#do you think he’d keep trying to give up but barry would always give opportunities for them to cook together

[kravkalackin]

The thing was, Kravitz was actually quite good at his job. He recognized that it was a very difficult job and that some cases took longer to bring in than others. Still, except in cases where he saw cause to give someone a second chance, he always brought his bounty in. 

He wasn’t used to losing like this. To being outsmarted. It left him frustrated, but more than anything it was leaving him confused. Liches were dangerous, and they were powerful, but most of them lost the intelligence they once had in life. 

This one certainly hadn’t. 

“Shit,” he said, barely able to dodge the necrotic beam of energy. That was all he could seem to do in this fight, jump out of the enemy’s attack with little opportunity to get close enough to use his scythe. When he tried to dive in this time, he got a large blast of fire in his chest for his efforts. 

“Ya know what, that’s enough,” he huffed, drawing back. Throwing his hands up, he let his scythe disappear. Any normal lich would immediately lunge, taking the opportunity to try and tear him apart once and for all. This lich of course didn’t do that. Instead he also pulled back some, lowering his wand the slightest bit. 

“If this is a trap you know I’m not gonna fall for it bud,” the lich said, sounding suspicious but otherwise unremarkable. 

“No, no trap, I just want to talk,” Kravitz insisted, because at this point he just wanted some answers. He doubted he’d get anything trustworthy from a lich, but he could at least figure out what his lie was. The lich chuckled, and he didn’t sound evil or anything like that, just amused. 

“Well if you wanted to talk you coulda said that a long time ago,” he said, and there was almost some relief there. Like he didn’t want to fight. “What do you want to know?” he asked, and the question sounded so earnest it threw Kravitz off guard for a moment. 

“Your name is Barry Bluejeans, correct?” he asked, receiving a nod. “You’re a lich who has died a whopping total of 16 times, yes?” he continued. 

“Got it in one,” Barry said, not sounding phased in the slightest. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked this time, and the lich shrugged. 

“Figured you’re a reaper for the god of death in the world, uh, the Raven Queen unless I’m mixing it up with somewhere else. I don’t like, know your name or anything like that though,” he said, and Kravitz frowned a little. It was certainly an odd answer, if not an incorrect one. 

“Yes, and it’s Kravitz,” he said, feeling like he could at least tell him that much, to make the conversation easier. “Alright then, well, not a lot of my bounties are usually up for a friendly chat, but it seems you’re different,” he said, and once again Barry chuckled. 

“I guess you could say that, or maybe I’ve just gone crazy enough from the loneliness that I’m willing to talk to the grim reaper,” he said, and Kravitz would have believed that if it actually seemed like Barry Bluejeans has lost his mind. 

“I just want to know why you became a lich. I’ve been hunting you for four years now, how have you managed to keep your sanity for so long?” he asked, and he swore this lich somehow managed to smirk at him. 

“Bud, I’ve been a lich for twenty five years,” he said, and if Kravitz’s wasn’t in his reaper form he probably would have choked. This man had only been on their books for four years, that simply wasn’t possible. 

“That’s not-” he started, but Barry raised a hand, cutting him off. 

“Do you have time? I could tell you the story, but it’s kind of a long one,” he said. Kravitz quickly checked in with The Raven Queen, getting a silent affirmation in his head before he nodded. Keeping a good distance from the lich he sat down, the spectral robed figure doing his best to mimic him. 

“So, it actually started over a hundred years ago, at a scientific institute, the Institute for Planar Research and Exploration, specifically...” 

By the end of the tale Kravitz wasn’t sure what to believe. After speaking it over with the Raven Queen, they both decided that leaving this particular lich alone for the moment might be for the best. He wasn’t actively harming anyone, so until they could get some more concrete answers it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

Six years later, and Kravitz couldn’t help but think of the lich’s story as Taako shows him a bowl and made a very confusing metaphor about edge cases. It wasn’t until a few months later, and several dates later, that he actually got around to asking about it. 

“Taako, did you ever know anyone named Barry Bluejeans?” he asked, and immediately a surprised and delighted smile spread across his boyfriend’s face. 

“Oh shit, you know Barold?” he asked, and Kravitz nodded a bit hesitantly. 

“In a way,” he said, and Taako seemed to think it over for a moment. 

“That makes sense, I guess he is dead now. We met the dude on our way to Phandalin the first time, but he beefed it when the rest of the town got glassed. Why, did he ask you to pass on some message from beyond the grave?” Taako asked, and Kravitz was sure there wasn’t any lie there. Maybe it was mostly the romantic in him, but he trusted Taako not to lie to him about something like this. 

It had been a long time since he had last spoken to Barry, and he had only heard the story once. It had stuck with him though, the longing with which he spoke about his family. The determination to get them back. 

“He misses you all,” he said, and Taako only looked surprised for a moment, before snorting in amusement. 

“Yeah alright, tell him we miss him too I guess, even if Merle did think he was a douche,” he said, and Kravitz laughed a little at that, nodding. 

“Will do,” he said, and Kravitz intended to follow through on that. 

[workingforitallthetime]

svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary​ and @needsmore​, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

[dirtyblupjeans]

kinktober 2021 - day 1 - anonymous sex

1-anonymous sex

Since his last relationship had ended, Barry had been even more anxious and out of sorts. He’d ping ponged back and forth between working too much and drinking too much. Neither were working particularly well for him.

Getting the reminder that the membership the two of them had bought to a private BDSM club was about to expire had hit him weird. On an impulse he’d gone alone.

Somehow he hadn’t expected to see her here. With her new boyfriend.

He was under no illusion that the relationship had been the best. He was glad she’d found someone. But they’d seemed like such a good match, everyone had said. And he was all too aware that he was rushing towards the far side of over-the-hill. The opportunities for love and marriage and children and all that stuff he’d always assumed would happen one day were evaporating in front of his eyes.

It didn’t help that she was with someone fifteen years younger than him at least.

He’d let it influence him into doing something he wouldn’t have done. There was pushing boundaries and then there was careening wildly past his comfort zone.

Standing with his hands bound over his head, blindfolded, wearing only his jeans was pretty far past his comfort zone. He’d thought it would help him get out of his own head but instead he seemed to be worming deeper and deeper in.

Then he heard her laugh. The sound had been increasingly absent from their time together towards the end but now it went through him like an electric shock.

Was she laughing at him? Laughing with her new guy? Laughing that she’d wasted time on this aging guy with the unimpressive body?

He felt himself trying to shrink in smaller somehow, disappear inside himself. He knew there were three others on the stage with him, knew there were monitors watching for all of their safety, knew those people wouldn’t let the other members make fun of volunteers. (Unless that was something they wanted and agreed to.)

But knowing that didn’t mean much when he felt so vulnerable.

“Relax, handsome,” a voice near his ear said. “You’re safe, babe. Do you want to back out or are you up for staying a little longer? Maybe playing with me a little?”

His head twisted, turning towards the voice even though he couldn’t see.

“MmmmMmm, babe, can’t see me. That’s part of the fun.”

He couldn’t help turning towards her voice though, even knowing he couldn’t see the owner of that unique sing-song tone.

“So you didn’t answer, babe. How are you doing? You know club rules: green is good, red is stop, yellow is getting anxious. So give me a color rating, bluejeans.”

“Gr-green,” he stammered out.

“Mmm, yeah, try again, babe. I’ve seen green and this ain’t it. Do we need to talk more or should I just let you down? Yellow or red?”

“Y-yellow,” he admitted.

“Okay, what’s got you feeling yellow?” she asked. The concern in her voice startled him.

She dropped her voice to just above a whisper, moving close to his ear to whisper, “Just you and me, babe. You can talk to me.”

“It’s uh…” he swallowed. Why did he want to tell her? “Uh. My ex. I heard her laughing,” he responded quietly, his head hanging so low he was practically murmuring into his chest.

“Oh yeah, babe, that’s a mindfuck,” she answered. Her voice was still low but the understanding was clear in her tone. “But fuck her. It’s just you and me, just your sexy ass fillin’ out those jeans so good, and me, who you can’t see but trust me, I look so good it’s probably lucky you can’t see me. Might be too much for your heart.”

He’d just begun to relax but that got him again.

And she noticed immediately. “What is it babe? You were just starting to calm down into green, I could see. Now you’re back to being all tense and unhappy. Totally the opposite of our goal here.”

For some reason the truth spilled out of him again. “‘Too much for my heart,’” he whispered. “‘Cause I’m old.”

“Ohhh, babe, no. You’re a baby! I mean, okay, obviously not a baby! A totally handsome grown man with an ass that won’t quit. I mean, I’m an elf, so not great at estimating ages but trust me, you’re young. But you’re underestimating how totally amazing I look.”

She trailed fingers through his hair, slipping a finger under the elastic of his blindfold and letting it snap gently back into place. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“There ya go,” she encouraged. “You’re relaxing again. Good work. Now, tell me how you’re feeling and be honest. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings if we need to call halt.”

“Uh…” he considered. He could say ‘red’ and get out of this. No one would judge him. He could say ‘red’ and go home and let his membership lapse and let all of this go.

“Yellow,” he answered softly.

“Good job. Now, do you want to be green? Do you want to stay here and have some fun? Cause I think we could. And you must have signed up for this for a reason, right?”

“I… uh…” He swallowed again and licked his lips.

She slid her hands down his shoulders and along his back, her palms warm on his skin.

“I’ve been stuck,” he admitted.

His nameless companion hummed thoughtfully. “Well, this could certainly be a fun way to get unstuck. I didn’t think I recognized you as being around here much. This isn’t really your scene, is it?”

Barry shook his head. “No,” he answered. Then he remembered where he was. “Uh… no, ma’am?”

She laughed and it was so different from hearing his ex laugh. This was warm and felt like it included him. “Nah, you don’t have to do any of that stuff. I can just be the scorching hot voice and talented hands helping you get… unstuck. You don’t have to do any of the dom/sub protocol. Except your safety colors! Those we definitely keep.”

Sliding her hands around his middle, she came to stand in front of him. “But you can call me ‘miss’ if you like. Hearing ma’am from someone as young as you makes me feel like I’m taking advantage.” Chuckling again, she trailed a single finger down the center of his chest, moving south and south and south. “Which, considering you’re all tied up, I suppose I almost am. But you’ve still got those safe words, right? How ya feelin’ now?”

“Uh, green,” he answered, surprised. “I’m… I’m green.”

“So you are,” she agreed and he could hear the smile in her voice. “So would you stay green if I pulled these jeans off?”

He considered.

“I’d really like to check out this ass of yours,” she said. “And, as I said, I think we could have some fun getting you… unstuck.”

Nodding, he agreed. “Yeah. I… I think I can stay green.”

The finger trailing down over his stomach settled in the edge of his waistband, pulling the button loose.

And Barry was aware he was more than ‘green’ now. He was getting hard.

She slid his zipper down and began tugging his pants lower, sliding them off his hips. He’d skipped the boxers since he was going to the club. Most of the men here dressed in skin tight leather pants or skimpy briefs. He’d hoped going commando in jeans was an acceptable middleground.

“Oh, babe, is that for me?” she asked, her voice delighted.

He bit his lip then nodded slightly.

“Oh, you’re a treasure. I thought for sure you were gonna ask to get down and instead… Still green if I touch you?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he answered, his hips shifting unconsciously, craving her touch.

Warm fingers wrapped expertly around him and his wrists twisted in their soft leather bindings as a low moan slid out of him.

“Mmm. Very nice.” Still keeping him in hand, her other hand slid around his hip to palm an asscheek. “Very, very nice. You’ve got some choice goods, sir.”

The rest of the club had fallen out of his head. There was only her voice and her hands and his hardened cock.

“You’re doing great,” she encouraged. “Hold on just a moment for me?”

Her hands disappeared and he heard a disappointed noise, like a whimper. It took a moment to realize it had come from him. Then her hand was back on his dick and this time it was warm and wet, liquid sliding over him as she worked her hand slowly along his length.

“That’s better, babe,” she said. “I’d like to get my mouth on you. Other parts too. But with this position and all… well, let’s just get you unstuck, yeah?”

Another noise came from him, a greedy hum of agreement.

She laughed and he felt as wrapped up in the sound as his cock was in her fingers, like everything warm and wonderful was winding around him and making him feel good.

“Just enjoy this, okay? It’s just you and me and this gorgeous ass of yours.” She adjusted her hold, the lube well covering him now. When she took hold of him again it was to begin slowly pumping him. “Just focus on this, okay?”

He nodded again, ready to do anything she asked of him.

Her other hand was on his chest, the hand on his dick sliding back and forth with just the right pressure, just the perfect speed. It was absolutely glorious.

“You’re doing great,” she promised again. And her voice was so close, right near his ear again. He could picture her - though not exactly, of course - standing close, leaning in to whisper to him while she jerked him off, her speed building faster, her thumb sliding slickly over the tip of his cock every few strokes.

His hips were angling forward each time she did, working with her strokes. His breath was coming faster and the hand she’d put on his chest rode his sternum with each inhale and exhale.

“Keep listening to my voice, focusing on my hand touching you, on how good you feel, on how good you’re doing,” she continued. “You’re doing so good, babe. And in just a minute - not yet! - but in just a minute you’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

He nodded eagerly.

“What a good boy,” she said, her tone pleased.

Her hand was moving faster, pumping over his cock with swift, slick strokes.

“Not yet.”

A few more strokes.

“Not yet.”

He whined and fought to hold it, wanting to wait even as he felt ready to burst.

“Come for me,” she whispered in his ear, nipping softly at his earlobe.

His control shattered and the orgasm ripped through him. She kept pumping him, her movements slower but still encouraging every drop of release.

Finally, he hung exhausted, aware once more of his hands fastened in leather cuffs above him, his shoulders becoming sore from the position, of the cool breeze against parts of him that didn’t normally feel cool breezes.

“You did so good, babe. So, so good. Lemme get you cleaned up then…”

He felt an unfamiliar shimmer of magic. She’d used magic to clean his mess!

“I’m gonna let your hands down now, okay? But… babe, can you do me a favor?”

He nodded again. Whatever it was she asked, he’d do it. He felt loose and wonderful and entirely unstuck.

“I’m undoing your cuffs but wait to take your blindfold off, okay? I… I want to leave this as a little bit of anonymous fun for now, okay? But maybe we’ll see each other around here again?”

He frowned a little but nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. He wanted to know who she was, wanted to return the favor and more. But he’d do as she asked.

She leaned against him as she reached up to undo his cuffs. He felt them release and his shoulders sagged in relief. She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You did great,” she told him again. Then, pressing his jeans into his hands, she whispered, “See you ‘round, babe!”

It took far more control not to rip his blindfold off and catch a glimpse of her than it had to hold back his orgasm until she’d asked him to let go. But he left it there and his eyes closed for good measure, counting to ten before pulling it loose.

No one was looking at him with any particular interest. The dungeon monitor in the corner glanced at him, then back to the others still on the stage.

Barry pulled his jeans on, tucked himself away, and zipped them carefully.

Well.

He definitely felt unstuck.

And he was definitely renewing his membership.

[lovelyirony]

uhh made up fic title: heaven won't hold it against you

but hell absolutely will 

Tony was the worst demon of all time. Of all time. 

He let humans wiggle out of deals like a worm that wasn’t hooked properly, takes pity on those who are having a rough time, and tries to warn people about what their actions are going to be like as they’re on the tipping scales of justice. 

“You are literally the worst demon of all time,” Lucifer says, flicking flames at him. He scrambles to get them off of his suit. 

“Second worst,” Tony argues weakly. “I wear nicer ties than Barry.” 

“Barry can at least drive a millionaire to the edge of a twelve-story building,” he growls. “Who gives a shit about his ties when he can give results?!” 

Tony is silent, not sure how he wants him to answer. 

“Look. We’re sending you down to earth. It’ll remind you of how shitty everyone is and you can get back to torturing people and selling their souls.” 

-

He’s in New York City. 

He’s missed it, all things considered. It’s actually chaotic, fun, and there are so many people. 

So many opportunities as well. People are driven by anger more than usual here; there are way more stressors, the subway system sucks in general, and there are at least four different ways he can ruin someone’s day in two minutes or less. 

Except that Tony can’t do it. 

He cannot ruin people’s days. It sucks. The only people that he can really ruin are the people who are already destined for Hell. He doesn’t like tempting others to go to his side, he knows exactly how bad it is. 

-

On the other end of the spectrum, Rhodey is getting his assignment to tail a demon and do some damage control. 

In New York City. 

He has a love-hate relationship with the city: they’re capable of doing incredible things, and just as quickly you will get someone who would push their grandmother off of a train platform to get a leading role in a stage production. 

But this demon is someone that Rhodey hasn’t really heard about. Which is unusual, because angels usually hear about every demon of note. 

His name, according to Pepper, is Tony. He’s pretty high level which is...odd. They know high level. 

He asks Bruce, the guy who runs kind of runs purgatory. 

(He just doesn’t really like a lot of the big shots and enjoys learning more about people.) 

“Tony’s literally the worst,” Bruce groans. 

Rhodey raises his eyebrows. 

“And why haven’t we heard about him?” 

“He’s funny. I didn’t let you know,” Bruce says with a shrug. 

“So you didn’t let me know about a dangerous demon because he’s funny?” 

“I didn’t say he was dangerous, just that he was the worst,” Bruce says with a shrug. “That term can be used in a lot of different contexts.” 

“What kind of context are you talking about?” 

“Go down and find him, and you’ll see. He has a weird goatee.” 

-

New York City is not what Rhodey remembers, but then again he hadn’t been there since 1982, and that was a whole other world away, nearly. 

Tony the Demon, otherwise known as Tony Stark, lives in the basement of an old woman’s house which is odd. Rhodey checks on the old woman only to find her alive and kicking and having tea with Tony. 

He looks...different. 

Well of course he looks different. Demons can’t exactly show off their best assets to humans: the humans would probably die. 

But what surprises him is that they’re eating cookies together and the old woman is telling him about how she used to dance to music with her husband. 

And then they dance. 

They dance, and it’s surprising. 

Tony should be telling her that her husband is never coming back and she’s going to die alone, and he...he isn’t. 

-

There are more instances of it. 

Tony pays for someone’s coffee and holds open doors. He listens to people talk even when it’s complete nonsense, but he listens to them all the same. 

He does puzzles on his days off. 

Tony works in a coffee shop. 

Rhodey’s not sure what kind of long game he’s been attempting to play, but it’s not going to work on him. He’s here for as long as it takes. 

-

Then Tony Stark notices him. 

He doesn’t notice he’s an angel, but he notices his stormy expression and the way that he’s boring holes into the seat across from him at the coffee shop. 

(Look, their peppermint mocha is literally the only good one Rhodey’s had for years, and so he’s not going to go anywhere else.) 

But he usually goes when Tony isn’t there. 

But Tony covered someone’s shift. 

What a fucking angel. 

“You alright today?” Tony asks, his voice softer, eyebrows slightly raised. “Because you kinda look like you want to kill that seat, and I’m not gonna lie to you: we still need that one.” 

Rhodey smiles, shaking his head. 

“Just thinking about work troubles.” 

“Must be some trouble. What can I get for you?” 

“Uh...sixteen ounce peppermint mocha?” 

“Oh my god, you’re peppermint mocha dude?” 

“Why is that important?” Rhodey asks. “Why do you know me?” 

Tony blushes, and it looks...nice. Not evil. That’s weird. Demons don’t usually blush. 

“Uh, just that...my coworker noticed your robot tie. I wanted to see it, but I’m never around when you’re here. But I like your tie today! It’s a good stripe-pattern.” 

He’s being genuinely nice. 

Rhodey knows demons, has heard all the stories from the old-timers. They’re not good at being genuinely nice, ever. The only being they’re ever...respectful of is the Big Guy Upstairs, and even that’s questionable. 

“I’ll...wear it next time,” Rhodey says carefully. “How much do I owe you?” 

“Two-sixteen,” Tony chirps, and he gives him a look. 

“Did you...did you just give me a discount?” 

“Well you seem to be having a rough time, and I had to give you some incentive to show off your tie,” Tony smiles. “Besides, everyone needs something nice every once in a while.” 

Bruce was right: Tony really was the worst demon. 

-

He visits more during Tony’s shifts. He usually works the really early mornings or the really late nights. The shifts that people don’t want, he takes. 

Rhodey sees him a lot. 

“I see you more often than I think I should, honestly,” Tony says with a laugh. “Do you work from home?” 

“I keep my own hours,” Rhodey says with a shrug, “and I like your coffee more than I probably should.” 

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Tony says. 

“Well, you’re an angel for making it,” Rhodey teases, mostly looking to see Tony’s reaction. 

He smiles softly. 

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah. I really do,” Rhodey says, smiling. “You’re the nicest guy I know.” 

“I try my best.” 

“Your best is always good,” he answers. He walks out of the shop, telling him that he’d see him tomorrow. 

As Rhodey exits, he doesn’t see the person watching them across the street. 

-

Hell keeps tabs on their own. 

Even if they don’t like their own. 

And Tony...well. He’s a bit too good. 

[skylarmoon71]

Harry Wells x  Witch Reader (Flash) Short Story: Chapter 2

So for the next few weeks you became an unofficial member of team Flash. It was fun, the little crime fighting. Metas were a lot easier to take down than demons, that was for sure. Harry was a work in progress, but you were a patient person.

Besides, he was kinda cute. Since you’d been there so long, you ended up getting a small job at Jitters so you could rent an apartment close to Star Labs. Your brother didn’t take it especially well when you said you wanted to stay for a while. You supposed he figured you come back when you got bored, but these weren’t one of those times. You just needed this opportunity.

Chilling on the chair, you blew at a loose strand of your hair, scrolling through your phone's feed. The hurried steps of someone entering is what alerted you to present company.

“Ramon I need to use your…” Harry lifted his head, not spotting the engineer, instead you were seated in the cortex, spinning on one of the chairs absently. Your gaze shifted from the phone in his direction. “Cisco went for something to eat, what do you need? “

“You’re still here.”

“You could try and not sound so disappointed. “ He was sure his comment would piss you off, but you looked unaffected, if anything you seemed happy. He still wasn’t used to your endless state of elation. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you frown.

“I’m gonna be here for a while, so you better get used to me being around.” he didn’t reply, moving over to Cisco’s workstation. You followed with your eyes placing your chin into your palm. Harry intrigued you. His unapproachable vibe was a clear turnoff for most women, so you understood why he was single, but you’d been watching him since you got there, and his hostility you learned was a sign of his care. The way he bickered with Cisco, you could tell there was a bond between the two. He was always very caring with the interactions he had with Iris and Caitlin.

He was a secret sweetheart. What you respected was his blatant disregard for pretense. He never tried to be anyone else, or really cared for wearing a mask. A lot of the guys you dated wore a facade, until you got two or three weeks in and realized they weren’t anything like what you thought. No, Harry wasn’t like that at all. And you suspected his indifference to you was a defense, he still didn’t know much about you, and he was very protective of Team Flash. He’d give his life for each and everyone of its members. Another thing you respected.

“Gosh, I’m gushing over the guy when he isn’t even ten feet away, chill (Y/N).”

Why’d he have to be so darn attractive. Through your shameless admiring, you picked up on a flickering red light on his back.

“Hey..” you called softly, getting to your feet. Something wasn’t right.

“Hey!”

“What!” he demanded. The light moved to his chest, right over his heart, and you sprinted in his direction, skating in front of him at the last second. Lifting your hands, you screamed out a spell.

“Clypeus mihi!”

Harry was startled at the gunshots that echoed throughout the room, right before him a blue barrier lifted, sheltering you both from the onslaught of bullets. A few of the bullets ricochet, and he barely had the chance to try and avoid. You gritted your teeth, moving your right arm to the side to widen your defense. The blue light was now fully encased around your bodies. You were praying that Barry would race over upon getting the notification that Star Labs was under attack.

The first bullet that penetrated the glass of the window set off all the alarms. You were sort of glad the rest of Team Flash was not present. This particular spell took a lot more out of you, just sheltering two people was a challenge, and as it stood you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep it up. You heaved biting down on your lip, Harry could see the blood that dripped from your nose, not to mention the similar blue light that was reflected in your irises. You were nearing your limit.

In this position, you wouldn’t have the strength to conjure another spell. The sound of a yell from outside the building on the roof reached your ears, and all at once the bullets stopped. The shield lowered almost immediately, the light draining from your hands and eyes as you dropped to your knees in exhaustion. Despite your clear discomfort, you smiled when you saw the red streak of lightning, followed by your favorite speedster.

“Boy am I glad to see you.” Barry looked more than a little relieved.

There was never a dull day here, you realized that now.

~~~

“Take it easy, It’s hard for me to track your vitals, magic isn’t exactly my specialty, but your readings look strong. Try to get some rest. “ you nod at Caitlin’s evaluation with a thanks, turning back to Barry and the other who stood next to your bed.

“So who was the psycho who tried to light up Grumpy over there.” You titled your head in Harry’s direction, who glared.

“His wife got sick when the particle accelerator went off. She died a month ago. Joe cleared out his apartment, his place was filled with pictures of Harry and Star Labs, I think he was planning this for a while. I guess losing the last of his family broke him. “ Barry never took pleasure in locking up people in pain, but that didn’t excuse his actions.

“Good thing you were here (Y/N), otherwise Harry would have been kapoot!”

“I’m right here Ramon.” you chuckle. “No sweat, glad I could help.” You tried to say it enthusiastically, but your body felt weak. That was the first time you used that particular spell, mainly because you knew the kind of toll it had on the body. Since you weren’t as experienced or powerful as Maggie and her sisters, it would be harder for you to recuperate.

“Let's give her a break.” Thank goodness for Caitlin. She started directing them all out, but Harry didn’t move. She sent you a smile. When they were gone, your head moved to Harry. He looked a little less grumpy. He couldn’t have actually been worried about you. Could he?

“That was reckless, from your state if you’d kept that spell any longer there was a good chance you could have died.”

“Seriously, not even a thank you. I’m hurt Grumpy wells.”

“This isn’t a game!” he bellowed.

You sigh, trying to straighten yourself in the bed.

“I know that Harrison. Even so, I wasn’t about to let some crazy put holes in you. You’re my friend, and I did what I had to. I needed to make sure you were safe. At that moment protecting you was priority. Nothing else mattered. “ You didn't regret it. And you sure as hell wouldn’t apologize for doing such a thing.

“Thank you (Y/N).” your mouth slid shut, and the look on his face now, it made your heart race.

That was the first time he’d said your name, and boy did you like the way it sounded coming out of his mouth.

“Y-You’re welcome, a-anytime don’t mention it.” He smiled this time around.

“Damn it he’s trying to kill me!”

That had to be his goal. This guy would certainly be the end of you.

[raineydaywrites]

the drought was the very worst

Febuwhump day 26: recovery

Fic Summary: Time heals all wounds. But a little friendly competition can maybe help speed it up.

Or, the story of the first day that Taako and Lucretia spend alone together after the Day of Story and Song.

All three of the reapers were currently on an extended mission. They expected to be gone for a few days "four, at most" according to Krav. They'd blown open a whole network of necromancers, and hoped to eliminate them before they started whatever creepy ritual they were planning for the next week. Nothing too complicated, but apparently time consuming.

Taako was not worried about them. They could handle themselves. But he certainly was put out over the temporary displacement from three of his favorite people.

It didn't help that Magnus was super busy with his dog school and Merle was super busy with his earl duties and Davenport was off on another exploration, and meanwhile, Taako's school was on harvest break. It had been nice, for the first few weeks, and Taako was usually glad to get time to relax and chill, but he had to say that it would have been nice to have something else to do while most of his family were busy.

He probably ought to get dressed and get going for the day. He didn't feel like laying around all day, and moping around about this would eventually just make him miserable.

He picked over the offerings in the closet. They'd gotten so used to sharing/stealing each others' clothes over the century they'd spent together that they didn't even pretend to need separate closets when they'd built this place. And anyway, it was just easier to clean and hang everything in the same room.

Taako didn't feel like getting himself into anything too complicated, so he found a relatively simple sundress and slipped it on, before tying his hair up into a loose bun. Best way to look great without putting much effort into it.

He probably ought to make himself something to eat, but without anyone else to cook with or for, the biggest reward of cooking breakfast was gone. Maybe he'd be more into the idea by the time lunch or dinner came around.

Usually, Krav, Lup, and Barry would come home in the evenings when they could. Sure, they didn't actually need to sleep or eat to keep going, but they usually would choose to. It was uncomfortable to know that they wouldn't this week, to be so reminded to the fact that they were- not like him anymore. Taako would never say that out loud, but it was.

He left the closet, determined not to think about upsetting but irrelevant shit anymore, and made his way the main family room. Lucretia was there. She was settled on a couch, flipping through a book. Taako tilted his head in surprise to see her.

"I thought you would be at the Bureau today," he said. Lucretia jumped, as if she hadn't realized that anyone else was here either, which was ridiculous. Both he and Angus were on break, and he, at least, had nothing else to be doing. He was pretty sure Angus wasn't working on any cases right now anyway, so he should be knocking around here somewhere too.

"No. Avi and Killian have suggested that I'm 'overworking' myself, and arguing with them has started to be more trouble than it's worth," Lucretia said simply. Taako snorted.

"They're not wrong, Creesh," he said, flopping down on the other couch. "I'm more surprised that they convinced you to take a day off than I am surprised that you need one."

Lucretia scowled half-heartedly at him, but she was self-aware enough to know that he was right. There was silence for a moment.

"Huh. Is that my dress?" Lucretia asked, furrowing her brows as she took a closer look at Taako's outfit.

Taako glanced down at it, assessing. He really wasn't sure who had bought it originally, but yeah it easily could have been Lucretia. It was a cut and color that she liked, and it looked just about her size.

"Probably. Is that a problem?" Taako gave her a challenging look, daring her to say something.

"No, of course not," Lucretia scoffed. "I just didn't realize we were so close in size."

It was a fair point. They didn't use to be able to fit each others' clothes as well as this dress fit Taako. But it had been a while since he'd last stolen anything of Lucretia's or she'd stolen anyth- any of his clothes. They didn't have a huge overlap in style to begin with, and it had only been a few months since the whole group of them had moved into this place together.

Taako just shrugged. They'd never been too caught up in how well the stuff they took fit. The only times it was even mentioned were if someone ripped anything or when the size difference was particularly noticeable, like the times when Merle would show up to breakfast wearing Magnus' t-shirts as pajamas.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Lucretia asked, hesitant.

Taako firmly didn't think about any potential reasons that the clothing discussion could have prompted that question.

"Nah. Just woke up," he responded.

"So you're going to make something soon?" Lucretia pressed.

"Why do you ask? So you can steal some without asking?" Taako shot back. Lucretia tensed but didn't quite flinch the way she used to when he said stuff like that. Which meant it was nearing its end as a useful manipulation tactic, and he should probably find a new one.

"I- I'd appreciate having something, yes. I haven't eaten yet today either," Lucretia said. She was manipulating him right back, and Taako knew it, but he still heaved himself up off the couch, sighing.

"Gods, Lucretia, you'd think someone as responsible and in-control as you would remember that living people have to eat things," he said.

He took the book out of her hands and set it down with the pages still open, snickering when her expression twisted in distaste at the improper positioning. When she reached out a hand to correct it, he grabbed it and yanked her upright, startling a laugh out of her. He pulled her along behind him to the kitchen.

"If I'm going to make something for you, you're helping with the boring shit," Taako announced. He let go of her hands to start washing his own, and started thinking about what to make. Nothing sounded particularly appealing at the moment, so he'd probably just stick with something basic.

"Okay? Like what?" Lucretia asked, washing her hands as well. Taako nodded approvingly. It was great when he didn't have to remind idiots -cough, cough, Magnus and Merle, occasionally Barry- about basic shit like sanitizing your hands before shoving it into something you were cooking for other people.

Honestly, Taako wasn't sure. He mostly just wanted to keep her from wandering off and forgetting to eat for longer, or getting bored and giving up on it himself, and, as an added bonus, he knew it must be driving Lucretia crazy knowing that her book was, at this very moment, sustaining damage to the spine and pages. And yeah, there she went, tossing an assessing look back toward the family room, probably trying to figure out if she could hurry back and correct the book without him noticing.

He grabbed some fruit and a knife and set them on the cutting board nearest Lucretia.

"Just cut that shit up. I'm making eggs. Eggs and fruit is a breakfast, right? I'm not in the mood for anything complicated, especially not for just you and me." Taako hoped playing it off as laziness would stave off any concern. He used to want to cook all the time, and he'd used to take any opportunity to do so.

Lucretia just hummed agreement, but Taako got the feeling that she still saw through it. After all, she hadn't always fed herself properly back on the Starblaster either, and 'Lucretia forgot to eat' used to be an opportunity that he always took, because he liked cooking and it was a great way to not have to admit to worrying about her, way back in the beginning, and a nice way to spend some time with a friend later on.

They were quiet for several long moments, just letting the sounds of cooking fill the room. The silence made Taako anxious, but he wasn't quite sure how to break it. He glanced over at Lucretia, to check on her progress with the fruit, and saw her staring off into space blankly. He went back to cooking the eggs.

When the eggs were ready, he salted them with the No Sodium salt shaker, knowing that they were good, but knowing that there would be just the tiniest tendril of worry tugging at his mind throughout the meal if he didn't.

It was ridiculous, really, that he needed that. He had never made a fatal mistake in the kitchen, and it had been a long time even since he thought he had. And this meal didn't even involve transmutation. But the thoughts that maybe he'd mess up in some different way could get stuck in his mind for hours sometimes. It could take hours, after all, for some illnesses and poisons to even show their symptoms. At Glamour Springs, it had happened pretty quickly, but if he messed up here, made some mistake of a different sort than pissing somebody off, then who knew how long it would be before symptoms would show themselves?

He shook himself, forced his mind away from the thoughts, and set the plates next to Lucretia's fruit. She didn't respond to his nearness, and when the plates hit the counter, she moved her head to look at them only after several long seconds.

Taako snapped his fingers in front of Lucretia's face a couple times, eying the knife she was almost cradling. Probably shouldn't have left her to cut stuff up when he'd realized that she was so out of it. She could have hurt herself. But, whatever, the moment had passed, and it didn't look like she was bleeding, so it didn't matter.

The snapping got her moving at a quicker pace, but she still didn't seem like she was all there yet.

Taako started to hum under his breath, hoping the sensory input would wake her up a little. She'd always reacted well to that in the past.

Lucretia finished cutting the fruits in front of her, setting the knife down and swaying back and forth a little to the humming. She plated the fruit and set it next to Taako's eggs. She made a humming noise in the back of her throat, a thanks without words, and washed off the knife.

Taako still didn't really feel like eating, but the food was made, and it would do no good to waste it. Besides which, if he ducked out of eating, then Lucretia could too, and he didn't want that. She had a bad habit of not eating when she felt bad, which always ended up with her making herself feel worse.

If they had to play Fantasy Chicken with their meals to get her to eat right, then he could play Fantasy Chicken.

They were both stubborn people, and neither was willing to back down, so the food got eaten, and the dishes got washed, and Lucretia snuck back to her book when Taako wasn't looking, but she came back with the book and a board game that he hadn't realized they still had.

"Look what I found the other day," Lucretia said, brandishing the box proudly.

Taako grinned at the Fantasy Clue box- they'd all played a lot of games together on the Starblaster, but some games had been more embraced by some of them than others- like Merle and Davenport with their modified euchre rules once the rest of them tired of playing along.

For him and Lucretia, it had been Fantasy Clue, and yeah, they'd had to modify it pretty hard to make it work with two people, but they had made it work nonetheless.

"Do you want to play?" Lucretia asked, hesitant.

Taako refused to let himself hesitate in his response, "Hell yeah, let's break that bad boy out."

Lucretia smiled widely, a smile he'd missed, that told him that he'd made the right decision.

They set the board up on the floor in the living room, so that they could spread out as needed, and started to play.

The game was intense, both of them competitive and stubborn and smart as hell, but it was fun.

They lost track of time as they played, until Angus peeked in at them curiously.

"What are you playing?" Angus asked, eyeing the board curiously.

Taako met Lucretia's eyes, both of them thinking the same thing, not needed to say a word to get their point across.

 Do we really want to try to take the World's Best Detective in Fantasy Clue?

The answer was 'no,' for sure, but they decided to do it anyway.

He trounced them, of course.

-

The rest of the family made sure to come home at the end of the week, as they each realized that they'd left Taako and Lucretia alone with just each other (and Angus, but he was a kid) for the first time since the Day of Story and Song, and they'd accidentally done it for an entire week.

Anything could have happened.

But when they got there, the only thing they found out of the ordinary were the many scoreboards that had popped up over the week, as Taako and Lucretia refused to be outdone by an eleven year old, no matter who he was.

While Lucretia and Taako discussed strategies to take down the new champion, Angus grinned smugly at the rest of them, and silently accepted his well earned money from the 'who can get them to get along again' betting pool.

[journalofimprobablethings]

take me back to the start

That idea about the Chalice and Lucretia would not leave me alone, so here's the full dang thing. Turns out Lucretia's temptation takes about 4k words.

Tags: Mentioned Lup, Mentioned Magnus Burnsides, Stolen Century Spoilers, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation

Summary: The Chalice makes Lucretia an offer, and she has to decide whether she's willing to pay the price for a second chance.

Full thing below but you can also read it on AO3 here

--

Lucretia wakes up in a white space.

She blinks, and as the room comes into focus, she can see it's not just an undefined void. There are shapes around her: furniture and plants, pillows and blankets and a coffee table, all so familiar—and she realizes with a pang that she's in the lounge of the Starblaster. But it's like she's in a ghost version of the room; everything is washed out, somehow insubstantial. She reaches out and touches a pillow, and even though she can feel it, there's something not quite there about it.

She looks around, torn between confusion at her surroundings and a sort of painful joy at the familiarity of it all. Then she jumps as a voice speaks behind her.

"Hey, Luce."

She turns and there, sitting on one of the couches, is Magnus.

Unlike the rest of the room, he's not washed out or ghostly. He's all there, solid, full-color. He's leaning back against the cushions, his arms spread over the top of the couch. He looks so relaxed, totally at home in a way she hasn't seen in a long time. Something about the whole scene bothers her, but she can't put a finger on what it is.

"Magnus? Where—what is this?"

"I thought we should talk. Since you finally found me and all."

"Finally found you? What are you—?" She looks at him more closely. There's something...off about him. The way he's sitting, the way he holds his head—it's like someone doing an impression of Magnus: the broad strokes are there, but the details are not quite right.

Then she realizes what it was that bothered her just now:

He'd called her Luce.

It's been years since anyone has called her that. Magnus always used to, before. But the Magnus she knows right now, at the Bureau, has never used that name for her. He's forgotten that he ever did.

She takes a step back.

"You're not Magnus."

He smiles, and there's a sharpness in it that sends a shiver down her spine. "No, I'm not."

"Who are you?"

Magnus—or the thing pretending to be Magnus—leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

"What were you doing just now? Before you came here?"

She thinks back. The boys had just gotten back from Refuge, had told her the story of the time-stuck town and all their loops—all their deaths. (And she'd wondered then whether it had felt familiar, all that dying. But she'd said nothing.) They'd told her, in broad terms, about the thrall of this most recent relic, how it was different from the others.

And then she'd gone back to her office, to channel the Light out of the relic into her staff.

She looks at not-Magnus again, a mix of fear and fascination roiling inside her.

"The Chalice," she says. "You're the Chalice."

He smiles, wider this time, and a smile that is distinctly un-Magnus-like.

"That's right," he says. "And I want to show you something."

Lucretia closes her eyes against that smile, takes a breath to steady herself.

The Chalice.

When she’s thought about what it would take to collect the relics, this is the one that has always worried and frightened her the most. The others have their thrall, but the things they offer—riches, power—are things that she has an easy enough time rejecting. She’s never wanted those things, not really.

But the Chalice holds something that she has always wanted desperately: the opportunity to fix your mistakes. The idea of second chances.

She’d worried about sending Magnus and Merle and Taako after it—even without all their memories, there are plenty of things they might wish were different. They didn’t go into detail about what the Chalice offered them, but she knows it can’t have been easy. She's proud of them for resisting it.

She's not sure she'd be as strong.

Lucretia opens her eyes, and summons every bit of the gravitas and distance she has cultivated in the last decade, pulling her professional mask back into place.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she says. “I know what I’ve done. And even if there are things I wish were different, I know you’re not the solution.”

His face twists into a wry smile. “Look at you, Luce. We used to think you were such a wallflower. And now here you are: Madam Director. You're so...sure. So certain that everything you've done is for the best."

She shouldn't let it hurt her, the hint of judgement in his voice. This isn't Magnus, after all. But she can't help feeling stung.

"I did what I had to do," she says.

"And it's worth it? Worth the price you made us pay?"

"Don't say us," she snaps. "You're not him."

"You're avoiding the question."

He stands, and she resists the urge to step away from him as he approaches her.

“Come on,” the Chalice says, with Magnus’s voice, Magnus’s earnestness. “There really isn't anything you'd change? You really don't want a second chance to get it right?”

She could almost laugh at the question. Of course she wants a second chance. Of course there are things she wants to change. Every day when she looks at Davenport, when she watches the boys train and notes the difference in how they treat each other, she longs for what used to be. She can’t say she hasn’t thought about what she could do with the Chalice’s power, wondered what it would be like if she--

Wait.

There’s something missing here, something she’s forgetting. It’s a terrifying feeling, like missing a step on the stairs, putting your foot down expecting solid ground and finding only empty air. (Is this what it felt like? a tiny part of her whispers. Is this what she did to them?)

She does back away from the Chalice now, just a few steps. Her heart is beating hard in her chest, and she closes her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

"Why am I here?" she asks. “You shouldn’t be able to do this.”

"Oh, Luce." He smiles again, that same, awful, sharp smile. “You know why. You picked me up.”

She—

Oh.

Oh, no.

She had been in her office, getting ready to channel this piece of the Light into her staff, to join it with the others. She didn’t need to take the relic out of the iron ball it had been placed in to do this. No need to touch it, to risk being thralled. That was the point.

But she had been so curious.

This relic, of all of them, has always held such fascination for her.

“You wanted to see what I can do," the Chalice says. “And here I am.”

And with that, the lounge around them disappears. The ghostly furniture vanishes, leaving only the white void behind—and the Chalice standing next to her, still wearing Magnus's face. He reaches for her hand, but she jerks away before he can take it.

"Let me show you," he says. "I promise I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. Just let me show you."

Then he gestures, and the void around them bursts into life.

At first, there is so much at once the Lucretia can't parse through the chaos of colors and images. But as her eyes grow more accustomed, she realizes that they are surrounded by her memories. She sees snippets of herself over the last weeks, sitting in her office at the Bureau, talking to Avi in the cannon bay, visiting Johann and Fisher downstairs. She sees herself at the spa with Merle, trying Taako's macarons at the Candlenights party. The memories move farther and farther back in time, and as they do they begin to fly by faster and faster until the images blur together and the specifics are lost in a swirl of color. The flash and movement of it churns Lucretia's stomach, and she tries to turn away, to block it out, but the Chalice takes her by the arm and will not let her turn.

"Look," he says.

The blur of memories is slowing again, enough that she can once again pick out individual images—and as they resolve, the memories they show hit her like a knife in the gut.

Lucretia is surrounded, suddenly, but images of the day she broke their family apart.

She sees herself leaving Merle in the house she found for him on the beach

walking away from Magnus's carpentry shop in Raven's Roost

leaving Taako asleep in the back of his caravan

finding Barry's body in a field outside Neverwinter

collapsed on the floor beside Davenport's bed as he curls under the covers, clutching his temples.

Each image is clearer than the last, and each one twists the knife in her gut a little deeper. She wraps her arms tight around herself, trying to steady herself, to hold herself together, but she can't keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Please," she says. "I don't want to see this."

"Why not? I thought you did what you had to do." There is no pity in his voice. "I thought this price was worth paying."

The memories keep coming, and she sees herself finding each of her family after the redaction, reaching out to try and calm and comfort them. She sees Magnus walking into her room, the journal floating in Fisher's tank, a duck painted to look just like her dropping to the floor. She watches herself catch Magnus as he staggers, watches as her knees give out under his weight, as she catches his head before it can hit the floor and whispers assurances and love that he is too lost to hear.

The Magnus standing next to her watches too, expressionless.

It feels like they linger on that scene for an eternity before it, too, fades away.

Then, finally, the flashes of memories slow and stop, exactly where Lucretia knew they would.

They're standing in her quarters on the Starblaster, the glow from Fisher's tank casting the room into shades of grey and blue. Along one wall, the bookcase where she kept all her journals is half empty, each shelf pockmarked with holes. The desk is a mess of papers and journals and mugs of tea long gone cold. Lucretia looks to the corner where Fisher's tank sits, and even though she knows what to expect, the sight still takes her breath away.

She sees herself, wearing her red IPRE jacket, her hair longer than she's had it in years, stray curls escaping from the cord holding it in place. She's standing frozen in front of Fisher's tank, holding a blue journal bound in silver trim in both hands. Her grip on the journal is so tight that her knuckles are white.

The Chalice looks over at Lucretia. The whole time he was scanning through her memories, his face had been blank, dispassionate. But now, for the first time, he's looking at her with compassion and understanding in his eyes.

“This was the moment, right? The moment you changed everything.”

Lucretia nods. She remembers the feeling of this moment: like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to jump. The terror of it, and the possibility.

She looks at her past self, standing at Fisher’s tank clutching the journal in her hands. Gods, she forgot how young she used to look. Her face is lit by the glow of the tank, her lips pressed tight together and eyes shining. There’s fear there, but there’s also hope—hope that this will be worth it, that she will be able to help her family be happy again. Hope that she will be able to fix everything.

She’s not sure when that hope transformed into a need; when the belief that her plan would work morphed from a quiet determination to a desperate desire, a story she told herself because to believe otherwise would break her.

Would she still have that hope, if she had made a different choice?

You can change it," the Chalice says. "Everything you just saw. All that pain you caused them. It doesn't have to go that way."

Lucretia looks at the frozen memory of herself, a version of her that thought she knew the cost of what she was doing. Who had no idea what loneliness and heartbreak she held in her hands.

What would it mean, if she had the chance to try again?

She could talk to the others about her plan, try to get them on board. She could still go through with the redaction, but she could make sure her family were inoculated first. The worst thing, the hardest thing, about what she’s done has been seeing what it did to the others. Seeing the sharp, cold person Taako’s become without Lup; the way that Davenport’s been left a shell of himself. Knowing that Barry is out there somewhere, alone and angry and afraid. The fact that the lives that she built for them fell apart one by one, and she could only watch.

She could save them that pain, if she changed this moment.

Everything she just had to watch, everything they've lost, everything they've suffered because of her.

She could fix it.

She could—

Could she?

The last time she tried to fix everything with one big decision, she ended up here.

If she did this, what new pains would come instead—what unintended consequences would such a choice unleash? If there’s anything she’s learned in the past decade, it’s that she can never fully predict the effects of her decisions, no matter how hard she tries. What if this decision only leads to new regrets?

Lucretia drops her head in her hands, all her desires and wishes and hopes warring inside her with a dreadful fear at what other hurts she might inadvertently cause.

The price of using any relic is so high; she's not even sure what exactly the price of this one would be. She has spent the last ten years working so hard to keep others from using them, to collect them so that she can cast her barrier and stop the Hunger once and for all. Would she really sacrifice all that to fix this one mistake?

She wants to say she would. She wants to say that if she knew she could spare her family pain, she would sacrifice everything else she’s done. But when she asks the question bluntly, the same answer that has gotten her through the last ten years comes up.

She did what she did for a reason. It cost them all so much more than she ever thought it would. But she’s not sure what else would be lost, if she tried to change this moment—and there is too much at stake for her to risk getting it wrong again.

No. She can't fix it. Not this way.

Lucretia lowers her hands, slowly, and shakes her head.

“I made my choice,” she says. “It hasn’t turned out exactly like I thought it would, but...I did what I had to do. I have to see it through.”

She lets her hands fall to her sides, staring at the still-frozen form of her past self. That's it, then.  She should feel proud of herself, she supposes, for resisting the Chalice’s thrall. But instead she just feels empty.

She looks up at the Chalice, expecting him to be angry, or frustrated, or at least disappointed. This was his last big play, after all. The temptation of Lucretia.

But the Chalice only smiles, and she hates the way that smile looks on Magnus’s face, all condescension and smug knowing.

“I thought you might say that,” he says. “You’re nothing if not stubborn."

What?

She had thought she knew what was happening here: a temptation, an offer that the Chalice hoped she would take and that she would have to resist, and if she did, then she would win. If that's not what this was--reliving those memories was bad enough, but to do it for no purpose?

Lucretia does her best to hide her confusion, to let only anger show in her voice. "Why did you show this to me if you knew I wouldn't change it?"

He shrugs. "It was worth a try. You might have surprised me. And it's important that you saw this first."

"What do you mean?" She doesn't like the sound of first. "I thought we were done."

“Not quite," the Chalice says. "There’s one other moment I want to show you."

The images around them are already blurring again, the vision of her standing in front of Fisher’s tank disappearing into flashes of color and memory. Lucretia braces herself for another onslaught, but it's only a few seconds before the blur slows, and when it stops, they are once again standing in her quarters on the Starblaster. It’s nighttime, the room lit only by a candle on her desk, and the glow from Fisher’s tank.

The younger version of her sits at the desk, her head leaning on one hand, the other hand twirling and pulling at a loose curl. She's reading one of her journals. Two more journals sit to one side on the desk, and there is a pile of several more at her feet. The young Lucretia’s leg is jiggling, and her hand pulls on her hair hard enough to hurt. Her posture might seem relaxed, but present Lucretia can feel her anxiety.

Her heart sinks. She remembers this night. It was the night after Lup had told them about the gauntlet’s latest death toll in Cordelia—and one of the first nights she really thought about what it would take, to use Fisher to erase the relics. She remembers the weariness on Lup’s face, the despair at what these things they’d made were doing to the world. How much she wanted to wipe that weariness away, how she’d thought that there had to be a way to fix it. She had sat up late into the night, a growing pile of journals surrounding her as she read through her records of the last year, and then further and further back into the century. Eventually she had fallen asleep at her desk, her head pillowed on an open journal, her mind spinning with questions—whether such a plan would work; whether it was worth it.

The next morning, they had found Lup’s note on the kitchen table.

"You think about this night a lot," the Chalice says. "The last night you were all together."

He walks over to the desk, looking down at the memory of her, and Lucretia resists the urge to step between them, to protect her younger self from the future looming over her.

“You didn’t know it at the time, but you were awake, when Lup left,” he continues. “She waited until she thought everyone would be asleep, and then she left her note on the table, and she slipped away. She thought she would only be gone a few days.

“And while she did that you were sitting at your desk, reading, thinking it might be time to take a break soon, but not ready to put down your work just yet."

Past Lucretia turns a page and sighs. Even more than the last version of her, Lucretia thinks, she has no idea what's coming.

"You never did end up taking a break, that night. And by morning she was gone.”

The scene shifts, and suddenly it’s like they’re standing inside the wall between her old room and the corridor outside. She can still see herself, sitting at her desk. But she can also see a figure in a hooded red robe making her way along the hall, her footfalls carefully soft. The scene freezes just as Lup passes Lucretia's door.

“Right now, in this moment, she’s walking past your room on her way to the kitchen. If you get up now, you’ll run into her, and you’ll be able to talk.”

Lucretia stares, frozen, at her younger self, at the cloaked figure of Lup outside the door. She had been right there. She had been so close. She never even thought—

What would have happened, if she and Lup had talked before Lup left?

If she had told Lup what she was thinking, of her plan to use Fisher to stop the war?

If she had asked Lup for help, tried to get her to stay?

What would have happened to them all, if they hadn’t lost Lup?

Suddenly, all her earlier firm resolve dissipates like mist. Lucretia looks at the figure silhouetted in the dim light of the corridor, and her heart aches and her stomach clenches with longing.

Lup.

It shouldn't change anything. All her arguments from before still stand.

She doesn’t know what consequences such a change would have.

She’d be sacrificing everything she’s done, everything she’s worked for the past ten years.

The price of using a relic is still so very high.

But Lup.

There’s a sudden, gentle touch on the back of her wrist. She startles, but this time she does not pull away as the Chalice takes her hand in his. His fingers are rough and calloused, the exact feel of Magnus’s hands, and the sensation brings tears to her eyes. It’s been so long since she’s felt anything like this.

“You can save us, Luce,” the Chalice says—Magnus says. “You know we fell apart, after Lup left. You can stop it. You can persuade her to stay, and we can find some other way to stop the war. Together.”

"Don't say us," she says, but there is no fire in it. She can see it, the future he describes. She can see it so clearly.

"Please, Lucretia." His eyes meet hers with such an earnest look. "You can save her."

And despite herself, despite all her caution and well-honed arguments, Lucretia can feel herself faltering.

When he made his first offer, she had been able to push her own desires aside. However much she might want to change what has happened since the redaction, she knows she did what she did for a reason, and she is too practiced at setting aside her guilt to let it sway her.

But this. This is different.

Lup's disappearance had no reason behind it, no purpose. She might have left with an intention in mind, but Lucretia is certain her not coming back was not part of any plan.

And now, she's being given the chance to make it right.

If she can keep Lup from leaving, then Barry will never have to waste away on a fruitless search, Taako will never be reduced to moving through the ship like a ghost, half empty. If she can talk to her, maybe they can keep their family together, keep them from falling into that place where the redaction felt like the only option. With Lup still with them, maybe the Chalice is right—maybe they can find another way to save the world.

There will be a price to pay. She knows this. The stakes are just as high as before, the uncertainty in some ways even higher. But by now she is used to calculating the costs of her decisions, and the prices she has to pay herself are always the easiest to bear.

And to save Lup? To bring her back? She's willing to pay just about anything.

Lucretia looks up at the Chalice, and though she knows he is not Magnus, he is so like him that just for this moment, she can pretend that there is nothing else lurking behind his earnest expression. She takes both of the Chalice's callused hands in hers, and she looks him dead in the eye, and she makes her choice.

"What do I have to do?”

[desiree-harding-fic]

Not the same anon as before but do you have any ideas about moments when Barry and Lup have to spend time around one another post-fallout (seeing as they have mutual acquaintances) ?

This is not exactly what you asked for but technically it is after the fallout and technically they are around one another so :)))))

Edit as of 2020: This snippet includes depictions of illness assumed fatal. But Just a Quick Reminder that this story has a happy ending and everyone turns out completely fine.

This is an installment from my ongoing ReJEANcy (regency) AU.

*~*~*~*~*

Lup’s condition did not improve.

Before the end of day she was in fits of fever, her skin flushed, sweat beading on her forehead, wrinkled in discomfort. No longer did Barry wander the halls of Kravitz’s large, empty house in silent contemplation. He felt unable to tear himself away from her shivering form. No more did the servants suggest his presence might be of more use elsewhere. A chair was pulled up on either side of the bed, and Barry occupied one at all times, watching in silent, petrified horror as Lup descended into someplace dark and deep, where words and touch would no longer reach her. And for all his smarts, for all his knowledge, there was nothing he could do but continue to watch, as Doctor Highchurch poked and prodded at her, as he let blood from her in the hopes of bringing her fever down. Barry held her arm still.

It was the most contact he’d had with her in years. 

Finally the doctor finished, and silently he bandaged her wrist once more as Barry pulled the bowl away, handing it to a servant at the door to empty.

“Mister Bluejeans,” the doctor said, and Barry turned. The man was packing his instruments away, back into his bag. He did not look at Barry. Behind him, Lup lay still in the bed, and the afternoon light slanted in through the windows. 

“I am sorry to say it,” the man said, mildly, “I know you wish to still hold out hope. But I fear it may be time to prepare yourself for the worst.”

The pit of Barry’s stomach did not drop so much as it disappeared. One moment he was a man, and the next he was nothing but a heavy mist where a man once stood. His eyes were drawn, inexorably, to Miss Taaco’s form once more, her shallow breaths, her complexion flushed and the sheen of sweat on her brow. He should refresh the cloth for it -

“How long until Lord Kravitz and his husband return?” Dr. Highchurch said, and Barry’s head snapped up again, to look at him, terrified.

“I… I do not know…” he admitted, panicked, “we haven’t heard anything from them, I - I sent a letter, but I don’t know if it’s reached them.”

“For Mr. Taako’s sake, let’s hope it has,” Doctor Highchurch said, grimly, and Barry’s mind was a wash of panic. “I will return this evening.”

“Should I call you, Doctor, if anything changes before then?” Barry asked desperately. Doctor Highchurch’s eyes were full of nothing but regret as he looked back at him.

“If it will make you feel better,” he said, “then you may. But… there is little I can do for her now. Keep her comfortable. Try to keep her fever down, if you can. The rest… well. Let us hope she has some fight left in her.” And then he picked up his bag and he was gone.

Barry could not think. He could hardly breathe. He fell heavily into the chair they had pulled alongside her bed, unable to tear his eyes from her. He felt as though he would be sick. 

His eyes had missed the sight of her. He had thought, only a week ago, how much he longed to see her, more and more often, how he longed for the closeness of her company, how he wished to be allowed into her life, in any paltry way - 

Not like this, he thought desperately. How terrible, how disgustingly ironic that his wish had been granted, here, in this space, that he shared alone with her, only hours, perhaps, from her - 

He could not think the word.

He would give anything not to have his wish come true now. He would leave her a hundred times, tear himself from her, if only it meant that she was out of danger.

Prepare for the worst, his mind screamed at him. Prepare for the worst, and it was apt, was it not? What could be worse than the loss of her? Not just for Barry but for the world? What could compare to it? Surely nothing else in god or man’s imagination could be so tragic as the loss of Lup. To snuff such a light from the world was the cruelest act Barry could conceive of.

He had been so foolish. He should never have believed Lydia’s venomous words, should never have avoided her, should never have spent so long harboring animosity in his heart. For all of a sudden, like a morning light breaking over the top of a hill, it was clear to him how hopelessly, endlessly in love with her he was. Now, faced with the loss of her, there was no question as to his affections. He loved her, every inch of her, every word from her lips, her quick wit and beauty and kindness. And he had been such an ignorant, stubborn fool.

Even when she went out of her way to make amends for the gossip that had turned Barry from her, he had hardened his heart, had chosen suspicion over forgiveness. In all the months she had been so kind, he had kept himself at a distance, and for what? What seemed rational and reasonable at the time, now, sitting in silence watching her struggle for every breath, revealed itself to be nothing more than a stupid, proud inclination. What did he need to prove? That he could be heartless too? But she never had been, and Barry had kept himself from her, and now she was on the verge of leaving this world, and Barry had not made amends himself.

But all of it - the once imagined prospect of marriage, the image of her as his wife, as a partner - all of it, and the loss of it, paled in comparison to the thought of her lips stilled in death, the loss of her mind and her soul, no matter what they were to Barry. The light gone from her eyes, the hole in the world that would be left if she was gone.

He briefly imagined it, Taako and Kravitz standing by in mourning clothes, as her coffin was lowered -

He leapt up from his chair.

No, it could not be. Doctor Highchurch told him to prepare, but nothing was confirmed - nothing was ever confirmed until - until the moment itself - no - he went to fetch another cloth for her forehead.

And the evening wore on. Doctor Highchurch returned, checking her again, letting blood. He did not need to speak for Barry to know what the downturn of his lips meant.

Evening turned to night, and Barry did not sleep, even as Doctor Highchurch dozed in a corner armchair. He watched with terrified eyes, for the smallest of changes, too frightened to retire. Distantly, he could feel exhaustion creeping up in the back of his mind, in his limbs, from so many hours of waking fear. But he did not give into it.

She tossed now, more restlessly than before, back and forth beneath the covers. He could see her pillow wet with sweat, her hair greasy with it, even braided back as the servants had left it. She would shift, uncomfortable, and her face would contort and she would moan, sometimes the indistinct shape of words, and sometimes her eyes would open, unseeing, for a brief moment and she would breathe desperately like she was drowning, before the invisible force she battled pulled her back under. It was terrifying.

More terrifying yet was the stillness that came next. Around two in the morning, her movements slowed, until she lay completely still, and Barry, feeling like his heart would fail, leaned closer in fixed, morbid, horrible attention.

“Miss Lup?” he ventured, in the dark, leaning closer still to her, resting an elbow on the bed as his eyes searched her face. “Miss Lup?” She did not respond, even physically, and in a fit of passion he took hold of her wrist, pressing his fingers into her pulse point. His other hand he rested against her forehead. Her skin burned to the touch. Her pulse was sluggish and weak. Her hands were cold, even with the heat of her face.

“Oh no, Miss Lup,” he whispered, so tired, now, that his thoughts would no longer remain just in his head. Irrationally, he spoke, as though his voice alone could pull her back to the living world. “Please,” he begged. “Please, you must continue to fight. Darling, please,” here in the dark silent morning, his heart spilled out over his tongue, “please, you mustn’t let go so easily as that. How will any of us live without you?”

Her stillness seemed all the answer he needed. There was not so much as a twitch of her fingers in his hand. He watched, always, for the miniscule rise and fall of her chest.

“Please,” he begged again, “do not leave us. We cannot lose you.” But he was certain she could not hear. And it seemed any moment would be her last. He felt a tear course down his cheek. He did not take his hands off hers to wipe it away.

“Please.” It seemed the only thing he could say. He bowed his head, brushed his lips along the back of her hand, unable to contain himself. His head coursed with something akin to pain. His vision swam. “And if you must go,” he murmured against her skin, “at least do not leave us before your brother returns. Do not deny Taako the opportunity to tell you goodbye.”

He had the delirious thought that perhaps, to just lay his head down beside her, where her hand rested atop the covers, if only for a moment -

“If not for any other among us, please, Miss Taaco, you must hold on for him,” he whispered, and then he knew no more.

*~*~*~*~*

[moriavis]

For the prompt ask: Barry has winter depression and Len would like to help him feeling better...

Here you go! Full disclosure -- my depression is year round, so I hope I presented SAD decently. Thanks so much for the prompt!

(Also on AO3.)

~*~

Leonard frowned as the seconds ticking away in the back of his mind turned into minutes. The Flash was a no-show. Again. A guy could get a complex with how often the kid ditched date night.

Not that Barry knew Leonard considered these heists dates. He was polite and remained very discreet about his personal fantasies.

The security guard, divested of his gun and sitting cross-legged on the floor, cleared his throat. "Um. Don't think he's gonna show, Mr. Cold." He didn't look afraid, even with the cold gun leveraged in his general direction.

Leonard closed his eyes and counted to five. "Who, exactly, do you think I'm waiting for?" The guard looked like he wasn't sure he should say more, and Leonard lifted his cold gun, pointedly aiming for central mass.

"The Flash!" he blurted out, avoiding Leonard's face. "He must be busy, right? And Heatwave's already gone with the money. You're not here to kill me, so you must be waiting on him."

Leonard blinked and holstered his gun. "I'm flattered you've kept such a close eye on my super villain career."

The guard ducked his head. "I'm a fan."

Leonard grinned, his sour mood vanishing. "Delightful. I think I'll take your advice. It's been a pleasure."

Leaving the bank was as easy as getting in, and with Mick safely out of reach with their loot, there was no reason he couldn't take a detour. He changed his destination from his safehouse to head to Barry's apartment—he always liked to creep around where he wasn't supposed to be, and Barry's tardiness might have worried him. Just a little.

The door was locked, but it was only a second of work to jimmy the simple lock open and step inside. The apartment was dim and quiet, and Leonard took the opportunity to poke around. Books and clothes were scattered in the front room. There was an empty plate and a coffee cup in the sink, and the fridge was mostly empty.

He was about to go into the bathroom to poke around the medicine cabinet when he heard stilted breathing down the hall, and he followed the sound to its source. "Barry?"

Sparks lit up the dark room, and Leonard blinked spots from his eyes as the overhead lights turned on.

"What're you doing here, Snart?" Barry's arms were crossed over his chest—he was obviously angry and defensive, but Leonard had anticipated that as an acceptable risk. More importantly, the mound of snack wrappers littering the night stand told him what he wanted to know. Barry hadn't been sharing his evening with anyone, and to be honest, he didn't look great. His eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen, his hair greasy and matted on one side.

"You missed my highly publicized bank heist," Leonard said. "You look like shit, kid. You okay?"

Barry laughed, looked surprised that he laughed, and turned away from Leonard, hiding his face in one hand. "Great. I'm feeling bad enough that my Rogues are checking in on me."

Leonard frowned and asked, a little more sharply than he intended, "Other Rogues've been checking on you?"

Barry turned back to face him, still struggling to keep the emotions off his face. Leonard almost told him not to bother. "Don't be jealous of the other Rogues, Snart."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to figure out if I needed to re-evaluate our working relationship." He caught of whiff of Barry and wrinkled his nose, taking a step back. "Take a shower, kid."

Barry scowled and ducked his head to scent check, and his face went through several stages of embarrassment before he settled on resignation.

Leonard stepped out of the room and went to the kitchen, waiting until he heard the water running before he decided his next move. He shrugged out of his parka and gun holster, draping them over the back of a chair before he explored Barry's pantry. He pulled out some pasta, and he didn't spend any time trying to decipher his motives as he began preparing a simple dinner of spaghetti and marinara.

Barry was out before the food was done, and he watched Leonard from the bar that divided his kitchen and living room. "What are you doing?"

"You've been eating crap all day," Leonard pointed out. "Thought you might appreciate something more substantial." He plated the pasta and set it in front of Barry. "Wanna tell me what's up?" Barry averted his eyes and took a cautious bite of the pasta, so Leonard turned his attention to the dishes.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Barry whispered, so low Leonard almost didn't hear it over the sound of the water.

Leonard made a small hmm of acknowledgement, but didn't bother to explain anything. It would give too much away, and he wasn't quite ready to untangle his thoughts.

"I've always been like this," Barry confessed. "It's not very cold here, but it gets cloudy and dark and… I guess everything's just harder. After I got my powers, the swings got worse. My brain chemistry's a little...off."

Leonard nodded, although he didn't look back at Barry until he was done with the dishes. "You got a feel good-movie you like to watch?"

"You're going to laugh," Barry protested.

Leonard crossed his heart. "Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Barry narrowed his eyes at him like he was still expecting Leonard to be a jerk about it and said, "Singing in the Rain."

Leonard nodded. "Mick likes that one. I'll get it queued." Barry's eyes widened, and Leonard crossed his arms. "Or I could go. Just figured you shouldn't be alone. If anyone else was available, they'd here, right?"

Barry nodded. "Iris and Joe are at work." He looked at Leonard a moment longer, a slow, hopeful smile crossing his face. "I'll make the hot chocolate if you'll get the movie ready?"

"Deal." For a moment, he wanted to reach out, touch Barry's hand or ruffle his hair, and the urge was like a glass of cold water, shocking him back into awareness. It was too easy. This domesticity wasn't his to keep, and he needed to remember that. Next time, they'd be back on opposing sides, and their roles would be clearly marked.

He got the movie ready, and Barry followed him into the living room a few minutes later, passing him a mug. His cocoa had mini marshmallows.

Maybe, Leonard thought, as Barry settled onto the sofa next to him without a hint of hesitation, he'd let the lines blur a little tonight. It was the nice thing to do.

~*~

[stardustdrafts]

DickWally Game of Thrones AU First meeting preview!!

  “It’s so… grim here” Wallace says with a slight sneer as he steps out of their carriage and looks around the wet and muddy streets, still covered in a thin layer of snow. It’s summer, the young boy thought, why would there still be snow on the ground?

  “The North is offering their hospitality to us, so please, Wally, don’t be rude.” His uncle Barry chides him with a light tap on the shoulder. The boy pouted a bit but doesn't try to argue with his uncle. He was right after all, the North was opening itself up to them, not something very common from what he understands. The North is pretty closed off from what Barry has told him and he can understand why with everything he’s seen so far looking so cold and unwelcoming, he’d imagine the people were much like their lands.

  The kingdom in the North is not what the boy is used to; it's much too cold for the boy’s own liking, it’s muggy, gloomy, and the air is thick with the smell of moist earth and cold. Everything here seems to be dark and drab in the North and it feels almost depressing. He takes note of the building as well and how old and worn they look nothing like the buildings back in King's Landing that stood tall and proud, and much newer and more modern than the stone and wooden homes here-- then again nothing here was anything like King's Landing.

  Not too far beyond the kingdom is a dark and primal forest that surrounds the kingdom walls and covers much of the Northern territories. It keeps Wally feeling uneasy, like there’s something dark in those woods, something evil, watching and waiting, calling to him with a sickly sweet voice to tempt him in and once it does he’s sure he’d never return from those woods. The feeling of unease alone makes him shiver more than the cold, so he looks away from those dark woods and back to the dirty kingdom, scooting himself closer to his uncle.

  Barry takes note of the shuffling and he can’t help but smile and rub the boy’s arm. “Come now, the North isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.” He says as if he’s read his mind. “It’s not what we’re used too, I know, but this is a nice place, I promise you that much.” And his uncle Barry had never steered him wrong before, so why would he now?

  Wally only gives a short hum in response and nestles himself closer to his uncle, and if asked he’ll say it's because of the cold, but in reality, it's just from the eerie feeling he gets from this place.

  It wasn’t much longer until the guardsmen with banners rode up to them on their large, black warhorses to meet them at their carriage. Barry gives a curt smile that the guardsman only acknowledged with a simple nod of their heads, but otherwise they had stayed stoic and silent in a way that reminds the young prince of stone carvings. Wally wasn’t sure how it was possible but an even bigger and blacker horse rode up behind to meet them and the guards straighten up and held their banners higher and more rigid.

  Wally himself couldn’t help but stand a little straighter as the man rode to them, Barry, however, kept his relaxed and neutral posture as the other large man stopped short of them before climbing down from his horse and walks towards them the rest of the way until he’s staring in front of the King.

  “It’s been some time, Barry.” The man spoke, his voice was low and deep with a gruff rasp. “You haven’t changed much.”

  “You haven’t changed much either, Bruce.” Barry smiles as he greets the man, extending his arm to offer his hand to Bruce. “It's good to see that frozen face of yours. How long has it been?”

  “It’s been a few months since we’ve last spoken, I believe.” He grips the king’s hand in a firm grip, a small smirk tugging at his features, clearly amused by his king’s comment.

  Bruce Wayne, the Warden of the North, though if you were to ask the locals they’d call him King in the North. Wally knows a little about this man from Barry, and he’s much more intimidating in person than he is in his uncle's words. But Wally does good by keeping a brave face and not going to hide behind Barry.

  Bruce is a large man, at least a head taller than Barry and twice as wide. Even from under all that leather and thick fur Wally can tell this man was made of pure muscle. Cold and calculating gray-blue eyes seem to always be watching, judging, and figuring you out. Barry wasn’t joking about the frozen face either, the man had a stone-cold look about him and a resting scowl that makes Wally nervous.

  “And who’s this you’ve brought with you?” Those cold eyes now are now turned on him and Wally would have been lying if he’d say he didn’t jump. He looks up at the dark-haired man and does his best to look unphased and attentive.

  “This is my nephew, Wally. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought him along with me today.”

  Bruce is quiet for a moment and Wally was sure he wasn’t happy that his uncle had brought him along and Wally can't help but flex his toes in his boots, unwilling to let this man see him fidget or cower. If the man did pick up on his nervousness, he didn't comment on it, but instead he gave the young man a simple nod. "It's a pleasure meeting you, young Lord."

  "It's a pleasure meeting you too… Sir." His voice. betrays him as he speaks with an uncertain tone and he wants nothing more than to hide in his cloak and crawl under a rock. Wally manages to restrain himself for the moment but it's an option he tucks away for a later time if needed.

  Barry can sense his nephew's nervous tension and gently rest his hand on the boy's back and Wally can't help but relax a little remembering that his uncle is at his side.

  "Come then," The large man speaks again, handing the reins of his horse to one of his bannermen as he turns, motioning for Barry to follow. In turn the king gives his nephew a gentle nudge to get him moving.

  “This place has really grown since I’ve last been here.”

  “Yes, we’ve been trying to build up as much as we can, the people here are growing and more opportunities are coming up, the town should naturally do the same. Plus, the trading we’ve opened up with the South has really helped us out, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Come Bruce, you know that it was never a problem.” Barry gives the large man a bright smile. “Besides, the meats and pelts you’ve sent us have been some of the best we’ve gotten. I think without your pelts, young Wallance and I would have frozen to death a long time ago!” Barry lets out a laugh but Wally can’t help but think that’s true. His uncle went to their dressmakers before the trip to get these robes made for them, and it’s kept them warm in the North’s cold summer months. They weren’t quite used to cold like this, winter in the North is much colder and deadly than in the South. Even with the summer months just beginning there’s still evidence of frost and ice and a heavy chill in the air, Wally can’t even begin to imagine what a true winter looks and feels like.

  The South never really grew this cold so there was no need for thick pelts for clothing other than a few accessories here and there or for the nobles to flaunt their wealth. The people of King’s Landing used the pelts they’ve gotten from the North for rugs, tapestries, curtains, clothing, anything they could need really.

  Bruce is walking with them back to the main castle, leading the way as he chats with Barry the whole way and catching up on their lives and affairs. In truth Wally wasn’t really paying much mind to it, it didn’t concern him and he didn’t care much for their boring gossip of the grown men. At this point he was more interested in looking around the Northern city, taking in all it's sites as they made their way through the muddy streets.

  He's not quite sure how he feels about this place just yet, it still gives off an eerie feeling that he can't shake, but it helps seeing the life the city has to offer, even if many people they've passed had given them odd looks and quiet whispers. Wally does his best to ignore it and decides to keep his focus on the sights.

  Something catches his eye, it's just a quick flash of a dark shadow, but the boy swears he sees it. He gives a confused look before deciding to turn his attention elsewhere, preferably on the opposite side of the street he saw the figure running.

  He tells himself that it's just one of the locals, maybe drawn in by the royal family that had come to town and just trying to sneak a peek. It's happened before, there's no reason why it wouldn't happen here either. He’s used to it all by now, being a prince, people are bound to come out when royalty is around to catch a glimpse.

  Wally couldn’t help the eerie feeling that was steadily creeping up on him. He can feel eyes on them now but he doesn’t know where or who they’re coming from. It makes him unsteady and he can’t help but hurry his steps and get closer to his uncle. He takes a few quick glances around but he sees nothing. Maybe it’s just his own paranoia getting to him, he thinks, yes, that must be it!  That’s what he’s going to tell himself to feel better. It’s foolish to get worked up over nothing and he doesn’t want to come off a disrespectful in front of a man like Bruce Wayne.

  It works for a time but he still can’t shake the feeling of eyes on him, but he tries to focus on the two men in front of him. Wally almost walks into his uncle when they suddenly stop and give the blonde man a confused look with is only responded with a shrug. The young lord looks to Bruce who seems to he staring off in one direction. Wally finds it odd but elects not to say anything about it and just give another confused look, looking to where the Warden was.

  “Richard.” The man’s deep voice seems to echo through the streets and it sends a shiver up Wally’s sine. It takes every ounce of will he has to not jump and hide behind his uncle at the stern tone. “You can come out now, these people are our friends, why don’t you come here and say hello. There’s no need to be shy.”

  Wally arches a brow at the man who, in his mind, seemed to be talking into thin air. He looks up at his uncle who just gives him a simple smile and nods. He finds the action odd but chooses to not question it and looks back into the direction the Northerner called out too.

  It's a few moments before anything happens and Wally almost rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to suggest moving on, he was getting cold and while he had been his warmest robs they didn’t do very much to deflect the chill of the Northern air. But just as he’s about to speak, a boy steps out from around the corner of one of the old stone and wood buildings, around Wally’s age, perhaps a few years younger even. He’s clinging to the corner of the building and looks terribly shy, like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and maybe he had but Bruce’s tone didn’t sound strict or angry.

  The first thing Wally notes about this boy is his bright blue eyes that looked as if they should have been as cold as everything else around them but held some inviting warmth to them. There was an unnatural charm to them, so bright and so blue, almost unnatural looking it has Wally frozen in place. He felt as if those eyes held some kind of magic in them, pulling him in and keeping him in place at the same time.

  The next was his darker complexion, much darker than anyone else here in the North. A servant perhaps? No, no not with the clothing he had on, it looked more like nobleman's garbs than a servant-- plus from what he understands from his uncle the Warden isn’t very keen on slaves of any kind. So who was he?

  The boy bites his lip and looks as if he’s cowering back, visibly uncomfortable and looking as if he’ll run off and hide. That’s when Wally realizes that he may have been staring too hard and his cheek heat up with embarrassment before he looks away at the nearest object that caught his eye.

  “Come, boy. You don’t need to hide, these people are our guests.” Bruce says as he motions for the boy to join him at his side. The boy looks almost reluctant to move, those to blue eyes darting between Bruce and the strangers. He moves, eventually, and stands just in front of Bruce, who places one of his large hands on the boy’s small shoulder as if keeping him in place.

  "There's no need to be shy, say hello." Bruce leans in closer to the boy and Wally was just barely able to hear the man speak.

[cryptocism]

ive been scrolling through ur blog for a while (cuz ur dc opinions are Top Fucking Notch) and i saw what you said abt bart in tt 03 and f:fma and while i totally agree (it killed tt 03 for me lol) im super curious abt how youd do his development if given the opportunity?

I’ve been thinking about this one like A Lot so buckle up this is long: 

it would kind of depend? On whether or not he’d be in an ensemble team like Teen Titans or with his own solo series. 

I understand metatextually why he became Kid Flash in TT, since they needed him to be more mature and a more recognizable character and having him upgrade costumes/codenames is a good shortcut for both. But I’ve already talked about why it didn’t sit right with me. 

So, lets flip the script a little bit - the start of TT would be largely the same. Our boy Bart is on the new Titans team, and things are kind of awkward after YJ disbanded, also Max is gone and Bart’s relationship with Wally is still not doing great. Things are rough, Bart has newfound doubts to deal with, especially now that the world seems to have gotten harsher and everyone seems to have a lot less patience to deal with him. The pressure to be more mature and a recognizable character is coming from other characters now rather than an authorial need: he’s reminded to take things seriously, or that he should know better by now, that he needs to slow down and think more. So Bart decides a change is necessary, and we get the library scene. He reads all the books, he reappears as Kid Flash, saves Tim via bullet catch, disassembles a gun, takes down Slade, etc. etc. Here’s my departure from canon though: it doesn’t work. 

Kid Flash is not a solution, or a magical cure for immaturity. Reading a whole library so he’s miraculously smarter and more mature and capable is, at its core, a pretty naive conclusion. And it makes sense he would think that. But it doesn’t work. He’s still impulsive, distractible, hasty. He can’t put a lid on his own sense of humor. People still think he’s annoying or lazy or careless. And he keeps trying - he knows all this stuff now, he read a whole library! - but he’s still apparently too much the same person as he's always been. And even though he’s trying very hard to live up to the Kid Flash name, it still doesn’t feel like him. Wally doesn’t like it, since Bart is literally just imitating him now, which makes things between the two even worse. And Bart keeps worrying about what’s supposed to come afterwards, since “Kid Flash” is inherently temporary, and while Impulse was only peripherally related to the flash legacy, Kid Flash comes with expectations. 

Bart is trying very very hard to be ‘grown up’ and ‘mature’, but he hasn’t actually learned anything other than a bunch of facts (which are still useful, but) he’s just trying to be who everyone expects him to be. 

And this is what i mean about the ensemble thing, because this arc would be in conversation with the rest of the core four, who are also trying very hard to be people they’re not, but all in different ways. Bart obviously with the codename change, but Cassie, Tim, and Kon all have similar issues, they’re all trying to imitate people. 

Tim is doing his Batman jr. routine, reverting back to the persona he had at the start of YJ. He’s cagey and mysterious and does questionable things without telling anybody, because he’s de-facto leader of the team again, and he has to be better than he is. No more kid stuff, the Titans are serious, he has to treat it like a job, not like a sleepover. And this whole act is putting distance between him and his friends. 

Cassie is trying her hardest to put herself in a support role. Donna’s gone and she has some big shoes to fill (she and Tim could probably bond about that if he weren’t stubbornly trying to brood at all hours of the day) and she’s doing her best to just Be Donna. Cassie and Tim would work better with their team roles swapped, and they both sort of know this - Cassie is naturally charismatic, thinks on her feet, can maintain good PR, and when she’s confident in herself is great at leading. Tim is partial to planning ahead, secrets, and keeping in the shadows, and is better at being a confidant and emotional problem solver among the team (when he allows himself to be open among friends, that is). 

But they’re both trying to fit themselves into what they see as pre-ordained roles: Robin is leader, Wondergirl is a supportive mediator. But Cassie’s got a temper and little patience for people being idiots, and Tim’s not predisposed to spotlights. 

Kon on the other hand has a story that’s less about who he should be and more who he shouldn’t be. The Lex Luthor dad storyline is here (minus the mind control shit, although the threat of it is still brought up) and Kon is doing his level best to do nothing that could be interpreted as something Lex might do. While everyone is doing their best to Not be their own person, Kon has no idea if he ever was his own person. He’s questioning everything he does, wondering if it’s some kind of evil gene showing through when he’s angry or petty or selfish. He’s going through lots of clone angst. 

So they’re all dealing with expectations and who they are or aren’t supposed to be, trying to fit themselves into boxes that don’t suit them and then convincing themselves that this is how it ought to be. Kon ought to avoid feeling or acting in any negative light because any sign of Luthor is a sign of evil, Cassie ought to tone herself down and act like Donna, Tim ought to step up and lead the team and act like Dick, and Bart ought to listen better and be smarter and slow down and grow up and do his level best to just Be Wally. 

Throughout the issues they’d all get a spotlight on their various crises, taking them through complimenting character arcs. Kon would realize through a couple close encounters and chats with ma and pa and talks with his friends and citizens of metropolis that nobody is all good or all bad. Clark can be a real asshole sometimes and Luthor’s actually done a fair bit of good (usually in his own interests, but still we’re gunning for nuance). Turns out he doesn’t have a dark side to be tempted by, he was made from 50% complex person and 50% complex person, just like everyone else. Which means he isn’t destined to be the next Superman, or Superman’s next supervillain. He’s just like, a person. With his own thoughts and feelings that have nothing to do with genetics. 

Tim would wear himself out and hide it from everybody until he killed himself, but it’s only when he sees Cassie also wearing herself out too that his ‘somebody needs somebody’ instincts kick in and they’re actually able to talk about how miserable they both are. Through some trial and error they’re able to figure out a good co-leader system for leading the team, having each other’s backs along the way, which allows for them both being able to help out the other members of their team with their own shit i.e. Kon and Bart’s identity issues. 

Bart is, like Cassie and Tim, wearing himself out trying to be this perfect version of Wally that never actually existed. He actually hates the recognition the new name gives him, because people have expectations for him now, ones he can never seem to live up to. He’s bad at following orders still, which makes him a pretty shit sidekick for Wally, in fact he’s just pretty shit at being a sidekick in general. But, he reasons, he’s supposed to be grown up and responsible now, and responsibility is all about doing shit you hate until you die, so he’s probably on the right track. 

It’s only later, once he gets some support from his friends, who help him deal with things like Max and YJ disbanding and stuff that he’s able to actually sit down and have a heart-to-heart with Wally. Wally confesses that he understands the pressure to live up to a legacy, and how he did his best to just Be Barry when he became the flash. In fact while Bart was trying to live up to Wally and be a good sidekick, Wally was trying to live up to Barry and be a good mentor. Wally’s the one to tell him that Bart’s always done his own thing, and is at his best when he does. They both agree they suck as partners, but maybe they should’ve tried to be family first. And there’s probably a racing metaphor in there somewhere because speedsters love their racing metaphors. 

ANyway Bart returns to Impulse, forging a new path, getting along better with Wally now and hanging out with him just as civilians with no pretense. He learns some valuable lessons about how maturity can’t be learned in a book, and that he’ll get it himself the more he lives and learns from experience. The Titans all get along better now that they’re all sure of their places in the group, and they can all go on just being themselves without worrying about expectations or roles to fill or whatever. 

...If Bart still had his solo series instead though, id actually want it to go in a sort of different direction? The thing about living up to predecessors and trying to be some ideal version of another person works well for the Titans because they can all deal with a similar issue in different ways, but I think it would also be interesting to do the complete opposite. 

Lots of shitty things happened in very quick succession in Bart’s life that he had no control over: Max’s disappearance, having to move in with Jay and Joan (who are nice, but whom he barely knows,) leaving his friends in Alabama, Young Justice breaking up… Basically, things kind of suck for Bart, and all he wants is for them to go back to the way they were. Instead of trying to be grown up or mature or whatever, Bart is resisting every single encroaching thing about coming adulthood. Because all growing up ever seems to mean is that everything changes and either you have to leave the people you love or they have to leave you. 

So this series would focus mostly on that, both in his civilian life; going into high school, not knowing anybody, the few friends he does make are less interested in ‘kid stuff’ and more focused on dating and interpersonal drama, high school itself seems to be geared entirely toward the “what are you going to do with your life” question, when he visits his old friends back in manchester, they’ve all kind of grown up without him. And in hero life; everyone from Young Justice is trying to move on and not talking to each other, his father figure and mentor is gone and he's not really jiving well with the rest of the flash family, and people just seem to have less patience for Impulse now that he’s older. 

Growing up is hard. It’s hard and no one understands. Especially not when you’re also a superhero and have dealt with some quality trauma like losing loved ones and feeling yourself die. So it makes sense that Bart would resist that in every way possible, do his best to pretend like everything is still how it used to be, for once in his life just trying to make everything stay put. He refuses to get rid of his old stuff, he doesn’t want to treat any villainous threats seriously, people in school keep talking about college and jobs and tuition fees and Bart wants none of that, he acts out, refuses responsibility, gets reckless under the pretense that he never used to have to be cautious. 

And this is the part where I’d bring in Inertia, cause Thad was robbed and I want him to have an actual arc that doesn’t end with infant-splosion. Also he can have a good ol companion arc to Bart. Welcome to foils everybody, where two identical boys with opposing life experiences get to thematically compare and contrast with each other as they deal with the trials and tribulations of growing up. 

So, I’m ignoring every appearance Thad ever made after Impulse 1995, picking up instead where his story left off where he swore vengeance on his creators and disappeared into the speed force. And he’s off to do exactly what he said; Thad Thawne II is going to kill his namesake/grandfather/creator - the president of Earthgov. 

But, turns out assassinating the president of a whole fucking planet is a lot harder than he thought - Thad has planned extensively for every moment of his life, so once he starts going off script things predictably go a little off the fuckin rails. Thad fails, obviously. For one because despite how much President Thawne might deserve to die, Thad at this point hasn’t done anything worse than attempted murder, and making him a killer would put a wrench in any kind of redemption arc he could have. Also he’s acting on rage, in a highly emotional state, basically going up against the entire government. Of course he’s going to get caught by the science police and brought into custody. 

Bart, meanwhile is jumping with both feet into any kind of escapism he can find, which involves various time travel shenanigans and lands him in the 30th century. He gets to reunite however briefly with his mom, but the mission he had gets derailed by the appearance of Inertia. 

Every time Bart and President Thawne interact, the president always seems to make a bid to sway Bart to the Thawne side. This never works, which is part of the reason Inertia exists in the first place; a version of Bart that the president could control. When Inertia landed in the 30th century, hell bent on assassinating his creator, the President subdued him and eventually coerced him back over to the Thawne side of the family feud. No longer a rogue agent, Inertia is back to his old self, all about destroying Bart and the rest of the Allens. 

They have a battle, taking place all over the 30th century city, and Bart does his best but Inertia has the entire Earthgov police force on his side, and Bart eventually gets captured. He gets taken to some kind of holding facility, meets with the President who monologues as him while Inertia stands beside him like a good lackey. Then suddenly the speed-inhibiting cuffs or whatever Inertia had put on Bart to stop his speed malfunctions, and Inertia drops the act, now Impulse and Inertia working together to take down the Earthgov people holding them there. 

Turns out as soon as Inertia knew he couldn’t take out the president, what with all the military force President Thawne had on his side, he bided his time until he could. He uses Bart’s help to finally get President Thawne cornered, and the assassination plan is back on track. Except now Bart is the thing stopping him. He makes the argument about how murder bad. Heroes don’t kill, etc. Inertia insists he isn’t a hero. But Bart reminds him that that’s not how Max saw him. 

Inertia hesitates just enough that President Thawne is able to get away, and now the two of them have to make an escape attempt back to the past. Bart insists on trying to take Meloni with them, and they try but ultimately fail somehow (maybe someone has to stay behind to make sure they can make the trip safely, idk. At first Thad is willing to stay behind, since there’s nothing really for him in the past. But Meloni knows that President Thawne would destroy him if he did, and she can’t let harm come to either of her sons - and she does consider Thad her son, just like Bart. She’s had far too little time with either of them, but she loves them all the same. She tells them to take care of each other, and is the first to encourage them to be like, actual brothers.) 

After yet another tearful goodbye, Bart swearing he’ll find a way for them to all be together again, Bart and Thad go back. And they do end up having to lean on each other, because shit’s tough for the both of them. Thad initially wants to apologize and possibly reunite with Max and Helen, and then finds out Max is gone. And Bart has someone who understands exactly what he’s going through. 

Things get a little more lighthearted from here. Bart and Thad don’t get along well at first, since they’re both going through rough times and lots of changes and their first instincts are to lash out at each other. But eventually they form a sort of camaraderie through shared grief, then shared fish-out-of-water experiences. Which evolves into shared inside jokes and video games and comic books and they become slow but steady friends. 

They upgrade into brothers when Bart defends Thad against the repeated (and not entirely undeserved) suspicion he receives from the rest of the Flash family. Jay and Joan take him in, but it’s clear they don’t trust him, and neither does Wally. Bart stands up for Thad, arguing that he’s as much of a Thawne as Thad is, and treating Thad like he’s the next Cobalt Blue is just going to ensure that history never changes and stupid family feuds are forever. After this, Thad starts trusting Bart a little more, and kind of solves Bart’s problems regarding encroaching adulthood with his friendship. Neither of them really had a childhood, and Thad hasn’t experienced 21st century life at all, much less the societal expectations to grow up. So Bart gets to have fun again, and Thad won't judge any of his games or his books or his attitude or interests for being childish or lame because he’s fascinated by the experience of anything regardless of the target audience. 

And from there it's a series about these two becoming brothers and growing up and the different lessons they learn and wacky characters they meet along the way. Thad ironically also puts Bart in a position where he has to take on more responsibility, since even though Thad can imitate heroic actions and is actually pretty good at it, he doesn’t understand what makes them heroic. Bart has to draw on a lot of the things Max taught him and now has to teach them to Thad. 

There’s crossover comics with Superboy, where Bart laments about having to deal with grown up stuff, and Kon gives him a new perspective on the whole “being young forever” thing, since that was a reality Kon actually had to deal with and it sucked. 

Through various misadventures they meet new and familiar characters to give them different perspectives on the whole passage of time thing. Villains who despise children or childish things, villains who embrace it but probably too much. People who talk about growing up as the worst time of their lives, others talking about it like it was the best. Kids and adults alike trying to force Bart and Thad to act a certain way while treating them another. 

The two of them come to opposing conclusions about this; Thad wants to embrace change completely, partly because he wants to experience firsthand all that life has to offer, but also his worldview depends on believing that anyone can change, and anyone can be better, because he has to believe he can be redeemed for all the shitty stuff he did. Bart, on the other hand, knows his life isn’t perfect but thinks, based on recent events, that it’s all just going to get worse from here, and so resists change as much as possible. 

Thad, in his haste to experience everything, sometimes ends up going too far, either burning both of them out, or pushing them into situations that they’re not ready for or are ill-equipped to handle. Bart, on the other hand is so resistant to change or responsibility that he stops them from doing actual necessary things like planning their futures or doing chores or making new friends. This acts as the crux for their main conflict that slowly builds throughout the series, and then in a finale to the arc, they both figure out a way to get Meloni back to the past, and to raise some stakes they have a falling out in the middle of the mission about it. 

Bart accuses Thad of trying to leave him behind, or trying to be the better version of him again, and that old insecurity about Thad replacing him crops up. Thad thinks Bart just can’t handle anything outside his personal bubble and wants to force him to live in the real world. Plus he also feels kind of abandoned by Bart, who often would leave Thad to do the scary adult things on his own. 

Tensions still high, there's suddenly an external threat to deal with - probably president thawne and the science police - and they attempt to continue arguing even while fighting the president. I’m making this up as I go so lets say yada yada big climactic moment it's looking like the two might fail to get Meloni back and they’re both still angry with each other and Bart just… can’t take it anymore. 

He keeps losing people, and the ones he keeps he always seems to screw up with. And at the end of the day he’s just a kid who wants his mom. Is that really so much to ask? So there’s a reversal, a parallel, if you will, of the assassination attempt from the beginning of the series, this time with Bart. Or, because I don’t think many people would buy that Bart would actually ever for real kill someone, maybe he’s finally about to get his mom back, but she doesn’t want to go (since she made that deal with the president that he wouldn’t harm anyone of the Allen family so long as she stayed with him) so he’s trying to force her, risking the lives/well-being of the entire Allen bloodline across all of time. 

This time it’s Thad who has to talk him down, who has to remind him about being a hero, who has to remind him that trying to go back to some magical time in the past where things were better is just going to stop him from learning and growing as a person, and that doing anything and everything possible to get there is just going to lead to Bart doing something he Actually Can’t walk back from. 

Alright but here’s the thing because having Bart be forced to leave his mom again for like the billionth time is tired and overdone, and personally the whole message about heroics involving extreme and damaging amounts of sacrifice can only go so far. So here; Thad and Bart are both right. 

Like on the one hand, yeah, it’s childish and selfish for Bart to want to be with his mom at the expense of literally everyone else in his family. On the other hand, the fact that they can’t be together because some asshole is upholding a stupid grudge is bad and unfair and wrong. The issue needing to be fixed is not the kid who wants his mom, it’s the jackass keeping them apart (and who also wants to kill/imprison people). So Bart convinces Thad that they have to save Meloni, and Thad convinces Bart that there has to be another way - one where they get their mom back and the Allens don’t have to be hunted. 

The whole story would be leading up to the two of them coming to this conclusion; the healthy middle between the two extremes. Where they have the maturity to plan ahead and sort through their differences and figure out the best course of action with the least amount of collateral, but they don’t let go of that adolescent need for justice and fairness - that thing that makes you dig in your heels and say “no. That’s not fair, that’s not right.” 

SO here’s where I’d put the title card: “Bartholomew and Thaddeus Take Down The Government”. How do they do it? No idea! I’m flyin by the seat of my pants here! Do they run for office? Do they publicize the president’s crimes in such a way he gotta go to jail? Do they somehow turn public opinion against him enough to get him out of office? idk!!! And I don’t remember enough about Earthgov’s political situation to put an accurate read on what exactly they might do to disrupt it. 

Either way they don’t kill him, manage to free their mom, and they all go back to the past together. And a new arc would involve the three of them getting settled in the past; Meloni would be a main character now, and hers is a two-pronged fish out of water story where she’s trying to figure out how shit works in the past, with overtones of the struggles of being a single parent. 

And... I’m not going to say any more about that because this is long enough already oof. 

TL;DR I think a coming of age story would be cool for Bart, and having to deal with growing up when he never really had a childhood. Also the comic itself would be aimed at younger audiences, who can probably relate to having a Bad Time in the Teens and wacky hijinks with friends and siblings.

[raywritesthings]

Fade In, Fade Out 1/2

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Earth 2 Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Quentin Lance, Barry Allen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Pretending to be her deceased doppelganger has as many drawbacks as it does benefits, so Black Siren decides it’s time to really switch things up on her enemies and allies alike. Oliver is confronted with his true feelings once again and must finally make a choice. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Laurel Lance, formerly of Earth 2, had a problem. Well, several problems. Actually, they were all the same problems she’d had before, only now they were even more compounded by the precarious position she’d placed herself in. Namely, impersonating a dead woman.

It had been the best way to ensure she could no longer be held by this or that group in this or that cell. She’d been tired and hurting and so, so fed up with it all. So she’d let herself finally do the one thing she’d been avoiding for almost two years now: be seen.

Now she was Laurel Lance, miraculously rescued darling of Star City. A former ADA with a sterling reputation and a loving family and friends. How nice.

While it had bought her a temporary reprieve, it was clear this had not solved all her problems the way she’d hoped it might. Diaz was still sending his men sniffing around to threaten her and her doppelganger’s father. The bitch in the Black Canary suit was still breathing down her neck, probably barely holding back thanks to her team. And this Earth’s Oliver was continuing his sanctimonious bull about caring one minute then pulling back the next and pretending as if they were perfect strangers.

He was worried she was going to ruin his Laurel’s reputation. Maybe she should, since he’d pretty thoroughly wrecked her own image of Ollie, try as she might to maintain him in her mind. But doing anything too out of character for this Earth’s Laurel would just put her right back into danger.

Her old way of doing things had lacked security, but now it was hard for her to make any kind of move thanks to public scrutiny. She needed to be able to get away; a new fresh start on this godforsaken Earth. But she needed to keep Diaz and all her other enemies looking one way while she snuck off in the other direction. But how to do it?

And then, it turned out, the opportunity presented itself.

Quentin, her doppelganger’s father, took a call late one night. It was from this Earth’s Thea Queen, who was apparently saying goodbye.

“And Nyssa thinks there’s more of these Pits? Well that’s, that’s something… I’ve never even heard of these places you’re saying. Ojos del — well, whatever you said. And where’s that Kamchatka, that sounds — oh, Russia. Yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of the world than most people do.”

Laurel sat there, not really reading the law book he had pressed on her for the umpteenth time. If they were talking about a Pit, was this that magic Pit thing that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore? The one that brought people back from the dead or whatever? The dead were dead, no matter if you came to a whole separate Earth and met them again.

That’s something, he’d said, with such a wistful tone to his voice. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and it burned in her gut, angry and jealous despite it all. If he wanted his Laurel back, why didn’t he go do it instead of trying to force her to be her? Ugh, it sounded confusing even in her own head.

But as she glowered across the room at him while he talked to the other Thea on that phone, she took him in. Old, thin, frail as he was, he could never make that kind of journey. Great, now she was feeling pity, too.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she realized that these Pits still being active was something. Something that could help her, too. If she wanted everyone’s eyes off her, why not give them something else to look at? Watch the birdie.

Laurel took out her phone and made liberal use of autocorrect and suggested search to find the information she needed about Kamchatka. Then she started searching for plane tickets.

Later, after Quentin was sleeping, Laurel went out that night to the cemetery with a shovel, hoping to God this wasn’t part of some officer’s beat. There was nothing much she could do once she’d dug up the casket besides shovel the dirt back on top and pack it down. Maybe people would assume the casket had been removed since she wasn’t supposed to be underground anymore. And now her doppelganger wasn’t either.

Getting her on a plane wasn’t too difficult, but God was she glad she’d borrowed some money from Quentin so she could hire some help to carry the thing up the mountain.

“I want to see the springs,” she told her guides. “The ones off the beaten path. You know what I mean, right?” If there were rumors about these Pits, they had to come from somewhere.

The two exchanged glances. “No one goes to those springs now.”

“And why not?” Damnit, had the idiots already destroyed this one?

“There are men. They guard the springs jealously.”

Oh. The other guys. Right. Tommy’s weird evil dad’s minions or whatever.

Laurel shrugged. “I think I can handle myself. You two wait here with my birdcage.” Leaving them to exchange perplexed glances, Laurel turned and continued her march through the mountain range.

It was funny. She could have wandered around here for days without finding it, except that, two hours into that, out of the shadows leapt a man in ninja gear. That kind of blew the whole thing, didn’t it?

Laurel knocked him right off the cliff with her scream, then twisted the arm of his buddy who tried to attack her from behind, getting possession of his sword and stabbing him in the gut with it. He dropped to his knees, cursing in some foreign tongue while Laurel examines her new sword.

“Not my style, usually, but I think I’m gonna keep this. Thanks.”

He didn’t reply. Probably because he was dead. Well, she’d at least made this easier for Speedy and Friends whenever they showed up.

She found the casket abandoned on the path by the time she got back. Huh. Maybe she should have paid those guys extra. Quentin wasn’t made of money, though. No matter how much he was going to owe her once this whole thing was done.

Few things sucked more than carrying a dead body up a mountain by yourself. One of the things that did suck more was carrying a dead body that looked exactly like you up a mountain by yourself. Laurel did her best to keep her eyes on the path as she put one step forward after the other. When she finally found the crevice in the rocks that led into the springs, she sighed in relief.

This was definitely the place. The ninjas had set up a small encampment to the side of the cave, and in the center bubbled a mysterious-looking water.

“This better work,” Laurel muttered to herself, then unceremoniously dumped the body into the waters with a splash that had her quickly backing away to avoid the droplets.

What would it be like, meeting the fabled Perfect Laurel? Was it rose-tinted glasses that had everyone on this Earth making her out to be a saint?

She paced the edge, waiting for some kind of sign she hadn’t been duped. The waters had gone totally still. What the hell was she going to have to do, fish her doppelganger out? She hadn’t even brought a net.

Then the waters started bubbling again like someone had flipped the switch for the hydro-jets. She slowed, laying a hand on the hilt of her new sword.

With no warning, the previously dead body made an impossible leap from the waters, landing in a crouch with her hair hanging in her face like a wet curtain.

“Shit,” Laurel breathed to herself.

Her doppelganger’s head snapped up, eyes wild and mouth snarling. Certainly nothing like a saint. She had a split second to recognize the pulling back of her lips for what it was before she was ducking to avoid a sonic scream. She retaliated, catching her disoriented doppelganger in the side and sending her rolling across the cave floor. She didn’t get up.

Laurel listened to make sure they hadn’t caused some kind of cave-in, but it sounded like the rock was holding. Then she crept over to see if she’d accidentally killed the other woman again. The rise and fall of her chest said she was still breathing. Good.

What the hell had the whole wild woman act been, though? Was it permanent? What was she going to do with her if it was?

It was weird watching herself. Laurel paced to the other side of the Pit and stood against the wall, waiting.

She’d give her doppelganger half an hour before she just placed the return plane ticket at her feet and took off.

---

Laurel, always of Earth 1 and formerly dead, shivered as she came to, rolling onto her side and curling in on herself with cold. She was soaked to the skin and exposed to the open air of whatever this place was. Her ears were also ringing. She shook her head, feeling her damp hair sticking to the side of her face.

“Ugh.”

“You said it.”

Laurel blinked and looked around. How had she heard her own voice come from another direction?

Leaning against a rocky wall was her. Or, it looked exactly like her. “What is this?” Was it some kind of illusion? A person that could mimic appearances. Though while this other her was dressed in sensible gear for what looked like hiking a mountain, she discovered she was in one of her nicer but rather thin dresses. God, it was freezing.

“What do you remember?” The other her asked.

“Talking to Oliver?” She’d been trying to encourage him, because she’d known he was probably beating himself up about her getting hurt, and then everything went kind of fuzzy after that. She thought she could remember him shouting for someone…

“Ugh, of course you do,” the other her said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, basically you’ve been dead for about two years—”

“Wait, what?”

“And I just brought you back. You’re welcome! Only took your own doppelganger from another Earth to get the job done.”

Her doppelganger. That’s what this was. So she was from Earth 2, she was pretty sure Team Flash had called it. Where they there now? It would explain why there was what had to be a Lazarus Pit to the right of her even though Nyssa had destroyed the one at Nanda Parbat.

“Why did you bring me back?” There was something about this other her’s attitude that suggested it wasn’t strictly out of the kindness of her heart. She reminded Laurel uncomfortably of some of her worst behaviors in the midst of her spiral.

Her doppelganger smiled, and it definitely wasn’t nice. “Smart question. See, I’ve been trying to live my life on this Earth for the last almost two years, but things keep getting in the way. Mostly the people from your life. So I figure if I give them you back, they won’t keep bothering me. We’re even, see?”

There was so much she wasn’t being told, and she wished that wasn’t an old feeling. “You’ve been pretending to be me?”

“Only for a little bit. Hey, at least you don’t have to come up with a story for the press as to how you’re still alive. Someone can fill you in on the cover. I’m heading out of here and do not follow me.” Her doppelganger hefted a duffle bag higher on her shoulder.

“How am I supposed to get home from wherever this is?” She gestured down again her bare feet and lack of possessions.

The other her grumbled impatiently. “Here, take some of this stuff.” She grabbed a pair of black boots and a League-standard tunic from a small pile near the other end of the cave they were in. Laurel hurried to put both on, not really caring to ask who they typically belonged to when it meant she could finally warm up a little.

A passport hit her in the face. Then a printed out boarding pass came flying, which she caught before it could smack her as well.

“Tag, you’re it,” her double said. “And I guess you can have your dad’s credit card back.”

Laurel straightened back up. “You stole his—”

“Of course I did. I’m getting his precious daughter back for him, so what’s he going to miss a few hundred bucks for? I only bought plane tickets and a guided tour, calm down.”

Laurel did not calm down, and instead marched over to her double and snatched the card from her lose grasp. “You might think the snarky act helps protect you from other people hurting you, but let me tell you from experience that it just hurts worse watching everyone walk away.”

Her double glared, leaning into her space. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I am you. Or I was.” Laurel shook her head. “Why have you even been staying on this Earth? Haven’t you got your own?”

“And nothing there to return to.” She could see in the mirror image of her own eyes a deep-set pain and sadness. Laurel wanted desperately to ask, but she had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be seeing it at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Look, there’s no point to this. We can’t both be you, unless we want to pretend you’ve been lying about being an identical twin your whole life,” her doppelganger finally said. “I’m leaving. Wait five minutes, then head down the mountain path. There’s a little touristy station set up at the bottom, and they can direct you to the airport.”

“You’re really just going to lay low the rest of your life on some totally strange Earth?”

“About the only option I have left. Believe me, I’m looking forward to semi-retirement.” With that, her double turned and walked out of the cave, with not even a snarky goodbye to show for it. Laurel winced; she’d been pretending to be her? Did the others know, or did they all think she’d come back from the dead with that attitude?

She had no watch, so Laurel guessed at five minutes and headed down the path. Sure enough, the tourist trap at the bottom of the mountain did have information on transportation to the nearest airport. She also discovered she was in Eastern Russia.

Laurel prioritized getting to the airport over getting access to a phone. Her flight was pre-scheduled, after all. She bought some new clothes for herself before boarding so she didn’t have to come into the Star City airport looking like a terrorist. Thankfully, her father hadn’t cancelled his credit card. She’d pay him back, assuming she still had a job.

She couldn’t believe she was really back from the dead. Around nothing but strangers, it didn’t feel real. She also couldn’t sense anything like the bloodlust Thea had had, but she wasn’t really experiencing anything that might trigger her anger. But she’d need to figure out if there was a way to get more of that Lotus sooner rather than later.

Thea, her father, the team and Ollie, how were all of them? What had she missed in her years of being dead? Did they miss her or think about her at all? It would be selfish of her to wonder if Oliver ever thought about what she’d confessed to him, right? Even she’d known that was nothing but a memory now. Hopefully he and everyone else were just happy and safe, at least as much as they could be in their line of work.

She followed her fellow passengers out into the Star City airport, breathing a little easier now that she knew she was back in her home. No matter how much she or it changed, she’d always feel that way.

Laurel started looking for a help desk, but a hand landed on her upper arm before she could take more than two steps.

“Let’s go.”

Laurel froze. “Ollie?”

He looked about the same as she remembered. It had only been two years, after all. But his expression was guarded, even hostile as he looked down at her. She almost wanted to draw back from him.

“Quentin called. Whatever you’ve been setting up in Russia, you’re going to tell me and him.”

“I wasn’t setting anything up. I just came back to life.” It was occurring to her that he thought she was her own doppelganger, that this dislike and distrust wasn’t really for her. “I’m the real me, Oliver. I’m not the other Earth one.”

His eyes widened for a second, before he shut down again. “Come on.” He yanked on her arm to get her moving.

He thought she was lying. Well, they were going to see her father, apparently, so she could just convince them both at the same time. It figured her own doppelganger would leave her a mess to clean up.

---

Oliver didn’t trust himself to speak as he guided her out to the car. The fact that she wanted to try this game again, fooling him, was proof that he’d been right to doubt her attempt to turn over a new leaf. God, what was she planning to do to Laurel’s reputation? Her legacy?

“Ollie, please,” she said as he turned the key in the ignition. “I’m telling the truth. One minute, I was in the hospital with you and the next, I was waking up in some cave in Russia with an identical copy of myself telling me I’d been dead for two years.”

“A Lazarus Pit.”

“From what I could tell.”

He smirked to himself, but nothing was funny. “The only Lazarus Pit my Laurel knew about was destroyed, so why would she assume she’d been resurrected with one?”

“Because I made an educated guess when I woke up soaked to the bone next to a bubbling hot spring. Why can’t you ever just believe me?” She demanded, and it sounded so much like her — the real her — that it tore at his heart. Oliver kept his eyes on the road.

“Because you’ve done this before.”

“My doppelganger.” Her head dropped back against the seat rest. “Oliver, I don’t know what she must have done or said the past two years, but I promise that’s not me. I don’t want to think I could be that cruel to try and trick you like that twice.”

“Then where’s your other self?” He avoided describing it in a way that made it sound like he believed her. Even if everything — her tone, her inflections, the chunky knit sweater she was bundled in, just the way that she moved — was perfect in a way Black Siren had never managed.

This Laurel didn’t seem like she was mocking herself.

She sighed wearily. “I wish I had a better answer, but she took off. Said she wanted to get away from all of this, so she was tapping me back in.”

Oliver frowned. She’d only been impersonating Laurel in the public eye for a short while. Would she really give up the visibility and protection against Diaz that Quentin kept claiming she wanted so soon? Unless — and something cold seized his heart — this was the visible protection. A Laurel out there in the public eye and Diaz’s sights while she ran off for who-knew-where.

Could she really be? He looked in her eyes for the first time and couldn’t detect any hint of a lie. Yet somehow it still felt like he was falling into some sort of trap.

“Ollie, you’re going to miss the turn,” she said. “If that’s still where my dad lives.”

“Uh, right.” He made it sharp, then pulled up outside the apartment building. He started up to his unit and she fell right into step with him without a word.

Quentin answered the door after two knocks. He’d been expecting them since he’d been able to get the number of the return flight off his credit card purchase. Oliver had volunteered to collect her in case something more was going on than a simple joyride on Quentin’s money. Now he wasn’t sure what to say to the man.

“So, five-hundred bucks later, how do you feel?” Quentin asked her.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she answered, stepping forward and wrapping him into a hug. Quentin’s eyes went wide and his arms hovered in the air. He looked to Oliver.

“She’s—” Oliver cleared his throat and tried again. “She’s claiming to be our Laurel.”

Quentin gaped. “How?”

“I can explain, I promise,” She said, then looked up. “But how are you?” One of her hands rested over Quentin’s chest.

“I- I’m not sure,” he answered.

Oliver started ushering them all inside on the off chance one of the neighbors stepped outside and heard this. They gathered in Quentin’s sitting room, Quentin on the couch, Oliver standing against the side wall and her pacing the space between couch and coffee table.

“Okay, so I guess there’s a Lazarus Pit or something like it in Eastern Russia. There’s this mountain range called Kamchatka.”

“I was talking to your sister on the phone about that,” Quentin said to him. “She — Earth 2, I mean — was in the room with me.”

“I didn’t see Thea or anyone else, but I think the League might have been set up there at some point,” she continued. “Someone’s things were left behind.”

“Malcolm’s people,” Oliver said, and watched her nod. “He’s dead, by the way.”

Siren already knew that, but this Laurel’s shock looked genuine. “How did it happen?”

“He took Thea’s place on a landmine.”

Her eyebrows raised even higher. “Contradictory to the end, then. Where’s Thea now?”

“On a mission with Nyssa and Roy.” He wondered if she thought she’d have better luck convincing his sister. Oliver wasn’t so sure, because at the moment he badly wanted to be convinced even despite the warning voices in his head urging him to hold back.

“So your doppelganger brought you back with this Pit?” Quentin asked. “I mean, why? And why the hell didn’t we think of that first?”

“The bloodlust, for one thing.” Assuming she was telling the truth, this Laurel would need the Lotus cure the same as Thea had two years ago. Oliver crossed his arms. “Have you felt any symptoms?”

“Not so far. But it’s only been a couple days since I came back.” She looked from one of them to the other. “Do I have a grave we could check so you both feel more sure about this? I can tell you I woke up in my navy blue evening dress. It was a little cold for Russia.”

“I want to believe you, honey, of course I do,” Quentin said. “You have no idea what I’d give to have you back with us.”

“Then just give me some trust,” she said, reaching for his hands. “I’m your daughter. I almost went to work at a corporate law firm in San Francisco until you called me out because you knew that wasn’t who I was. I used to race Sara up the tree in our yard, and I always let her win after the first time when I made her cry and you told me it was my job to take care of her. We went out to dinner before everything at the prison happened, and you told me you were proud of what I was doing as the Black Canary, and I finally felt like I had made it somehow! Like I’d done right by you,” She said, her voice wavering.

Quentin stood, one of his hands cupping her cheek. “It’s really you. It has to be. Oh, my baby girl.” He crushed her to him, drawing in a ragged breath as she held on just as tight. “I don’t know why she did it, but I’m just so glad it’s really you.”

Oliver had to look away. It was too hard to watch. If this was some trick, it would only hurt all the worse once it was revealed. If this was real, then he’d been nothing but cold to her since she’d returned. Why did he always have to screw up when it came to her? He knew what he felt deep in his heart, but every time it came for him to act, he just—

“Ollie.” She had come up to him at some point, and he hadn’t realized he was that far into his own head. “I know I can’t ask you to trust me. But you know me better than anyone.”

He stared at her, willing himself to find some small thing out of place. If he didn’t see it now and he let himself believe, he would be lost. He knew that much about himself. And if it was all a lie, he didn’t think he could find his way back out again this time.

“What did you tell me in the hospital?” He finally asked, his voice sounding gruff to his ears.

“That you shouldn’t try to take on everything alone,” she said. “Even if you feel you have to to protect everyone.”

She was right that those had been some of her last words, and yet he couldn’t be certain that they were the only two who knew that; he himself had told Felicity, and as much as he wanted to believe she wouldn’t have spread it, he didn’t have that guarantee.

“And the other thing?”

She hesitated, glancing back at Quentin and licking her lips. “I told you that you were the love of my life and always would be.”

He heard Quentin make some startled sound, but he was too blurry in Oliver’s vision to make out any expression. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear it so that he could see her — Laurel — and he stepped forward, cupping her face with both hands, and kissed her forehead.

Oliver wrapped her in a hug after, as it sunk in that he didn’t have to leave this time. She was here in the real world with them. Laurel was alive, so much more than a dream.

She rested her hands at his back, seeming unsure, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt over how he had practically shunned her since finding her at the airport. He held her just a little bit tighter for a moment before finally letting her go, stepping back and running both hands over his face in an excuse to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand why you needed to check.” Her eyes stayed more on the floor than on her father as she turned to him and asked, “Could I use your guest room for a little? The time difference is kind of catching up to me.”

“Of course, honey. I, uh, had it set up for your doppelganger, but she took her things with her so it’s open.” The father and daughter headed back down the hall while Oliver walked over and sank onto the couch with unsteady legs.

Laurel was back. Truly. It was nearly overwhelming in its relief and yet the enormity of that fact was also hitting him. How did he explain this to Thea and the others hunting to find and destroy the Pits? How did he explain this to his team, whose experiences with the Laurel they’d known ranged from bad to worse? To his son, who was aware of the hero Laurel had been — and still was, now — but who had been warned to keep away from the woman who looked like her?

Quentin returned, taking his own seat in the armchair across. “I’m dreaming, right?”

“Feels like one,” Oliver agreed, knowing he had the experience to support that feeling. But there had been no strange glitches, and he was aware of all his memories, good and bad. This was all real.

“You’d think I’d get used to this. My daughters coming back, the whole world changing around us.”

Oliver nodded.

“Laurel and you.”

He froze and looked up, meeting Quentin’s gaze. “I… needed to know it was her.”

“Course you did. But I need to know things, too. Like just what your intentions are. I mean, you’re practically engaged, Oliver.”

He winced. “In a manner of speaking.” The thought caused his heart to sink deep down into his stomach or somewhere near it. A feeling he’d been having lately when his thoughts turned to Felicity and their tentative agreement.

Tentative because, and perhaps predictably, he’d started reconsidering at perhaps the worst possible moment: after their impromptu wedding alongside Barry and Iris. He had called the speedster up after the West-Allens had taken their honeymoon, just to catch up.

“We’re mostly just working on thank you cards now. Apparently super-fast writing also leads to super-fast hand cramps,” Barry had told him.

“Well, feel free to skip ours. Actually, what did we get you? Felicity never said.”

“Oh. It was, uh, an espresso machine.”

There was something off in the way Barry had said it, the pause and then the flat tone at the end. “Is it not working?”

“No, it does. I mean, I think so. I don’t actually drink much coffee since the caffeine doesn’t affect me,” Barry had admitted with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.” Oliver had felt his cheeks redden. He’d known that, thinking back on it. Shouldn’t Felicity have known that? He should have checked with her before they bought something, but she tended to take those things upon herself since she said teaching him Amazon was beyond her pay grade. “I guess Iris is making use of it?”

“A little. It wasn’t, uh, it wasn’t on the registry.” He’d been able to visualize the uncomfortable shuffling Barry must have been doing on the other end as he spoke. “She kind of had her fill of making coffee at Jitters, you know?”

“Right.” Oliver had closed his eyes, very tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Could you send me the registry list? I can—”

“No, don’t buy something else. It’s fine. I mean, we’re not upset or anything.”

“About the gift,” Oliver had finished for him. “But you’re upset about something else.” Barry wouldn’t have even gone into any detail on the gift like this if something hadn’t been bothering him.

“Upset’s a strong word, Ollie. It’s just, you know, after the wedding was crashed and we lost Professor Stein and everything else, it kind of didn’t feel like our day anymore. And then we figured out a way to get some of that back and- and—”

“And we made it about us,” Oliver had realized with a wave of shame. What had ever possessed him to think that would have been a good idea? Yes, Felicity had asked, but he had been the one to start using the wedding backdrop as a way to hint he thought they should move things forward, and in doing so had upstaged Barry and Iris at their own celebration.

It had been the Lance family dinner all over again, where he’d subordinated Laurel’s feelings or those of Sara’s parents to a relationship he and she had wanted to try and force into working. Why was he always so selfish?

“Barry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what can make that up to you—”

“Look, we can just drop it, okay? What’s done is done.” Barry had sounded desperate to move on. “I just hope things work out for both of us, you know? We both got our dream come true.”

Oliver had hesitated.

“Right?”

“Yeah. Right,” he’d managed uncomfortably. Then he’d made some excuse or other and hung up the phone. He’d only felt it would have been an even lower blow to Barry to admit that his wedding hadn’t been interrupted by Oliver’s dream — far from it.

His dream was now sleeping just twenty feet down the hall.

Oliver dropped his head into his hands, feeling it starting to throb in his temples. He knew he loved Laurel and always would, had stopped denying that to himself over a year ago. But he was in a relationship — even a relatively chaste one since his misgivings about their not-quite wedding — with Felicity.

He’d been using William as an excuse, which wasn’t fair, but what he now couldn’t determine was, was it fair to William to have introduced Felicity into his life as a sort of surrogate only to end things with her? Or was his growing unhappiness in that relationship only going to teach his son a warped version of love and family?

They’d had no marriage certificate when they’d jumped in on Barry and Iris’ ceremony. They still didn’t. They weren’t really married. And he didn’t really want to ever be now. But was it right for him to start something with Felicity because he had been lonely and heartbroken, only to end it because the reason for his loneliness and heartbreak no longer existed?

“I know how I feel, I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally. Oliver jumped a little when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Well, the first thing you gotta do is be honest with yourself and with the people in your life about how you’re feeling.”

“How do I do that without hurting someone?”

“Sometimes you can’t,” Quentin told him. “Sometimes you just can’t control how people are gonna feel, Oliver. But you have to let them feel it in their own way.”

He was right. He was right, and Oliver knew it. He also knew that avoiding the truth to avoid pain was one of his greatest failings. But by God, he had to get past this. Not for his sake, but for the people in his life.

“I should inform the team so they can start getting used to the idea,” Oliver decided. “And I need to talk to Felicity.”

She deserved an explanation, uncomfortable as it might make him to give it. He should have been honest with her about his remaining feelings for Laurel whether she was dead or alive, that it would always be a part of him. He would be honest with her now.

Oliver left the apartment, turning and heading down the block. But as he looked back over his shoulder at the building, he frowned.

The window of the guest bedroom was open.

He turned back around, walking and then breaking out into a jog. By the time he reached the hallway to Quentin’s floor, he was flat-out running.

Oliver rapped on the doorframe, waiting with impatience for it to open. Quentin blinked in surprise when he did so. “What—”

“I need to check something.” He walked straight back down the hall and knocked on the guest bedroom door. “Laurel?”

“You said you already checked it was her, and she’s sleeping,” Quentin argued.

“I’m not checking that it’s her, I’m checking—” The door was unlocked and almost bounced off the wall when he threw it open.

Oliver’s heart froze.

“She- she’s gone!” Quentin exclaimed behind him. He brushed past Oliver, going to the window and sticking his head out. “Laurel!”

It did no good, as she hadn’t been anywhere outside when he’d noticed the open window. Why had she gone? Where had she gone? Whatever the reason or location, he had to find out, and fast.

He couldn’t lose her again. Not this time.

[trashmouthrecords]

Don’t Do That | Richie & Barry

@notevilmaybe​

“Don’t do that.”

He knew it was a bad idea.  He’d known at the start; the minute Rich showed up at the theater, he should have just fucking disappeared.  Ignored everything he said and just went to ground, write everything off as a loss.  The acting thing was a bust, he already knew that no matter how tightly he tried to cling to it, and Fuches was never going to let him go unless he pushed it.  He’d never get out of this fucking shit without something drastic.

But Rich just kept fucking pushing, trying to cling to something like Barry would just remember if he kept throwing it at him enough times like throwing pasta at a fridge to see if it sticks.  But it didn’t, there was still nothing, would probably always be nothing, but he kept pushing it anyway.  Threatened to do something about Fuches himself, even took fucking steps, and that was when Barry knew he had to actually do something.

Because if Rich insisted on getting himself tangled up in this, it was only going to get him killed, and even if he didn’t remember it didn’t mean he wanted the one bright spot left in his life, the one shard of hope left, tarnished and broken and stained like everything else.

Fuches set things in motion as soon as he realized Barry might have a real out, just like he’d known he would.  Tugged and pushed to pull everything off-balance, to try to reel him back in by applying pressure on every fucking thing he gave a shit about, until there was only one solution left.

He had to kill Fuches.  It was the only way this would stop, the only way he could stop everything, and it would probably just break him more in the process but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?  An impossible choice, dominoes stacked just the way Fuches knew they would fall because he wasn’t wrong, he knew Barry better than Barry knew himself.  Knew just where to push.

So he went after him.  Followed the bait, mindless rage singing in his veins, buzzing along his nerves, an inescapable drumbeat in his ears he was powerless to refuse, and at the end of it he was left with more blood on his hands, staining soul-deep as they stared at him in disbelief and confusion, and none of them were Fuches.  He was left firing at the retreating car until his clip emptied, and then he kept firing, a frustrated, angry protest clawing its way out of his throat.

After, he ended up on his doorstep, not that he really remembered the drive over.  Everything was trapped in a fog, running on autopilot as the rage burned itself out.  Wordless articulations screamed at his windshield, fists bloodied on whatever was within reach, until there wasn’t much left, and it was only then he approached the door.

Rich let him inside but seemed to catch there was something wrong, fisting hands in his shirt when he wouldn’t look at him, but the gesture only tugged at residual impulse buzzing under his skin without a target.  Violence checked without opportunity, but still there, still waiting.  Fingers flexed at his sides, hands shaking as he fought training and impulse, and that’s when the words worked their way out through clenched jaw, a plead more than anything else because he knew what would come next if he didn’t let go.

“Barry,” Richie spoke cautiously, trying to get his brother to focus up. But he let go of Barry’s jacket, not trying to get it off of him. It was pouring rain outside and Barry looked like he’d been standing in it for a while. He looked him up and down, worry deeply etched on his face, then his eyes widened seeing bloodied knuckles dripping with the rain onto the clean white and grey smoked marble of his foyer.

“Jesus, dude, your hands. Come into the kitchen and stop bleeding on my floor,” Richie tried to sound casual about it and shut the door behind him. It was a nice house, a big enough house to show off he had the money to own something like this, but not big enough for anyone to think it was excessive. He tried his best to give Barry his space and prayed to god his twin didn’t up roots and bolt LA out of pressure. 

Whatever had Barry riled up, Richie would slowly try to get out of him, but let him take his time. He’d gotten in a fight, obviously, though he’d probably managed to keep himself from getting hit. Richie moved into the kitchen, letting Barry follow him and wet a dish towel.

“Please tell me you only beat the guy half to death?”

[rawmeanderson]

bring you back to me ― part I

ft. jeff skinner plot: when your high school sweetheart gets traded to the same city where you now live and work, your best friend just can’t mind her own business ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ((i’m gonna make a gif for this tomorrow but it is late and i promised this to you guys tonight)) warnings. swearing; mentions of intoxication, drinking, and anxiety. word count: 5.8k i wrote 2k words today and whew i’m beat, but this is the first part of a longggg new series that i’m v excited for, so i hope you enjoy it!!!!

When your phone buzzes the first time, you ignore it. It vibrates against the heavy wood of the conference room table, your hand twitching slightly with the muscle reflex of reaching for it. Your eyes stay focused on your boss’s boss that was leading the meeting, trying to sit up a little straighter as if that would prove that you were paying attention.

Less than two minutes later, it buzzes twice in rapid succession, and you reach for it quickly as heat rises up your neck. Your boss is giving you a look from across the table, and you offered an apologetic smile before trying to refocus. When your phone buzzes again, it’s resting against your thigh, and keeping your eyes up, you flipped it screen side up before looking down so you could figure out what the hell was going on and why it was so important.

4 minutes ago ― Lydia: i know you’re in that meeting with Barry, but this is way more important 2 minutes ago ― Lydia: LINK: Sabres acquire Jeff Skinner in trade with Hurricanes 2 minutes ago ― Lydia: your boyfriend’s moving to Buffalo!!!! 1 minute ago ― Lydia: are you dead? Do i need call 911?

Your eyes are wide as you stare down at your phone in your lap, and color floods your face when you glance up again to notice your boss watching you from across the table. Clearing your throat quietly, you do everything you can to pay attention to what’s being said and ignore the buzzing in your mind.

Thankfully, the meeting ends fifteen minutes later, and you’re on your feet almost instantly. You try to rush to the door, but your boss catches you first, asking if everything was okay. Laughing it off, you assure her that everything’s fine, that it was just your brother being obnoxious, but you can tell she doesn’t buy it.

Leaving the conference room, you make a beeline back to your cubicle. It was like Lydia heard you coming, popping up from her chair as you passed with a wide grin.

“Did you look at your phone?” she questions, her tone teasing. You’re sure that from your expression, she’d been able to gather that you’d seen her messages, and she smirks at you.

“Hmm?” you hum, trying to feign disinterest and nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That makes her snort as she watches you settle into your desk chair and turn so your back is to her.

Hearing her footsteps, you know she’s coming over to bother you more as you do everything you can to stop yourself from thinking about the news that had been dropped into your lap. Lydia helps herself to the empty chair that belonged to a vacationing coworker and slides over toward you. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s grinning ear to ear.

“So, are you freaking out right now?” she asks, moving close enough that she can nudge you with her elbow.

“Yeah, just because you won’t leave me alone,” you respond, glancing at her. You’re trying your best to look irritated, but with the way she’s grinning at you, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, you can’t help but crack a smile.

“What are you thinking?” she questions, hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear as you try to make yourself look busy by replying to a couple of emails you’d forgotten about.

“Uhh, that you’re annoying as shit,” you murmur, eyes darting to the side in time to see her act just so offended by your words.

“You know, I’m just out here trying to reunite you with the love of your life, and this is how you treat me?” Lydia had always had a flair for the dramatics, over exaggerating every chance she got. Her hand was on her chest, like she was truly, deeply upset by your words, but the mischievous grin on her face gave her away.

“Jeff Skinner is not the love of my life,” you tell her with a loud scoff, despite the way heat is rising up the back of your neck. Lydia looks skeptical of your statement and you refocus your attention on your computer screen.

“Okay, fine then, I’m trying to reunite you with your high school boyfriend that you still get all blushy over anytime he’s mentioned, is that better?”

“No, it’s not,” you tell her, the words grumbled as you clench your jaw. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, waiting for one of you to break and say something. You cave first, knowing that she’s watching you for any sign of weakness you might show about Jeff. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Nope, none whatsoever,” she says with a nonchalant shrug, leaning back in the borrowed chair.

You respond with silence, clicking between two tabs in your browser, trying to look busy. Your mind was spinning and you wished Lydia would get off your back so you could process all of this on your own first, without such a dramatic audience such as her.

When you’d taken the opportunity to transfer to Buffalo from New York City a couple years ago, mostly so you could be closer to family, Lydia was the first friend you’d made. You worked in an office of mostly older people, so to find someone your age that you immediately got along with was a blessing. She was from Buffalo, an avid Sabres fan, and knew all of the best bars and taco shops around the city. Lydia had a tendency to drive you absolutely mad, but if nothing else, kept life interesting. In the early stages of your friendship, wine drunk on her couch, you’d let slip that your first kiss had been with a future NHL player, to which then Lydia demanded the whole story.

You’d practically grown up with Jeff. He’d played with your brother and your parents were friends, ensuring that you were both present through each other’s awkward phases. You were a year younger than Jeff and your brother, but that didn’t stop you from running around with them every chance you got. Jeff was 17, you were 16, when you kissed for the first time at a holiday party.

It’d been awkward, quick, but in the months that followed the two of you got better at it. When you started dating, it came as no real surprise to either of your families. It was short lived though. You and Jeff broke up on his 18th birthday, a couple of weeks before the draft, both of you knowing that the priorities in each of your lives were about to change. You had university to work toward, while his life was about to change completely, it was just the smart thing to do.

To say that you’d avoided Jeff as much as you could after that was putting it simply. The following Christmas, with you halfway through your last year of school, you made every excuse you could not to be at the usual get together your family had with his. It was easier that way. Your feelings for Jeff had felt so real at the time, you were young and crazy about him, and you didn’t know how much of that would linger as time went on. You’d been all but certain that he’d surely found plenty of girls in Raleigh that would’ve made him forget all about you.

The next couple of years continued the same way. You moved to New York for university and life went on. The only time you’d seen Jeff in all of the years that passed was over Christmas break of your sophomore year of college. A friend from high school was having a party, and you’d been roped into going, and the idea of Jeff being there hadn’t even crossed your mind.

When you saw him, you’d almost dropped your drink. You were already tipsy, and now seeing him, older and bigger was enough to almost have you running out the back door of the house. Instead though, you had another drink. You didn’t let yourself go overboard, just enough to have a buzz and quiet the anxious screaming in the back of your mind.

At one point, you made eye contact with him from across the room, and you smiled, feeling a shiver run down your body as you tried to figure out what the hell to say to him. He was a little drunk too, that much was obvious from the rosiness in his cheeks, the easy smile on his face. When he started to make his way toward you, you panicked a little, but talking to him was as easy as ever. Jeff hugged you and the reality that you’d missed him like crazy hit you hard.

The two of you kind of settled to your own little world for the rest of the night. You found a spot to sit and catch up, and once he’d sobered up, Jeff asked if you were hungry, admitting that he’d been craving a burger from the 24 hour diner in town. You guys had been there together so many times that his words made you smile and nod eagerly. Over burgers and milkshakes, you talked, joked, and remembered why you’d been so crazy about him.

He took you home, and parked in front of your parents’ house, it was so reminiscent of when you’d been together in high school that it actually made your heart hurt. Neither of you were in much of a rush to leave the other, so your conversation continued a while longer. It was nearly 2 AM when you couldn’t stop yawning, and when you leaned over to hug him and he kissed your cheek muscle memory stirred and you turned your head enough to kiss him.

You both seemed surprised but neither of you pulled away, just relaxing into each other easily. He was a better kisser then than he had been at 17, which came as no surprise, and you hoped he’d have the same thing to say about you. His fingers pushed your hair out of your face gently and you knew then that it’d be so easy to get lost in him. You made out in the front seat of his car for a few moments before you pulled back, yawning again and saying that if you didn’t head inside, you’d fall asleep on him.

Saying goodbye was a little rushed on your part, not wanting to linger and make it harder on yourself. He asked if he could call you the next day, and you’d nodded, not bothering to tell him that you’d gotten a new number at the start of college. A clean break was easier, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

That was all ancient history now though, but that certainly didn’t stop Lydia from teasing you about Jeff every chance she got. She’d all but begged you to go to the Canes/Sabres game last year, and instead, you’d offered to work overtime. Now though, Jeff would be living and playing in the same city as you and that alone had your heart racing like mad.

“So, are you going to call him?” Lydia asks, dragging you out of your own head. You’d been staring blankly at your computer scene, and you glance at her a second later. “Wait, does he even know you live in Buffalo?” Your response is to shrug, exhaling a heavy sigh as you push your hair out of your face.

“Lydia, can we just give it a rest for today? You know I love you, but this will be a lot easier for me to process without you being up my ass,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose as you try to ward off the headache you can feel building behind your eyes.

The cubicle is quiet for a moment before Lydia clears her throat, and from the corner of your eye you see her straighten up. “Yeah, no problem,” she tells you, and when you meet her eye she smiles. As dramatic as she could be, you’re grateful that she knows when to quit. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Like maybe one of those double margaritas from Los Gauchos? I don’t have dinner plans.”

The suggestion makes you snort softly and you nod a second later. “Uh, yeah, that sounds really good, actually,” you admit, your mind already drifting to their al pastor tacos. Lydia shoots you a thumbs up and a wink before turning to head back to her own work area.

The margarita certainly helped, so did the tacos. Making it even better, Lydia paid for your food. The drinking was a godsend after you’d spent the rest of the work day thinking about the news that had been dropped into your laugh. Even at dinner, it was still on your mind despite Lydia’s best efforts of distracting you. She asked if you wanted to come over to watch a movie, an offer you politely declined as she gave you an apologetic smile, knowing you were still thinking about the news that had broken earlier.

When you got home, you put on an episode of The Good Place in an effort to cheer yourself up, but in the end, it barely held your focus. You wish you knew why you were feeling like this, so you could stop it, but instead, the anxiety festered in your chest as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom a few hours later.

You’d dated plenty since Jeff, you’d even lived with someone for nearly a year, but none of those relationships had felt as natural. Trying your best to rationalize those feelings, you’d told yourself that he’d been your first love, that you were likely embellishing the way you’d felt about him. It’d been so long ago now that you wondered if you’d still feel that way. After you’d last seen him, you’d barely been able to get out of bed the next day, both missing him and feeling guilty for the fact that he probably tried to reach you, only to find that you’d changed your number.

Giving up on trying to put this all out of your mind, you turn over onto your side, and try to think of what you’d even begin to say to Jeff if you somehow ran into him in the city. What were you even supposed to say to your high school sweetheart that you’d practically ghosted several years ago? Should you play dumb if it happened, say that you had no idea he’d been traded to Buffalo?

With a groan, you press your face into your pillow in an effort to clear your head again, desperately trying to silence the voice in your head reminding you that you’d always believed that things happen for a reason.

Eight weeks passed, and Lydia didn’t even once mention Jeff. The idea of being in the same city as him seemed to have settled a bit. Even so, there’d been a couple of times where you’d been in public and did a double take if you saw someone that looked anything like him at a quick glance. Your heart leapt and your stomach flipped over each time. Other than that, you tried not to think about him.

It was a Friday night when you pulled into Lydia’s parking lot, stepping out of your car after grabbing your bag and the 6-pack of hard cider you’d picked up on the way over. You were already in leggings and an old shirt from college, a cozy cardigan over your shoulders. Lydia had suggested you get together that night for dinner and movies, and you didn’t doubt you’d end up crashing on her couch rather than driving home. After taking the stairs up to the second floor of the building, you knock lightly on her door before letting yourself in.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Lydia says with a grin, stepping out of the kitchen. Dinner smells amazing already and your stomach growls, remembering that she was making stir fry.

“Hi! Holy shit, it smells so good in here,” you tell her with a laugh as you kick your shoes off.

Your words make her snort and she grins. “It’ll be done in about fifteen minutes or so, you can go hang out in the living room if you want!”  

Nodding, you head toward the living room to make yourself at home. You immediately drop into the corner of the sofa, leaning back as you fish in your bag for your phone. The TV is on, but you haven’t even glanced at it. Lydia’s cat comes sauntering down the hall before jumping up on the arm of the sofa to greet you. It’s not until your scratching below her chin that you look at the TV, immediately tensing when you realize that it’s coverage of the pre-season Sabres game.

Before you can even start looking around for the remote, Jeff is on the screen and butterflies flutter throughout your body. Biting your bottom lip, you find yourself staring at him as he’s interviewed ahead of the game. He looks good, happy. The Sabres colors suit him far better in your opinion and hearing his voice again made goosebumps rise along your skin. You’re not even paying attention to what he’s saying, instead getting lost in the sound of his voice. When you got a quick glimpse of his dimple as he grinned, you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Y/N!” The sound of Lydia’s voice makes you jump, head turning quickly to look at the her, standing just outside the kitchen.

“Sorry, what?” you question with a nervous laugh. Your cheeks are burning, and you watch as her eyes drift to the TV and she realizes why you’d been so entranced.

You know from her expression that she’s trying to hide a smirk, and she clears her throat before speaking. “I didn’t realize I’d left that on,” she says, and based on her tone, you’re not sure that you fully believe her statement. “I’ve been saying your name for like, a whole minute, but uh, I was asking if you wanted me to put your drinks in the fridge.”

“Oh...yeah, thanks,” you respond, flashing a quick smile. Just to break eye contact with you, you look away to reach down, picking the 6-pack up to hand it to her as she cross the room to take it from you. Your cheeks are surely flushed, and by then, Lydia’s not even trying to hide her grin. She retreats without a word though, and as soon as her back is to you, your attention returns to the TV.

A pang of disappointment strikes through you when you see the coverage has gone back to the commentators. It’s probably for the better you decide, leaning back into the couch and encouraging the cat to come closer to you.

Your heart settles after a moment and thankfully it only took a few more minutes before dinner was done. When Lydia calls your name from the kitchen, you get to your feet and follow the sound of her voice. She asks you to set the table and and she’s still got that knowing grin on her face. Barely even looking at her, you grab the plates and silverware she’d set out and hurry back out to put them on the table.

The game had started, and your attention snaps to the television when you hear Jeff’s name. You hadn’t watched a game in ages, and right now was not the time you needed to get transfixed on it. Taking a seat, you sit so your back is towards the TV, otherwise you knew you’d never be able to focus on conversation over dinner if you could see the game. When Lydia comes out of the kitchen, holding the wok and placing it down onto the trivet you’d put out on the table.

Your mouth starts watering at the smell of dinner, and as you sit up a bit straighter to get a look at the food, Lydia turns off the TV. Silence fills the room for a moment and your body relaxes. As Lydia sits down, her attention is on her phone as she starts to airplay the music to a speaker, and you’re reaching for the tongs resting in the pan.

To your surprise, dinner passes without a single mention of Jeff. The food was to die for, Lydia’s cooking always was. At one point though, you’d damn near dropped your fork in the middle of eating. I Won’t Say (I’m In Love) from Hercules started, and you felt rather attacked. You couldn’t prove that she’d masterminded it since she’d been known to pepper Disney songs into playlists before, but you were pretty sure she’d queued it up just to fuck with you.

Weeks later, you were starting to wonder if she’d forgotten all about Jeff. There’d been no mention of him, but he was seldom far from your mind.

You’re trying to get a bit of work done, sending out some emails when a rolled up ball of paper hits you on the shoulder before bouncing onto your desk. Turning around, it’s no surprise to see Lydia there, grinning widely as she leans against the cubicle divider.

“Did you see the email I sent you?” she asks, tone rather hopeful. You raise an eyebrow quickly and nod.

“What, for that pub downtown? Yeah, why?”

She shrugs and gives you a smile that says she’s got something up her sleeve. “They’ve got a breakfast burger that looks really good,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at you. The words alone make you hum, as she knows that the best way to your heart is a good breakfast burger. “I was gonna see if you wanted to head there for dinner tonight?”

You take a moment before responding, glancing at the time and trying to remember if you had plans. After a moment, you nod with a grin. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good!” you say and she shoots you a thumbs up. “Did you want to head there straight after work? I can drive.”

Lydia agrees to that plan, and you then spend a decent portion of the slow afternoon going over the restaurant’s menu, taking quite a bit of interest in their drinks. You’d been planning on spending the evening at home, doing nothing, but dinner and drinks and being out with Lydia sounded far better.

Hours later when work was done and Lydia was guiding you through downtown as you drove, you stifle a yawn as you turn onto a one-way street. You hadn’t really been down to this area much, and you’re looking around rather curiously.

“There’s a garage up here on the right, I already paid for parking,” Lydia says, eyes on her phone as she pulls up the pass.

When you pull into the garage, there’s a sign for Sabres parking and you glance at Lydia quickly. “Are we close to the arena?” you ask as you roll your window down. She shrugs hands you her phone so you can scan the parking pass.

“Yeah, I just know this garage is pretty cheap, so I just stick to what I know,” she explains as you head into the garage, looking for a spot. You don’t question it and thankfully, you find a spot with ease.

When you’re climbing out of the car, a number of people walk by in Sabres shirts, and you glance at Lydia. She’s out of the car and digging in her bag, and you’re about to ask if she’s ready to go when she tosses a bundle of fabric at you.

“Here, put this on,” she says as you catch it. You hold it up and realize quickly that it’s a Sabres shirt, your eyes moving to her. She’s grinning like a cat that ate a canary and she’s holding up a shirt for herself as well.

“What’s going on here?” you ask, brow creased. You’re still holding onto the shirt, watching your friend as she shrugs.

“We’re going to the game.” Lydia says it so simply that you damn near guffaw at her. “Oh, come on! You have been tiptoeing around this for so long now that it’s making my heart hurt, okay?”

Your jaw is tense and you look at her with as much distaste as you can muster. “You tricked me with that breakfast burger...you knew I’d take the bait, hook, line, and sinker,” you grumble, arms crossed over your chest with the shirt still in hand. Your words make Lydia grin and she shrugs slightly, not even bothering to feign innocence.

“It’s gonna be fun, okay? I’ll buy you some drinks, we’ll watch the game, then I’ll buy you a breakfast burger, how about that?” she responds, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s reeling you back in, paying her penance as she walks toward you.

“Fine,” you give in, crossing your arms over your chest. You irritation was starting to wane, but you weren’t quite ready to stop milking it just yet. With the shirt still in hand, you exhale a sigh as Lydia nudges you gently with her elbow.

“C’mon, we want a good spot for warm ups,” she says, looping her elbow through yours to start leading you toward the stairs to leave the garage.

“Warm ups?!” you question before exhaling another sigh. “You’re literally evil, you know that, right?” The sound of her laugh echoes in the stairway, making your snort along with her.

Anxiety bubbled in your stomach from there. Doors are already open when the two of you approach the arena, and you fell quiet. You let Lydia more or less guide you, considering you were in the middle of an out of body experience, and she promised to grab drinks for both of you as she pushed you toward the bathroom to change into the Sabres shirt.

When you reemerge, she’s waiting there for you, two cans of beer in hand as well as a cup of what you assume is a rum and Coke. “It’s a double,” she tells you with a wink as she hands the drinks off to you so she can use the restroom and change into her shirt as well.

Waiting for her, you lean back against the wall outside the bathroom and exhale a sigh. The last several months had just been plain weird. You’d grown up with hockey. Your dad’s family is from Boston, so you’d been raised as a Bruins fan, going to games when you’d visit relatives. Your brother had played with Jeff, and obviously, growing up near Toronto, you’d been surrounded by the Leafs.

Since college though, you hadn’t had much interest in the sport. You’d realized one night several weeks ago, as you’d stared at your bedroom ceiling, that you’d probably distanced yourself from the sport in order to put Jeff out of your mind. Admittedly though, you watched a Sabres game last week, curled up on your couch with some chocolate ice cream. You’d missed hockey, but damn, it was still weird as hell hearing Jeff’s name.

As you stood there, sipping greedily at your rum and Coke, your eyes survey the people moving around the arena ahead of warm ups. It’s still early, so not too crowded, and you see quite a few people in Skinner shirts or jerseys. The sight makes you smile, glad to know that he’s appreciated on his new team. You shift your weight from one foot to the other and try to slow the way your mind is racing.

Thankfully, Lydia comes out of the bathroom just as you’re about to launch into another existential crisis about the fact that you’re in the same building as Jeff Skinner for the first time in over half a decade. When she looks at you, the fact that your mind is reeling must be obvious because she looks a little amused, reaching for one of the beers you’re holding.

“Where are we sitting?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip as she shoves her work blouse into her bag.

“Uhh, one of the back rows of the lower bowl. They’re good seats,” she says, taking a drink of beer as the two of you start walking. “For warm ups though, we’re going down to the ice.”

“Lydia, seriously?” you say, to which her response is to giggle softly with a shrug. She’s half a step ahead of you, otherwise your hand would’ve come out to smack her arm gently.

Time was passing so slowly. It felt like it’d been at least twenty minutes since Lydia coaxed you up to a seat at the glass, but really, it’s only five. Nervousness has set in, and now your mind is racing, wishing you’d know about the game, so you could’ve at least made yourself look better. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you hadn’t really put much effort into your appearance that day, at least not the amount of effort you’d put into seeing your ex for the first time in five years.

Lydia settles into a seat and looks at you as she sips at her beer. “Y/N, relax,” she says, voice low. You’re still standing, and you glance over your shoulder to look at her.

“Well, considering I’ve only had about fifteen minutes to process all of this and prepare to see him, I don’t think relaxing is an option right now,” you mutter before finishing off the rest of your rum and Coke. You turn to face her then, leaning back against the glass as you meet her eye.

“I mean, that’s fair,” she says with a shrug before cracking a grin. She leans forward in her seat then, glancing up at the jumbotron before her attention returns to you. “If you want to just go up to our seats, we can.” There’s a timidness then in her voice, as if she was worried that she’d pushed you too far.

You consider it for a moment, looking at the ice left in your cup as you think. When you meet her eye, you shake your head. “No, I wanna stay here,” you say as confidently as you can. Lydia looks rather impressed as she nods, and you grin then. Truthfully, you think the adrenaline of the situation is hitting you, like your fight or flight instincts were kicking in. You’re surprised that you’re choosing the fight side of that, but you were committed to it now.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Lydia says, grinning at you then and you give an affirmative nod. You sit your empty cup down in a cup holder then turn back to the ice. Time is ticking down to warm ups, and you can feel that first drink starting to hit you.

Somehow, it feels like the last couple of minutes go by even more slowly than before, so you sip at your beer and scroll through Instagram idly. When the lights music starts and the players start coming out onto the ice, your heart leaps into your throat. You’re faintly aware of the fact that Lydia stands up, and as you’re about to take a drink of beer, you spot Jeff.

You pause with the beer can halfway to your mouth, and you know Lydia’s eyes are on you as you inhale a slow breath. His back is to you, but your stomach jumps, then flops back down just at the sight of him. Maybe drinking that double rum and coke hadn’t been a good idea. Before you’re able to mentally adjust to your surrounding, he’s glances up and you feel like you’re about to drop dead on the spot.

Jeff does an honest to god double-take, locking eyes with you the second time. A wide smile spreads across his face and he skates closer, like he’s trying to figure out if it’s really you. That smile of his was as contagious as always, even now when you’re barely standing up straight from nervousness. Grinning back at him, you finally take that drink of beer, and Lydia laughs beside you. Seeing him is just so surreal, and god, that blue really suits him. He looks so….grown up, but you’re sure you did as well.

He glances around quickly before pointing toward the bench then nodding in that direction. Clutching your beer and hoping your legs would work when you try to walk, you give him a quick thumbs up. You look at Lydia quickly to find that she’s watching on with a rather proud grin that you just want to smack off of her face, but there was time for that later.

Leaving your beer in Lydia’s care, you take off toward the tunnel, going up a row or two to meet him. Your heart is pounding as you chew on your bottom lip as soon as your eyes are on him again. It was good to see him, there was no denying that.

“Hi,” you say when you’re lose enough, not sure what else to even say then.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, grinning and looking at you the same way he had since you were teenagers.

“I, uh...I took a job in Buffalo a couple years ago,” you tell him, trying to resist the urge to fidget. You’d forgotten the way he looked at you, you weren’t used to it anymore. He nods as you speak, his smile somehow getting even wider.

He’s about to say something when someone on the ice shouts his name, and he swears quietly under his breath. “Did you have to leave right after the game?” he asks, pausing only to wait for your response. When you shake your head, he continues. “Can I give you my number? Just text me, and I’ll tell you how to get back to the locker room.”

Before he even finishes speaking, you’re fishing your phone out of your pocket as you nod. When you’re ready, he rattles off his number, and you save it into your contacts, still struggling to believe that this is all actually happening.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says, meeting your eye with another smile that makes your stomach flutter.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon,” you repeat with a quick nod. You’re smiling back at him, because how could not? He nods right back, practically beaming before heading back to the ice.

[paintingwithdarkness]

46 & bluepulse pleasse

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids?”

Bart was staring out a window in the Watchtower, observing a group of bright white streaks flash past the clear pane, heading towards Earth. There was a meteor shower tonight, and it was supposed to be one of the biggest displays in this past decade. Astronomers had predicted over 1,000 meteorites crossing into Earth’s atmosphere. Sure, Bart knew the majority of them would burn up into nothing but nitrogen, oxygen and other invisible gases upon entry, but the ones that were big enough to survive the high velocity and heat of their journey would end up crashing down into Hong Kong. At least, that was what they had been saying on the news.

“Make a wish,” a familiar voice said, as its owner came up behind Bart to lay a hand on his shoulder.

Bart smiled and turned his head so he could see his best friend. Jaime had changed a lot in the twenty years since Bart had first met him.

Like he’d always been, Jaime had ended up taller than Bart when they’d both stopped growing. The older man had topped out at 5’11” once he’d hit eighteen, but Bart had only managed to grow to 5’9”. Jaime had beat him by two inches. Bart blamed it on his childhood. He knew he could have grown a lot taller (look at grandpa Barry), but he’d been malnourished for the first thirteen years of his life, which was prime time for development. He was just happy he’d made it to average male height.

Also, Jaime had a goatee now. It was a stupid little thing- a tiny patch of hair growing just at the tip of his chin, right below his lower lip. Bart had been trying to convince him for years now to just shave the dumb thing off. And no, he wasn’t just saying that out of jealousy (he couldn’t grow facial hair for shit himself). Bart actually thought Jaime had looked better before he’d tried growing the beard.

Bart liked the hair though. Jaime had let it lengthen out over the years, and it was down to about the base of his neck in the back. The front was a little shorter, with fringe that swept across his forehead to the left, and cut diagonally across his temple, getting longer the further back it went. Bart thought it was a good look for him. But that change was small compared to what Bart had done with his own hair.

Bart had let his auburn tresses grow out to hang in a wavy curtain around his shoulders. Usually, when he was off duty (a.k.a. not running around in the red Flash suit), he tied it up into a messy bun that sat just below the top of his head. He was actually wearing it that way now, since he was off the clock (he had Watchtower monitor duty; ugh). A few strands had escaped the elastic hair tie and hanging down around his face on the right side.

Jaime reached out a hand and gently tucked the locks behind Bart’s ear.

“Thanks,” Bart offered.

“You’re welcome.” Jaime flashed him a blinding smile, and that was when Bart remembered.

It was Dr. Reyes now. Jaime had finished medical school about ten years ago and was working as a dentist. Of course he would have an amazing smile. And if the teeth didn’t give it away, the glasses certainly did.

At least, the glasses gave away how intelligent Jaime was. His chocolate brown eyes were sharp behind the frameless spectacles that sat across the bridge of his nose. They gleamed with knowledge through the rectangular-shaped frames, and anyone with even the barest shred of common sense could see that Jaime had put in the work to get to the high position he was at now.

As for Bart, whenever he wasn’t running around saving various parts of the world from tsunamis and evil villains, he worked as a physicist at S.T.A.R. Labs in Central City. He had bought a small apartment there a few years back so that he could be close to family. And you know, keep the city safe from Captain Cold and Mirror Master (damn, those guys were old. Why didn’t they just retire already?).

“I wish we were younger again.” Jaime’s voice snapped Bart out of his musings.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

Jaime pointed out the window. “The meteors. People mistake them for shooting stars. My wish is that we were younger again.”

Bart blinked blankly and watched his reflection in the glass do the same. He and Jaime weren’t old per say, but they definitely weren’t as young as they had been when they’d first met. Jaime was thirty-six now, and Bart was thirty-three. A long time had passed since they’d just been teenagers, trying to save the world from impending doom every couple years. Boy, did time fly.

“Why do you want to be so young again?” Bart asked curiously, meeting Jaime’s eyes through the window pane. “You’re at a really successful place in your life.”

Jaime shrugged. “I suppose. But all I really have are my jobs; the one here with the League, and my day job back on Earth. I never settled down and had a family.”

Bart returned the shrug. “Neither did I. But it’s not too late. There are plenty of bachelors in their thirties. You’ll find someone eventually.”

The older man chuckled. “So, no hot guy you’re banging on the side?”

Bart’s eyes widened in shock and he whirled around to weakly hit Jaime in the chest. “Oh my god, no!”

Jaime continued to laugh, holding his hands up in defense against Bart’s embarrassed attack. “Hey! Just checking! Can’t have my best friend holding out on me.”

Bart’s little flare in temper drained out of him like air from a balloon. “The last guy I was with dumped me like a sack of potatoes the minute he found someone with more money.” Bart rolled his eyes. “Guys can be such assholes.”

Jaime gave an understanding nod. “Girls aren’t much better. Trust me, I’ve dated both, and still haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

Bart sighed dramatically. “Maybe we’re both just destined to be hot, single, hard-working men the rest of our lives.” He overexaggerated a swoon and fell back against Jaime who caught him with a laugh.

“Maybe,” he tossed back, pushing Bart back up onto his own feet. “Or maybe we’ve already met the people we’re destined to be with.”

Bart raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Jaime lifted a shoulder. “I can’t help thinking about it from time to time. Like, what if I’ve already met the person I’m supposed to be with, and I just missed my opportunity, y’know? What if I already found my match, but neither of us made a move?”

Bart thought about it for a second. There’d been a few times he’d considered the idea, but it sounded more like something out of a romance novel than real life.

“Dios,” Jaime chuckled. “I sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Bart’s auburn brows furrowed. He supposed while they were still on the subject...

“Then I guess what I’m going to say next makes me just as cheesy.” He turned around so that he could face Jaime properly.

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids?”

Jaime blinked back at him once, twice, before managing a quiet, “What?”

Bart averted his gaze. He could feel his cheeks burning. “I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since we were teenagers. It hasn’t gone away over time.” He nervously scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the linoleum floor. God, he felt like he was thirteen again.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Bart looked back up for a second and noticed that Jaime was watching him. He immediately looked away again.

“You’re a really nice guy, Jaime, and you understand me like no one else does. We’ve been best friends forever. How you’ve been able to put up with me for twenty years, I’ll never know.

“You’re really intelligent, and you have a good job, and you know where you want to go in life. Plus, you’re really hot. Even with the stupid goatee.” Bart’s felt so hot with embarrassment he thought he could melt through the floor. Jeez, here he was at thirty-three years old, confessing his feelings to his best friend like a love-struck school girl.

“Bart.” Feeling Jaime’s calloused palm against his cheek startled the younger man into looking up.

“I-I think I might love you too.”

Bart felt something warm explode inside his chest. “R-really?”

Jaime’s cheeks were dusted with pink now, too. “You know how I was telling you that I thought I’d already met the person I was destined to be with?”

Bart let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god. Are you seriously telling me that we’ve been crushing on each other for twenty years and both of us were too naïve to make a move?”

Jaime laughed too. “Call me crazy.”

Bart shook his head. “Wow. I actually can’t believe this.”

Jaime smiled. “Is there any way I can convince you?”

Bart let out an amused sigh. “Just kiss me, already.”

He reached up and wrapped his arms around Jaime’s neck before leaning in and pressing their lips together. Jaime reciprocated instantly, kissing Bart back like he’d been starved for it. All of the passion and emotion that they’d been carrying around inside of themselves for the last two decades came pouring out into the kiss.

“Why didn’t we do this when we were younger?” Bart panted when they separated for breath.

“We were stupid kids, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

They dove in for another kiss, this time taking things a little slower now that they’d already had a taste of each other.

Bart opened his eyes and looked out the window over Jaime’s shoulder as they continued the tender liplock. The meteors were still falling. He could see why people would mistake them for shooting stars. And maybe Jaime had been right. Maybe wishes really could come true.

Thanks for the request Anon! Hopefully this little thing lives up to what you were expecting! It’s a little cheesy, but I couldn’t help myself.

[raineydaywrites]

take the big hits

ao3 link in the source!

Summary: Febuwhump day 5: "Take me instead."

There was a reason that Magnus had, thus far, at least, died the most often out of everyone on the ship.

He could take a lot of damage that the rest of them couldn't handle as easily, but he certainly wasn't indestructible. And the knowledge that he would wake up at the start of the next cycle if he died really only made his self-sacrificial tendencies even worse.

There was a reason that Magnus had, thus far, at least, died the most often out of everyone on the ship.

He could take a lot of damage that the rest of them couldn't handle as easily, but he certainly wasn't indestructible. And the knowledge that he would wake up at the start of the next cycle if he died really only made his self-sacrificial tendencies even worse.

And the rest of the crew was sick of it.

They loved Magnus, and hated when he was gone. They didn't like to see him suffering or hurt, and it was starting to seem like he was going to get badly injured or killed every cycle.

They'd lost Magnus early last cycle, when they'd been ambushed by a group of people from a region other than the one they'd found the Light in. They'd communicated with the leaders of the region where they found the Light, and gotten an agreement to bring it back to the Starblaster, but apparently that information had gotten leaked somehow, and it turned out that the other regions didn't feel that they should be left out of that decision.

It would have been easier to communicate with the other region earlier and explain their reasoning for taking the Light, but instead they'd had a tense stand off between the crew and the plane's natives.

Eventually, they managed to convince the natives that it was in the best interest of everyone for them to take the Light back to the Starblaster, but the natives had groused at the idea of losing out on the knowledge they could gain from the Light.

When it had started to look as though they might decide to attack and keep the Light for themselves despite everything, Magnus had intervened.

See, the thing about Magnus is that he understands people. He's a charmer and he likes to be social and he worries about everyone. And a large part of that empathy and extroversion comes from understanding what people want and what they've been through. What motivates them.

He figured out what motivated the natives and offered it to them before any of the rest of them could protest.

"Take me instead," he'd offered, to the confusion of the other crew members. Why would the natives want Magnus?

But the fact of the matter was that the natives weren't fools. They understood that something unusual was happening, and they were unwilling to risk the idea that the IPRE crew were lying about the importance of the Light leaving this plane.

They didn't really want to keep the Light itself after that. They just wanted something to sweeten the pot before they let the rest of them go.

And the chance to study a real live alien was a sufficient sweetener to these scientifically minded monsters.

When they'd understood Mangus' offer, the crew protested, of course, but they were not standing in a safe spot. And the longer they argued, the more they risked the lives of the rest of them, and the opportunity to bring the Light back to the ship and escape at the end of the year.

In the end, Captain Davenport made the call to retreat. It broke his heart to leave Magnus to the devices of these beings, but it wasn't worst the risk that they would decide not to believe them about the Light, or to decide to look for a different way to preserve their world from the Hunger that didn't require the crew of the Starblaster.

They'd communicated with the leaders of the region they'd found the Light in, hoping for help in retrieving Magnus, which they did receive, but by the time they worked through all the legalities and diplomatic necessities, he'd already been killed.

There was nothing to do but grieve and wait for the next cycle to begin.

-

Magnus was greeted with a round of very enthusiastic hugs when he reformed.

"Hi guys!" he said, smiling brightly at the rest of them. It had been a rough cycle from his perspective, and he was so glad to see his family and to be out of that situation.

He was a little concerned about how upset and angry everyone looked past their enthusiasm at seeing him again.

Lucretia was clinging tightly to his side, so he leaned down to her and spoke.

"What's wrong?"

Lucretia gave him a shocked look, and said nothing, glancing around to the rest of the crew as if asking what she was supposed to say to that.

"You fuckin' left us, is what's wrong!" Taako said, extricating himself from the hug to punch Magnus in the shoulder. Even after getting out of the hug, though, he didn't go far, hovering nearby but safely out of hug range.

"I- I had to do something. I knew I'd be okay," Magnus said, uncertain why they were all taking this so badly. Sure, it had sucked, but he'd gotten through it. And everything was fine now.

"You didn't have to do that. We could have found another solution," Captain Davenport said, sternly, but Magnus could see that he was worried behind it. He'd participated in the group hug for even less time than Taako, but that was okay. They were still working on getting him to let go of his shell of professionalism, and it had made Magnus happy that he'd joined the hug at all.

"I know it wasn't the best plan, but we didn't have a lot of time to find a better one," Magnus argued, a tiny bit annoyed at the stern tone that he was being met with. "I knew the risks and I was willing to take them."

"You can't just throw yourself in danger without even telling us what you're thinking," Davenport admonished.

"I'm the security officer. It's my job to do that," Magnus retorted, and now the hug was starting to break up in light of the argument. Magnus missed it, but he was too upset to let go of the fight. He knew that he was young for this position, and that everyone else on the crew save Lucretia was years and years older than him, but that didn't mean that they could treat him like a child.

"What kind of security officer leaves a bunch of magic users to defend ourselves for a year, huh?" Taako said. "Not a very good one."

Magnus felt a little taken aback by the words, and shrunk in on himself a little.

"I have to protect you guys," he said. "I don't try to die early, but sometimes-"

"You don't always get a choice, I get that," Lup interjected, "but Taako has a point. You want to protect us, but you can't do that when you get yourself killed and leave us without you."

"And you had a choice this time, buddy," Barry said, softly. "You offered to go with them, even though you knew what would happen."

"You guys don't need me that much," Magnus argued. "I'm good and everything, but you have offensive spells. And Merle and Barry can fight alright, if they gotta."

"Of course we need you Magnus! We need everyone. But we also just like you and like having you around," Lup said. "You're a lot of fun, big guy."

"But I'm not as important as the rest of you," Magnus said.

Everyone else stilled, and he wasn't quite sure why.

"What's that supposed to mean, bud?" Merle asked, his tone as careful as he was capable of.

"I can't help with the engine or studying the Light or the science stuff. But I can protect people. That's the- I mean, I'm good at other stuff yeah, but that's the thing that's relevant to the mission. The rest of you- I mean, like I said, Merle and Barry can fight, but Merle is a healer too, and Barry knows the engine and the science. Nobody else can take over those jobs as easily as they can take over mine," Magnus explained. It seemed pretty obvious to him. He wasn't trying to be self-deprecating or anything, it was just about the relevance of their individual skill sets. His skills were largely less useful than the rest of them.

"Magnus-" Merle said, in a extremely soft tone, but he couldn't seem to figure out what to say and he stopped talking.

No one else really seemed to know either, and the room went very quiet, until Lucretia broke the silence.

"What about me? I'm just the chronicler, and there's no one to record the mission for anymore. I'm even less useful than you. Should I start sacrificing myself at the drop of a hat?" she asked.

"No!" Magnus said, horrified that she'd even ask it. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then why is it okay for you?" Lucretia demanded.

"It's my job-" Magnus started.

"No, it isn't. Your job description does not ask you to get killed for us," Davenport said, body tense and tail twitching angrily.

"Security officers do accept certain risks, though! And this mission has even more of them than more security jobs!" Magnus said.

"This mission has gone completely ass-over-tea-kettle, my dude. I don't think your job title really matters that much anymore," Taako said.

"But my job still does! You guys do!" Magnus responded. They had to understand. He wasn't trying to be reckless, just practical.

"So do you," Barry said. "We missed you."

"We aren't asking you to stop doing your job, Magnus. We just want you to be more careful," Davenport said, stepping closer and giving Magnus a quick hug. "Please take care of yourself too."

Magnus melted into the embrace, and, seeing the reaction, the rest of them rejoined the hug, even Taako, offering whatever comfort they could.

"Last cycle was some real bad shit, guys," Magnus finally said, quietly. "Did not like it. Do not recommend."

"It's okay, buddy. You're safe now," Merle offered.

Magnus let himself drop to the floor, and the rest of them followed. He let himself think about all the awful shit he'd been going through, and he didn't try to stop the tears that fell after that.

Surrounded by his family, he let himself break. He was safe. He was loved. It was going to be okay.