentions. Kyle stares up at him for a moment, gently shaking his head to break the trance he’d fallen into.

Right. Jason had to go home.

“I will! Thank you, Jay!” Kyle makes sure to pour as much of his inner turmoil into the few, timid words as he can, coupling them with a bright smile.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, kid.”

Jason shows up the next day, sporting all kinds of cuts and bruises. Kyle had been heading towards the park, bounding down the front stairs and nearly passing by the older boy in his excitement of having free time.

“Hey, Scrawny.”

Kyle yelps, stumbles, and nearly trips in surprise. Jason watches, thoroughly amused, as his new friend rights himself and turns in his direction, the warm smile slipping off his face as he takes in Jason’s injured state.

“Gosh, Jay, what happened? You were fine last night.” Panic overtakes Kyle’s senses, because some of the cuts look to be too deep to be left untreated. Jason just shrugs, a strained smile on his face as he leans against the lamppost.

“Took care of Rodney for you this morning,” Jason explains, voice light. Almost too light, but it wasn’t something Kyle caught in that moment. “They won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Rodney and his friends did that to you?” Kyle gapes, unable to stop himself from reaching out and lightly touching a hand-shaped bruise around Jason’s throat. The boy flinches away from the soft touch, a dark look flickering across his face before vanishing completely. “Wait. Are you…”

“Drop it, Kyle,” Jason snarls, pulling away and beginning to walk down the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Kyle has no illusions about his age; he knows he is young. But he is also what Ma Gunn liked to all an old soul trapped in a young body.

He can see through the lie; that handprint is too big to belong to Rodney.

“It wasn’t Rodney, was it?” He calls after Jason, but Jason just keeps walking without even turning to glance back.

Kyle stands there, staring off into the distance for a long time.

Jason comes back a week later, a book in his hands and one of his eyes blackened.

Kyle had been sitting on the steps with his paint supplies, the ones his mother had gotten him mere months before her death. Nobody else is outside, so when Kyle jumps to his feet and his paint supplies scatter to the ground, they’re in no danger of being stepped on.

Not that he cares, not when Jason looks like a walking corpse.

“Jason!” Kyle’s hands cover his mouth, shock overriding his senses. Jason gives him a tired smile before sitting down on the stairs, shoulders hunching inwards. “Jason, you’re scaring me. Where did you…?”

“My dad got out of prison last week,” Jason’s voice cracks on the word ‘dad’, his head bowing even further. It was all the explanation he offers, and Kyle is not naïve; he thinks back to the handprint—

A stifled sob interrupts his thoughts. Kyle’s eyes began to tear up too, body immobilized by his friend’s pain. Jason, one of the strongest people Kyle knows, is sobbing on the stairs of his house and he has no clue how to make it better.

It begins to rain, Gotham shedding tears for her heir, and Kyle shuffles closer, barely registering Jason pulling him into a hug, tears wetting Kyle’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a few hours.

Just two lost boys and Gotham’s tears for her beloved child.

Kyle’s on his way home from school when he sees Jason. The older boy is smiling for the first time in weeks. It’s a welcome sight, and Kyle bounds over and throws himself into his friend’s arms.

“Geez, Kyle, you’re not too scrawny anymore, huh?” Jason laughs, holding him close for a moment before setting him back down on the ground. Kyle gleefully notes the fact that Jason wasn’t limping this time. “How was school?”

“Good! Math sucks, I like art class better,” Kyle scrunches up his nose at the thought of addition and subtraction. He can’t fathom why it would ever be important to know how many apples Emily has left after she shares with Nia. Or why Prairie would need to know how long the trip would take, if you took out the pre-party. Colours were so much easier to understand. “Anything new with you?”

“My dad’s gone,” Jason admits, voice hushed as if admitting some great secret. Kyle’s heart swells at the relief in his friend’s voice, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. “He just…took off one night. I dunno how me and my mom are gonna get by, but I’ll…I’ll think of something. It doesn’t matter. I’m…I’m safe from him, Kyle.”

They spend the rest of the day at the park, talking about everything from books to cars, just as they did the first day they had met. They take turns on the swing set, they race around the park, they run up and down the streets laughing uproariously.

It’s a good day.

It’s raining again, and Kyle rushes home through the cold wetness. He nearly slips, but manages to right himself, continuing up the road towards the foster care house. He hopes his artwork isn’t soaked, even though he can tell his backpack was damp. Maybe—

He sees the figure standing in front of the house, head tilted towards the skies and hands hanging limply and his sides. Jason.

Kyle opens his mouth to shout a greeting, but the call tapers out into nothingness. Deep in his gut, he can tell something is wrong. Jason’s hurting. Badly.

“Jay?” He murmurs softly as he approaches, slowly, as if his friend is a wounded animal in need of treatment that which he did not want to accept. “Are…are you okay?”

“She’s gone.”

Jason’s voice is hollowed out and raw. It doesn’t take long for Kyle to realize who Jason was talking about, and his mouth opens on its own accord. Despite everything, Jason loved his mom; Kyle, however, resented the woman. Crime Alley is a hard life, but for Jason to have to fight for scraps and money…Jason deserves better than that. Kyle knows how smart and determined Jason is, but being born in the dirty streets of Gotham is a curse.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” Kyle whispers, moving closer and reaching out to grab Jason’s hand. The rain grows in fury as it pelts down on them, but both boys are numb to it. Jason squeezes Kyle’s fingers, a sign of gratitude, but says nothing for a few minutes.

They stand in silence, Kyle mourning the remaining shred of his friend’s innocence and Jason trying his best not to cry.

“I need to go,” Jason murmurs, gently pulling his hand free. Kyle misses the contact immediately, but is wise enough not to reach out again. Jason was in a perilous place, was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. “I need to find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“You could stay here—”

“No! You know how Gunn is, kid. I’m not gonna even consider getting you into trouble. I can manage, no worries,” Jason is firm in his conviction, and Kyle is scared. For him, for the child with a soldier’s heart, who deserved to spread his wings and fly.

He doesn’t voice his concerns. “Will you still come to see me?” He asks instead, sounding timid and worried and everything he shouldn’t. Jason gives him a hesitant smile, reaching out to grab Kyle’s shoulder.

“Of course, Scrawny.”

Kyle stands and watches Jason Todd disappear into the darkness.

The next time Kyle sees Jason, the seasons have changed and the sun is shining brightly for once.

Jason’s lost weight, has a new look in his eyes that has Kyle flinching away involuntarily. This isn’t the same Jason who talked about cars and books with a bright smile and shining eyes. This is a Jason who has been suffering for weeks and weeks, who’s had to fight tooth and nail to survive.

This is not Kyle’s Jason.

“Hey, kid,” he starts, sounding tired and angry. Kyle wonders if Jason’s beginning to think of his visits as a chore. “Sorry I disappeared.”

“It’s okay, Jay,” Kyle tries to sound reassuring, he does, but he’s sure it comes out reproachful instead. “How are you?”

Jason shrugs, not meeting his eyes but instead looking off into the distance. “Same old. Car parts sell well, when you can get your hands on them.”

“Car p…Jason, that’s illegal!”

“Well sometimes you gotta do shit to survive, alright kid?” Jason spits back, patience seemingly worn thin long before he’d started the trek to the foster home. “I’m trying…I’m trying my best.”

Kyle falters, a burst of sympathy exploding in his chest. This was his friend, living on the streets with no one to protect him. The least Kyle could do was be supportive, no matter what he really thought of his friend’s actions. Survival means dirty things. Survival comes with a price. “I know you are, Jay! I know and I love you for it.”

They pause. That was the first time either of them had ever brought up the all-encompassing term, but Kyle means it. He means every word.

Jason Todd is his best friend and Kyle loves him for it.

Jason melts, the anger and bitterness dissipating to make way for tenderness. This side of Jason…he doesn’t show it often. Down in the underside of Gotham, showing vulnerability can easily get you killed.

“Love you too, Kyle. Thanks…for being there. All this time.”

“You’re welcome,” Kyle smiles. Some part of him always knew it, but to hear Jason verbally confirm his love…Kyle knows he matters to him now. A petty reassurance, perhaps, but it does wonders. “Just…stay safe, ‘kay?”

Jason agrees, and after a quick hug, he departs, citing territorial issues as his reason to bolt. Kyle watches him go, a smile on his face and heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

If only he had known.

Kyle Rayner doesn’t see Jason Todd again for a very, very long time, because that night, Jason gets caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile by the Batman himself.

And two nights later, Kyle is shuffled off to a foster home on the other side of the city; a day later, he is adopted into a nice family looking for a nice son.

“What do you mean there’s no one there? I know he was at Ma Gunn’s!” Tears of frustration build, fists clenched and stance defensive. Jason glares down his new father, dressed in the sacred colours of Robin. Bruce sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“Ma Gunn’s was shut down two nights ago, Jay. I promise I looked into their paperwork, but there’s no record of a Kyle Rayner at Ma Gunn’s home. I…without paperwork, there’s nothing to track, chum.”

“Nothing to track?! You’re Batman!”

“Jason…there’s a good chance he’s been adopted. He could be happy, I promise to keep looking, but if there was never any paperwork in the first place…it will be hard.”

Unbelievable. Tears beginning streaking down his face, because Jason is powerless; Kyle was lost to him. Kyle, whom he had sworn to protect, was nowhere to be found. How is he supposed to live with himself if something happens to Kyle? Kyle Rayner is his best friend and Jason loves him for it; he always will.

But he prayed to every God in the sky that Kyle could do this, could live, without him.