#i avoid horror movie situations like the fucking plague. you think i’m going to watch a ghost throw a chair at the wall and just stick

[fingertipsmp3]

Realistically I would never be in a horror movie because the second any unexplainable stimuli happened, I would scream “FUCK THAT” and vacate the premises

[skittikyu]

Panprice, all of the emojis /srs /nf

A-

All of them???

Alright here we go /nm /lh

_

🌻 who’s taller?

Dave. Absolutely Dave. /lh I’ve loved that headcanon ever since someone pointed out the height difference in the intro to Escaping the Prison-

🍃 who’s the big spoon?

Probably Rupert because I can see Dave liking to be held™

🌺 who asks the other out?

See Panprice is one of those ships I was talking about in that other ask where I see it being more of a “Person A confesses to Person B thinking it isn’t mutual but when it turns out it is they just sort of become a thing” situation.

So if you reframe the question as “who confesses first” I can honestly see situations with either but I’d sooner assume it’d be more likely Rupert because Dave seems like he’d just

But who knows, maybe he’d blurt it out on accident or force it out in a moment of bravery. Jury’s out to lunch on this one LOL

🍄 who’s clingier?

I think both of them would have their moments, for understandable reasons??

Dave is touch starved from having no human contact for months while he was a prisoner and Rupert already lost him once and missed him like hell

🍀 who steals the blankets?

Rupert strikes me more as the type to toss and turn a bit so he might yoink™ by accident sometimes

🪵 who watches the other sleep?

?????????

okay, interpreting that to be a little less creepy-

I think Dave probably stays awake longer than Rupert sometimes. Like Rupert has a very demanding, exhausting job and will crash like a rock while Dave is an overthinker with recurring nightmares so he probably takes longer to fall asleep and will just look up at the ceiling whilst Rupert snores next to him LOL

So yeah he wouldn’t watch Rupert sleep but he might glance over from time to time or just listen to him breathe for reassurance that everything’s fine now-

☁️ who spoils the other?

This is another one I think they’d both have their moments with because Rupert wants Dave to have nice things because he’s been through a lot and deserves to be happy and Dave wants Rupert to have nice things because he’s grateful for him and everything he’s done for him

🌾 who eats the others uneaten pizza crusts?

?????????

The fuck kind of heathen- how about both of them just eat the whole pizza slice like normal people?? /lh

🌸 who cries when they watch sad movies?

I wanna say Rupert just for the joke of it being the one you don’t expect /hj

That and it goes hand in hand with my headcanon that he’s the one who gets scared watching horror movies while Dave just sits there with him like

🌷 who apologises first after an argument?

Again, probably equal amounts with both of them on this one too

Rupert is aware he has a bad temper and can come off meaner (not that he’d ever be mean to Dave, but y’know- harsh/serious/etc) than he means to be sometimes so once he’s cooled down he’d immediately want to tell Dave that he’s sorry because he knows if he takes too long he might start overthinking and get scared that Rupert hates him or something

Then Dave I’ve always headcanoned with some form of anxiety (probably GAD) and y’all who have it know how it is sometimes, where you apologize because the tension and lack of closure is too much-

I doubt these two would have too many arguments, though - even ignoring the fact that Dave probably avoids confrontation like the plague, they’re adults who communicate healthily and even when they do argue (because let’s face it that’s a normal, unavoidable part of every relationship) they seem like the type of couple that resolves the issue over the course of the argument-

🪴 who wears the other’s clothes?

I’m not sure?? I can see them having similar fashions of black/grey colours so they probably sometimes wear the other’s clothes on accident and don’t fully realize why it feels slightly off unless the other one asks about it, but that’s if they even recognize their own clothes

But yeah Dave’s taller so his clothes are slightly longer and Rupert’s got a bit more muscle so his are a bit wider

☀️ who beats the other at chess?

I think they’d be fairly evenly matched?? Strategizing is part of Rupert’s job and Dave seems like the type of guy who passes the time with games like cards and chess-

💐 who needs more reassurance?

Dave for obvious reasons. Poor guy probably feels like a screw up who ruins everything sometimes, what with his string of bad luck.

🌿 who cooks the best?

Dave. Rupert is British. Do not trust British people with food. /j

🐚 who proposes?

Probably Rupert, but, I can see situations where it could be Dave instead

An engagement seems like something they’d probably talk about before the actual proposal anyway cause obviously Rupert’s not gonna scare the shit out of Dave getting down on one knee with 0 warning and/or prior discussion 

and I think Dave would sooner eat his own hat than drop that on Rupert in a similar situation

But yeah they’d probably talk about getting married starting after the 2 year mark and then it would just be a matter of whenever one of them makes it official-

_

Here’s your fucking essay, anon /nm /lh

[itsbeautifulhologram]

Fatherhood [South Park] Prologue

Kenny isn't a complicated man, no way, he was raised in poverty and expected a lot less as a kid as he did as an adult. He expected himself to finally move from the shitty home into another shitty place away from his house with Karen in tow. He wouldn't dare leave his sister in the same shitty house he had been raised in, and end up at some dirty part time job to make ends meet and so he could help put Karen through college or a home of her own, whatever floats her boat. Then he'll meet some super hot chick, slide into her dms and somehow get her pregnant then marry her out of guilt she since was stuck with him and their kid. Just like his mom and dad, but he wouldn't abuse her or anything else, he wanted to be a better father than his was. 

He wanted to be the best and never let his kids go through everything he went through as a child. Kenny expected his life to be like that until he met [M/N] at least.

The guy turn his head around and made his chest hurt, he actually died. [M/N] actually gave him a heart attack, which was funny and the next day, he asked [M/N] for his name and number. The rest was history actually. They started dating at a young age, they never really fought either which was different from most relationships in South Park, they always had a date every Sunday and Thursday night since [M/N] and Kenny's schedules were terribly busy with their own lives and families. Usually it was at [M/N]'s home too, both relaxing and they watched movies. As they grow older though, they had more dates and worked their own jobs. [M/N] saving up for college and maybe somewhere nice to stay in while Kenny saved up for himself and Karen's own needs. Though, slowly, their relationship began to slowly break. Like the chain that kept them together was slowly rotting and cracking.

They knew it, everyone else did too but mind their own business. Kenny's eyes began to wonder and [M/N] began throwing himself into his studies and work when he noticed Kenny's eyes did wonder to the female population like he did in their younger years. Oh how it hurt him, how it made [M/N] question himself too. Was he right for Kenny? Was he neglecting him badly that Kenny wanted more compony with someone that had a perky set of breast? Was he a horrible boyfriend? [M/N] must be if he was holding back the only man he loved. He was horrible.

That's why he had to let him go, If you love something then you have to let him go right?

Right.

So, that's exactly what he did with a heavy heart and soft sobs, " I'm sorry," He had began to Kenny's horror and as horrible as it sounded, to his relief. " I don't think I can do this anymore, keeping you with me when you want something else. I've seen your eyes wonder to girls and I knew you don't have to gull or balls to cheat on me. So instead of making you suffer any longer, I'm breaking up with you." Before Kenny could console his Ex-boyfriend, [M/N] walked away from him and down the street. Kenny's eyes watching his figure get smaller and smaller until he was out of sight.

Kenny began chasing girls after that, he was a free man now. He was free from being the best boyfriend, free from his expectations, free. Maybe he wasn't someone who liked being in a relationship that lasted long as theirs's? Of course, he glanced at the occasional man but his focus was on women with the largest tits and the softest [H/C].

[M/N] never seemed to taken interest in the same sex, as far as Kenny knew, Craig was pushing it at times but nothing serious between [M/N] and him or any other guy, not like Kenny was paying attention either. It just bothered him but Kenny pushed it away.

He wasn't jealous, no way. He should be busy with the current girl around him, they kissed, screwed and everything else but Goldie Anderson never was one for labels. The short black-haired girl had two dull brown eyes and usually had cheap and dented glasses. She had a medium set of breast and a slightly curvy waist, but god, her lips were thick and usually wore ruby red lipstick. Her outfits were dirty or were tight on her which she used it to her advantage when she seduced Kenny to her bed.

Goldie Anderson's situation was like Kenny's, poor family and drunks but the only difference was that Goldie was an only child and often seduced others who had money. How she ended up with Kenny was a strange situation but no one said anything. They were almost adults, they'll handle their messes.

Except this was a mess they couldn't exactly clean up, or Kenny couldn't. Nine months ago, Goldie had slept with Kenny, no condom and claimed she was on the pill which was good enough for Kenny at the moment. After that, Goldie avoided Kenny like the plague which confused the other but shrugs it off. More girls were waiting for him anyway.

[M/N] gotten his student job thanks to the school, which would look great on his college application, he would help at the local daycare on the weekdays after school. Only Monday through Thursday, paid twelve dollars and hour. He was good. As long as he works through until he graduates, PC Principal would send a letter of reccomdation at a college in Boulder or Aspen for his teaching degree. He was busy with focusing on school to know of Kenny's sexcapades. He would start officially in October. He had his own expectations on himself, work hard enough so he could teach kids, don't get caught up with drama then marry some guy and have his own kids.

Two different men and their expectations through the roof. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kenny groans as he woke up to his parents fighting in their bedroom, they were fighting since he could hear his dad say over and over, " Fuckin' bitch, FUCK YOU!" Like a broken record, then the sound of glass breaking against the wall. The blonde sighs as he combes his fingers through his blonde hair and slowly get off the bed. It was early as far as he knew, the sun was poking out from under blanket that he covered the window with. He shuffled his boxers back up and covered himself the bottom half of himself with them, then a pair of sweat pants then his orange Parka. He pulled the hoodie up before walking out the door.

He was sure there was some bagels for him and Karen for breakfast, not to mention Tweek as given them a few days old coffee to warm up. Nice breakfast for the first day of the month, the blonde entered the kitchen and ignored the squeaks of mice and rats who breaks away from their groups and hid away. Kenny pulled the bag of bagels out the fridge and open up, his teal eyes peering in to see the first bagel was turning green and fluffy, he throws it away and takes the other one that had yet to turn gross. At least Karen would be able to eat today, he placed the bread into the toaster and switched it on. Kenny takes what's left of their cream cheese and placed it on the counter. 

The fighting hasn't stop but he didn't move to stop it, they always fought and always threw things and today Kenny didn't want to be apart of it. Kenny placed the coffee he had left in the cup and began warming it up in the dirty microwave, he watched it spin around slowly and the machine humming as it warmed his drink. Probably the only thing he would be eating at all. Not that he minded, his sister before himself. Kevin finally booked it when he turned seventeen with Stan's sister, Shelly. Last he heard, she was large and about to pop out Kenny's first niece or nephew. 

As long as Kevin doesn't turn out like their father, than Kenny had no problem of them having a kid together in some other none fuckish place like South Park. Plus not another mouth to feed. I hope they're okay though, knowing Kevin isn't one for reasonability, Kenny thought as he placed the bagel on the plastic plate. He used the butter knife and spread the cream cheese over the bagel as he heard footsteps come towards the kitchen. He turns to see Karen, she was rubbing sleep from her eyes and smiled drowsly at her brother. For now, karen is my only responsibility. " Morning Ken." Karen greeted with a yawn, " How are you?" " I'm good princess, you?" Kenny asked as Karen smiled but both winced when another bottle hit the wall and then there was knocking on the door. " Get the door?" Karen smiled and walked towards the door just as the microwave beeps, the blonde turns around and opens the tiny door and picks up his lukewarm coffee cup. He inhales it for a moment before drinking it. He heard the door open and closed within minutes, " You okay-woah-baby." Kenny said all in once when karen came back into the kitchen with a baby in her arms. It didn't move but he could see it breathing. " Just because we live in a shitty neighborhood, doesn't mean were a dumping ground for bastards." Kenny said, annoyance growing. " It's from Goldie's mom." Karen answered softly, looking down at the sleeping baby. " It's a boy..." " Okay, so Goldie got pregnant from some other dude and her mom wants it gone-" " Ken, he looks like you from the pictures mom has." Karen stops her brother from ranting away at Goldie being a bad mother. " She said Goldie went away and she didn't want him." Kenny stared at the bundle in Karen's arms for a moment and blinked, he could see blonde hair poking out from under the blanket a bit. He had a son, a baby boy. Another McCormick, he had made another McCormick. Kenny made a baby with a girl who didn't want anything to do with him other than sex. Oh how screwed he was, the grip on the mug falters and it falls to the floor which startled the baby and began crying loudly in a distressed Karen's arms. He wails and raised his chubby arms in the air as he sobbed for comfort. That's how it all began.

[nyxi-styx]

No Air

Fandom: Sanders Sides Ship: M/M, Prinxiety, AKA: Virgil/Roman Words: 2,300 Rating: E for everyone Warnings: hanahaki, body horror? maybe?, blood, difficulty breathing, angst but like... softly. Gently. Tags: unrequited love, but not really, fluff, happy ending, very Princely Roman but also like insecure Roman, Logan and Patton are fatherly and heckin’ concerned Characters: Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, and very briefly, Thomas Sanders A/N: This is my first ever (and maybe only but idk) Sanders Sides fanfic. I hope you all enjoy it. I usually don’t like the hanahaki trope but thanks to a fic by @xpouii, I had an idea that I just needed to get out. So it goes without saying that this was entirely new territory to me both in the hanahaki aspect and the Sanders Sides aspect. Please enjoy! :)

The moment they’d sunk back into the mindscape after discussing the hidden dark sides of Disney films with Thomas, Virgil’s chest felt tight. This wasn’t the typical fearful, anxious tightness he was accustomed to. No, now he was wheezing. Like he couldn’t take in enough air. He sat down on his bed and took a few slow, calculated breaths. It helped some, but it didn’t go away entirely. What was wrong with him? The odd condition seemed to continue to plague Virgil with increasing intensity over the next several months. Each time Thomas summoned him, he kept his words few and his answers brief to avoid gasping in front of him and alerting him to his condition. It wasn’t possible for him to develop severe asthma… right? No. And it wasn’t some standard respiratory illness. Thomas was fine. He felt like he was going crazy. Maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain. It seemed that every time Virgil interacted with Roman directly it became harder to breathe. Figures. Of course that pompous idiot is going to be the death of me. The next time Thomas had gathered the four of them for a video, Roman had actually complimented him in front of everyone. Virgil coughed violently and felt something in his mouth. His eyes widened as he closed his lips firmly. It wasn’t bile. It wasn’t saliva. What was it? It filled his mouth and throat, drying both out entirely. Unfortunately, he’d drawn the attention of the other four. “Virge? You okay, buddy,” Thomas asked gently. Virgil nodded and gave a thumbs up gesture before turning his back to the group. He spit whatever was in his mouth into his hand, seeing for the first time that it was a cluster of vibrant red flower petals. He gave a panicked wheeze and immediately sank back into the mindscape away from everyone else. What the hell?! I have to be going crazy. This doesn’t just happen! Flower petals?! 

Out of concern, Patton had followed Virgil into the mindscape. “You sure you’re okay there, kiddo?” The father figure reached out and touched Virgil’s shoulder, causing the other to abruptly jerk away from him. It took a moment for Virgil to be able to form the words, the illness making his mouth dry. “Yes,” he snapped at last. “I… I said I’m fine!” Startled, but no less concerned, Patton relented and backed off, returning to Thomas and the others where he was still needed. The flower petals dissolved in Virgil’s hand and he curled up on his bed, pulling his hoodie up as a comfort measure as he continued to struggle to breathe. __

Roman complimented him again and, as if the coughing and flower petals weren’t bad enough, there came a sharp pain. Like hundreds of little needles poking his lungs from the inside out. Virgil was convinced he was going to die. And this was a miserable way to go. How could he even die? He was part of Thomas. Thomas was alive and well… and so were the others. But here he was… miserable every day. The pain and discomfort he was undergoing was clearly visible to everyone else despite his best efforts to hide it. They never pushed his boundaries, however, allowing him space to approach them if he desired.

“Logan, I’m concerned about Virgil,” Patton confided, catching up with the other in the mindscape when neither Roman nor Virgil could hear them. 

“Of course you are,” Logan confirmed. “We all are. There is clearly something troubling at hand and either due to his nature or whatever the issue is, he’s hiding his discomfort away from the rest of us. The problem is that without him being willing to open up- unless we are able to see the symptoms for ourselves- we have no way of knowing what it is or how to help him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patton fretted, wringing his hands. “I don’t like it. Can we go check on him? Please. I… I know it may be a long shot. But. He needs our help.” Together, they phased through into Virgil’s room, both expecting to hear a snarky and sharp-tongued “Don’t either of you know how to knock?” but instead they heard more aggressive coughing and arrived just in time to watch Virgil stare in horror at the blood-soaked flower petals in his cupped hands. 

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Patton exclaimed, causing Virgil to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Oh, kiddo,” he tutted sadly. “I think you’ve got yourself a love sickness. Unrequited love sickness.”

“Wh-what?”

“Specifically, Hanahaki disease,” Logan explained. “It’s a disease caused by unrequited love and pining. Typically, it begins when the patient realizes their affections for another and believes it to be unrequited or one-sided. As it goes unaddressed and untreated, it naturally progresses and worsens. Luckily, you’re not in the final stages yet, though you are in a dire situation. There is hope. The color and/or type of petal can be an indicator of the object of your affections: either their favorite flower or their favorite color. May I?” He approached Virgil tentatively and picked up one of the flower petals, wiping away the blood to confirm that the petal itself was red and not merely stained that way from the blood. “Given that there is blood, I’d guess your lungs and heart may be filled with thorns. These are definitely rose petals, though I think the color alone tells us everything we need to know. I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Roman about this at all?”

Virgil ignored Patton’s soft, wistful gasp and aggressively shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No and please… don’t…” He paused to cough. “...don’t tell him. I… I think it’s a… mistake.” He coughed again, letting petals fall to the floor, rosebuds tumbling after them. “We.... don’t get along. It’s… it can’t be.” “You know sometimes when we like someone, we don’t know how to express that. So… we cover up our emotions by… calling them nicknames or… teasing them. It’s not the nicest or healthiest way to express fondness, but it’s very normal,” Patton explained calmly. “So what your… well, anxiety… might be telling you is the two of you not getting along and Roman not liking you, might really just be a normal case of… playground pigtail-pulling.”

“Apt, Patton. Thank you,” Logan complimented. “We can’t force you to do anything, Virgil, and we certainly don’t want to make you emotionally uncomfortable on top of your physical pain and discomfort, but I do believe you should think it over before it’s too late. If Roman returns your feelings, you can be cured. The other options are to die- you can’t- or suffer for the rest of time. And Thomas will notice something is wrong. You can’t perform your basic function and protect him if you’re entirely incapacitated. We will leave you with that and allow you your privacy.” “You know where we are if you need us, Virgil,” Patton assured him. “And… well, we care about you, darn it! So please… do what’s best for yourself.”

No. No, it just couldn’t be the truth. They had to be mistaken. He didn’t love Roman. And even if he did, Roman most certainly didn’t love him back. There would be no cure for this. He would just have to get used to the feeling of sharp thorns digging into his heart and pressing against the insides of his lungs. He curled up and turned The Nightmare Before Christmas on his TV. It was always a comfort. He pulled his hood up, wheezing as he stifled another cough and tried to just focus on the movie. As always, the movie was comforting… until Sally was wandering the town and the lyrics ‘and does he notice/my feelings for him/when will he see/how much he means to me/I think it’s not to be’ caused poor Virgil’s heart to thump painfully against the vine of thorns in his chest. He wheezed again in panic and coughed up more rosebuds, petals and blood. He’d heard this song scores of times. Why now did it seem so significant? 

‘And will we ever/end up together/no I think not/it’s never to become/for I am not the one…’ Virgil’s chest tightened again and he couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his cheeks, carrying black eye shadow with them. Fuck. They were right. Of course, they’re right. He really was in love with Roman. Against his better judgement, against the odds of everything they’d been through together… his heart belonged to the over-the-top, dramatic, pompous… wonderful, bright, creative, uncertain, dazzling… prince.

Virgil drew his legs up to his chest and put his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall freely. He felt hopeless. He was going to be stuck this way forever. Once again, he coughed violently. This time, however, he had to manually remove the large obstruction protruding from his mouth. A full rose blossom. This must have been what Logan said was ‘the final stages’. His breaths became shallower. He constantly felt like he was suffocating, breathing through layers of fabric. And mostly, that was true, thought there was nothing over his face. His own feelings were suffocating him, manifesting in painful roses.

Moving became agony within another day, so Virgil elected to lie down and suffer in relative peace. Each breath was labor and the carpet quickly became littered with discarded rose blossoms and buds that he plucked from his mouth with shaking hands and allowed to tumble to the floor. Eventually, he gave up pulling them away. Another always replaced it within moments.

Patton had been stewing ever since they left Virgil after finding out about his condition. He could no longer sit idly by while someone he cared about was suffering. Virgil could be upset all he wanted, but it was the right thing to do. He had to tell Roman. He was certain the prince returned Virgil’s affections anyway. Determined, he set off to tell Roman, taking a very reluctant Logan along with him to explain. “Roman! You need to save Virgil. He’s got the honey-hockey disease and you’re the only one who can cure him!” “Um, that’s Hanahaki, Patton,” Logan corrected gently, only to be met with a confused look from Roman. He sighed, cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and explained yet again. 

“So, what you’re saying is that our grumpy, frumpy little rain cloud is cursed and can only be saved by the kiss of true love from a prince?!” Roman’s face lit up exuberantly at the idea. He was made for this. “A worthy quest. It will be done!”

“Well, not- not really,” Logan de-escalated while Patton shouted, “Exactly!” Logan sighed again, adjusting his glasses with a light air of annoyance. “Your overall idea is not incorrect, Roman, however, it has to be true and genuine romantic love. Unfortunately, friendship is not enough to save him.”

“Worry not,” Roman assured them. “I will save him! With true love’s first kiss!” Valiantly, he strode away from Patton and Logan to go and rescue Virgil; however, as soon as they were out of sight, his knightly facade faded and his insecurity had a vice grip around his stomach. Why? He knew already that Virgil loved him. That much was obvious from the illness Logan and Patton told him of. What if he rejects me anyway? What if he would rather suffer? What if he doesn’t believe me?! He took a moment to himself. He had to put all of that aside. It wasn’t about him. This was bigger than him. Virgil needed his help, consequences be damned. 

Roman took a deep breath and pushed on, entering Virgil’s room to find him lying on his back, a large rose blossom grotesquely blooming from his forced open mouth. What a pitiful state to find him in: barely breathing at all, cheeks streaked black from tears redistributing his makeup. The prince approached carefully, reaching deep to find his nerve again. “Virgil,” he called quietly before crouching beside him. As soon as Virgil opened his eyes and made eye contact with Roman, he looked away again, clearly embarrassed at his current state and the fact that Patton had obviously told Roman what was happening. 

Undeterred, Roman took Virgil’s hand gently between both of his own. “Oh… my darling raindrop. Such a silly thing to go and get ill over. Of course… of course, I love you too. You are charming in your own strange way. You bring a smile to my face more often than you believe and we make a harmonious and powerful team when needed.” Virgil looked at Roman again, his eyes full of unspoken emotion. Roman smiled at him and softly sang, “For it is plain/as anyone can see... We’re simply meant to be.” He held out the notes on the last two words with a flourish- he couldn’t help himself- and reached up with his free hand, delicately pulling the rose from Virgil’s mouth. He tossed it to the floor and used his thumb to wipe away a trail of blood on the other’s chin. He leaned in and caught Virgil’s lips with his own, softly but earnestly. He kissed him with all of the longing and hidden affection of months past, feeling like he had a lot to make up for. It was his own fault, clearly, that Virgil ended up in such a poorly state to begin with.

The moment Roman pulled away, smiling bright as the sun, Virgil could breathe openly and clearly for the first time in months. The pain of the thorns vanished, no more petals, no more flowers. Only love.

[alwaysaslutforbakugang]

feb. 15th

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki is forever alone and blames Deku

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Song: https://youtu.be/vyAH9fHb5FY

Warnings: Angst/Heavy Feels. And a bit of descriptive violence, so be cautious.

First ever story posted. Please let me know if you want more. 

The butterflies in my stomach have died Now there's lowly caterpillars that are waiting for the night to strike And they've been dying to escape The pit of my stomach's a real dark fuckin' place

He was doing it again.

Staring directly at the back of your head. The class had slowly trudged into the last twenty minutes and the studious etiquette had already been dropped. Students bunched together in small groups to chat, sitting on top of desks, loudly talking, or discussing plans. He noticed how that Deku and his friends seemed to congregate to you, circling your desk as you smiled along to whatever Round Face was spewing. He watched as you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth to suppress your wide smile.

He frowned deeper. Just who the fuck did you think you were? Having that big and nice of a smile just to try and hide it? He never understood and had deemed the action to be asinine and vexing.

Bakugou watched as you chatted away, your hands occasionally being thrown around for emphasizes as you all spoke over each other. Whatever had been said must’ve been fucking hilarious because the next thing Bakugou knew, your laugh had erupted and his heart stalled and sputtered.

Your laugh. Its warmth and liveliness seemed to stir his insides, making his stomach flutter and knot. He could feel the heat begin to crawl up his neck and nip at his ears. He swallowed thickly, discovering just how dry his throat was. Deciding that he was tired of feeling like some damn lovesick dog he turns back to his own desk, his own group of friends surrounding him. However, he hadn’t expected to look and find eyes staring at him so intently.

“What the fuck are you fuckers lookin’ at?” Scowl present and brows furrowed, he hoped to scare them back to their own devices. Instead, the complete opposite is what happened.

Smiles. Big, cocky, sardonic smiles.

“Well Bakugou, I gotta say. You’ve been real interested in (Y/N). What do you guys think?” Kaminari taunted, smirking in Bakugou’s direction while nudging Sero to egg on the explosive boy. And he did just that. Leaning forward, Sero’s smile never faltered, in fact, it only seemed to have gotten more wide and smug.

“Yea, I think so too,” Sero tossed his head in your direction. “You’ve been staring for, like, an hour dude. Just admit it.” Bakugou could feel the embarrassment balloon in his chest and he had fought back the blush that so desperately wanted to rise. He hadn’t noticed his friends watching him, shit, now they were gonna make jokes.

Bakugou swallows his nerves and extinguished the heat that seemed to claw up his belly and his chest. He sneered at his friends, splitting his glare among the four of them. “Fuck you, Shithead. I don’t have shit to admit,” Bakugou stands, making sure to scratch his seat loudly against the floor for punctuation, catching a certain pair of (E/C) eyes in the process. He tosses his bag over his shoulder with ease just as the bell rang and his peers began to file out. “Now leave me the hell alone.”

My new friends are starting to know Why my old ones don't talk to me anymore My ex knows why my last one's my last one Hey, guess why It's 'cause my fuckin' actions

Bakugou chest heaved and fell with heavy breaths, fingers curling in on themselves till his knuckles turned white. Sweat spilled off of him but his glare never faltered. His veins ran hot and he could taste the blood that swished in his mouth, he licks his teeth clean and spits out the bloody glob in the green haired boy’s direction.

Their training had fallen into a lull, both boys using this time to reevaluate their next moves while resting their battered bodies. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bakugou had noticed Deku’s eyes briefly dart to the stands. Class 1-A watched with either pure awe or unmasked worrisome, but Bakugou had followed Midoriya’s eyes and didn’t like what he saw. You both had shared a look, one he couldn’t quite chart, but he could make out the small sparkle of assurance.

Your eyes told him your support. They told him that you believed in him, and as Bakugou whipped his head back to Deku, he could see the small smile crawl up his face. His eyes seemed to only sparkle to you in a reply.

That pissed him off.

His whole body shook with anger and his breathing labored. Without so much as a second thought, Bakugou dug his shoes into the ground and threw his hands behind him, shooting off with a deafening explosion. Midoriya had no time to react as Bakugou slammed into him, successfully knocking the wind out of his chest. The smoke began to clear and Bakugou had stood over Midoriya, his knee digging into his chest, scowl present and deep. Bakugou watched as Deku try to push his knee off of him, boring his nails into the fabric of his uniform. But to no avail, Bakugou ground deeper into him till he heard him cough and wheeze, his breathing coming out in strangled gasps.

This is what you wanted? A weak piece of shit? Bakugou grabbed Midoriya’s neck with his left hand and cocked back his right far before slamming his fist hard into Midoriya’s cheek. The boy’s head snapped to the left sharply on impact. He glowered.

Pathetic. Punch

Useless! Punch

Fucking worthless! CRUNCH

Bakugou went for another punch but found his arm fighting against him. It wasn’t until his arm was wrapped up from palm to elbow had he noticed Aizawa had intervened, his eyes harsh and red. Bakugou was yanked away from the bleeding boy just as Recovery Girl quickly shuffled her way onto the scene. The blonde’s breathing was ragged and his fist hurt but his eyes went searching towards the stands until they landed on you, and his breathing only seemed to have gotten harder.

Your eyes. They looked so wide and afraid. Your entire face resembled that of a person in a horror movie, you had just seen something so horrifying that you were frozen with fear. You both lock eyes for a moment, and for the first time, Bakugou wishes to disappear, to not have your attention. But there he sat, fist covered in his ex-friend’s blood and staring you down.

I'm gonna be alone forever I'm gonna be alone forever But I'm getting used to the thought Except late at night, so maybe I'm not I'm gonna be alone forever I'm gonna be alone forever But I'm getting used to the thought Except-

It had been about a month since his little incident with Deku and Bakugou had noticed just how chummy you two were. It had been at lunch today when Bakugou had found out through his chatty friends that you and Deku had started dating. When his friends continued to talk about the two of you being a cute couple, he got up and left. You had been avoiding him like the plague, you no longer ate at his table, or sat next to him in English, or even walk past him in the hall. But today, today your guard was down and he had seen you at the water fountain, he froze.

You were still as beautiful as ever, your hand held back your (H/C) locks while your lips kissed at the water. For a second he is envious of the fountain. His eyes lingered on your lips longer than they should and his prolonged staring had caught the corner of your eye, you stood straight and faced him, glare present. He fought the embarrassing blush that warmed his ears and steeled his nerves. He looked past you and kept walking, but not before forcibly bumping his shoulder into yours. He kissed at his teeth and spoke with fake malice.

“Get the fuck outta my way, you extra.”

That night sleep eluded him and the darkness brought no kind of comfort. He tossed and turned, tucked and untucked his blanket but nothing could fix this. Sighing and accepting defeat, Bakugou laid flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling. You crept into his blank thoughts and he could only think about the interaction you shared today. He called you an extra and you hated him. He bumped into you and you hated him. He loved you and you hated him.

He didn’t know when the tears started, but they were hot and they stung. He hiccuped and sobbed into downy pillows to muffle the cry. He loved you. . .

And you hated him.

She went to Columbia and I went to jail I just wanted another apple when she really wanted Yale And that is the problem where all of this lies I'm emotionally unstable—crazy fuckin' guy! Who's-

Six years had past and Bakugou had found the hero lifestyle to be rather lonely. Many of his friends had settled into relationships and seemed to be happy with their lives, and he was happy for them, don’t get him wrong. But he wanted that happiness, he wanted that love, he wanted you. Recently, he had heard that you and Deku were engaged and emigrating to North America and as much as he wanted to deny this, the proof stared back at him. In his hands was the invitation to your wedding. The crisp letter written in curly words only seemed to mock him while he read.

‘You are cordially invited to the marriage ceremony of Midoriya Izuku and (L/N) (F/N). Come join us in uniting these two souls into one.’ Bakugou scoffed and crumpled the paper under his large hands. He wasn’t going to torture himself by showing up to your wedding and seeing you marry his rival. In all honesty, Bakugou he had no clue why he even got an invitation in the first place. It was probably that Deku’s idea, probably trying to show off the woman of his dreams and rub it in his face.

Bakugou's actions had came to a complete stop. As that thought festered over in his mind, it all seemed to become more clear to him. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw tensed shut. That was it, this was just a way for Deku to brag, to show him that he’s won. His blood boiled in his veins and his vision began to blur. He was just going to invite him over to watch as the woman that he loved be taken away from him, just so that Deku could show him just how much better he was than him!

The sound of ceramic glass shattering had pulled him momentarily out of his blind rage, he hadn’t even noticed grabbing the vase from its place on the table. His breathing - that had sounded heavy and angry all at once - was the only sound that resonated through his empty home. Soon after, his heavy breathing was followed by the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood. He broke whatever he could get his hands on and whatever didn’t move, he blew up. His throat was raw from the screaming and his eyes burned from the tears as he continued his tantrum, demolishing everything.

I'm gonna be alone forever I'm gonna be alone forever But I'm getting used to the thought And in a couple years, I fuckin' hope that this stops

Bakugou sat in the remains of what was once his sleek and modern living room, surrounded by bits of broken coffee table and fragments of large portraits. Pieces of glass stuck out in awkward angles in his hands and the blood trickled slowly down his fingers, but he didn't care. Finally, he lets the tears flow freely and the choked out cries fall from his mouth with no resistance. He was broken, a broken man who was in love with someone he couldn’t have. He wanted so badly to let these feelings go, to forget you and all the heartache that came with you, but he was scared. All that he knew was you, how was he suppose to learn to love someone else when you were all he wanted to know?

                                                                                                                                 I really hope that you guys like it. You can read it on my AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyNeighborhoodTacoCat

Also, don’t be afraid to send in requests for headcanons/Imagines! It’ll give me something to do. 

[batwayneman]

Accomplice

Chapter 5

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The weeks after Zsasz's breakout were some of the most hectic of Jim's career.

The mobs had erupted into action as if a race official had pulled the starting piston; nearly everyday Jim walked into work to the news of a new attack. The blood hadn't stopped running down the sidewalk since the breakout.

Public displays of power by the mob had always been a part of Jim's life; growing up and working in Gotham. The constant struggle of the back and forth balancing act between the mobs was punctuated with shootings and robberies, stabbings and chaos. It was a rhythm that had defined Jim's entire life, and since the breakout, it was a screaming tempo that no one could hope to keep up with.

Not even Batman.

Apparently the sudden spike in crime was too much for a nine foot tall winged demon to handle on his own. Now some crime scenes were left untouched, the way they used to be before the Batman had ever shown up in Gotham. He was still active; just the other day he had brought down one of Falcone's drug dealers that had been plaguing the blocks around the South Side for months.

The dealer had been taken to the hospital with a broken jaw.

But there was no time to even celebrate the capture of the criminals that Batman did manage to bring in when there were three more that got away for every one that was arrested; two more mob attacks for every one thwarted.

Jim couldn't imagine how bad a situation they would be in if they didn't have Batman helping prevent casualties.

Since the breakout, he estimated that the mobs had killed fifty seven people. He was trying to keep track of all their names in the files in his desk, but it was difficult, sometimes, to differentiate between random crimes and organized ones, especially when the mobs were waging all out war.

How could you distinguish between low-level mob members and just frustrated civilians picking a side, or using the chaos to exact revenge on an old grudge?

Normally he could check with Bullock and Sarah to share information on who was or wasn't part of the mobs, that he had barely spoken to either of them since the attacks began.

The last time he had really spoken to Bullock, beyond short greetings in the hallways, he had pulled Jim aside into a deserted hallway. He had made him swear up and down that he would "keep his head down, and his moustache out of the mob's business, for fuck's sake." As if it was possible to do anything in the city without the mob knowing about it.

As if he didn't know how likely it was that Zsasz would want revenge on the people who had locked him up.

As if he didn't think about how easy it was to break through a door every time he locked his apartment for the night, with just him and Barbara inside.

Jim wasn't scared for himself, not like he was terrified for her. He was kept awake at night thinking of Zsasz breaking into their apartment, or grabbing her when she was waiting for the bus, or when she was at school. And if the uncertainty and chaos of the mobs continued into the next few months it would spill into her summer vacation, where most of her supervision during the days were her gymnastic coaches, or overworked, underpaid teenager counsellors.

He was already having a hard enough time hiding his stress from her now, after only a few weeks of having Zsasz on the loose. He wasn't sure he'd be able to continue the illusion of peace for the months when she was at home more.

While walking towards Bullock's office, Jim double checked that he had put his pipe back in his pocket, and that his phone hadn't fallen out during his smoke break.

This was the first time that he, Sarah, and Bullock were all able to meet up; three in the afternoon, on a drizzly Tuesday, three weeks after that terrible phone call.

He opened the creaky door, and Sarah, who had beat him to the office, gave him a one handed wave. Bullock was lounging, resting his feet on his desk.

They must have been able to smell his smoke, but for once neither said anything.

"You alright Gordon?" Bullock said by way of greeting.

I'm still alive," Jim replied wryly. "You?"

Bullock smirked slightly, but nodded.

"Have you heard anything?" Jim asked, moving further into the office and shutting the door behind him.

"No, no one has mentioned any deaths that match Zsasz's pattern. Though that might not mean much. No one's in a talking mood. They've all locked themselves down like they're goddamn Fort Knox."

Jim snorted.

"What I don't understand -" Sarah interjected -"is why Falcone risked breaking Zsasz out if he's not going to have him kill anyone."

Jim furrowed his eyebrows. "Everyone already knows he has Zsasz. No need to risk his hitman being taken out in all the fighting right now," he paused, "or risk Batman getting to him and putting him back in prison."

Sarah rolled her eyes at the mention of Batman, but didn't dwell on it. "But then all Falcone has done by breaking Zsasz out is draw a lot of heat on himself! Everyone is attacking him so why-"

"Everyone is attacking everyone," Bullock interrupted shortly, moving his feet off his desk and sitting up. "Maroni is against Falcone. Falcone is against Maroni. Fish is trying to fuck them both over, and what's left of the Bertinellis are pretending that they still matter at all. Hell, some of Maroni's gang is even fighting amongst themselves. Killed that poor goddamn kid at the pier the other day."

Jim grimaced. The nineteen year old had been dead for hours before the police had found him. He'd been beaten to death.

He forced the thought aside, turning slightly to look at Sarah. "Besides, just because we haven't seen Zsasz's work on the streets doesn't mean that he's not with Falcone. He could be working behind the scenes. He was smart enough to avoid me and Renee for months when he was active, he's not a complete moron."

"I guess," Sarah said, lips twisting into a frown, "But it just seems strange that he took this huge risk in breaking Zsasz out of prison - painting a huge target on his back - and hasn't done anything with him." She shrugged. "I just thought that he would want to gloat a bit more."

Bullock snorted loudly. "He doesn't need to gloat. All the police, the other gangs, the Batman too probably, all know that he's got a serial killer with him."

"But we don't know that Zsasz is with him! We have no proof at all that he's with Falcone. Hell, we don't even know if he's even in Gotham at all!" She said loudly, turning her angry eyes on Bullock.

"Alright, alright," Jim interrupted their bickering before it turned into an actual argument, "Even if Zsasz isn't here, we have to act like he is. We can't assume that Zsasz isn't around just because no one has seen him." Since the news had first come in, Jim had resigned himself to living as if Zsasz was in Gotham; he had to. If he was wrong, it wouldn't just be his life he was risking.

Sarah took a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders slowly drained and she leaned back. "Sure. Yes, you're right." She ran her hand through her hair. "I hate this." She muttered.

Bullock huffed a laugh. No one had to ask what 'this' was.

It was quiet in the office.

Jim cleared his throat to interrupt the silence. He should feel relief that Zsasz hadn't killed anyone that they knew of, but he had lived in Gotham for far too long to take good news without expecting bad news right around the corner. He could practically hear the horror movie music getting louder and louder, though there was no monster in sight.

"Well, if there's no news, I should get back to my reports." He finally said, pushing his paranoia aside. The piles on his desk were getting downright ridiculous, and dwelling on Zsasz helped no one.

"Me too," Sarah sighed. "I was up all night and barely made a dent."

Jim turned and held the door open for her.

"See you Bullock," he said, looking back at him and nodding.

"Watch yourself Gordon!" He warned absentmindedly, putting his feet back up on the desk and leaning back.

Jim yawned as he walked through the front doors of his GCPD building, pausing to shake some water off his hat.

He had been out late the night before, having taken a robbery case just before he was supposed to leave for the night. The call reported that the thief had taken a few thousand dollars worth of electronics at gunpoint, and ran.

Luckily Jim had been by himself when the call came in, so he had gone alone without worrying about a partner. As he was driving to the store, he had seen someone in a bulky, too-warm sweatshirt for the hot night. When Jim had pulled over next to him, the man had panicked and tried to run, but had turned into a dead end alley.

Jim had spent a lot of time in Gotham, he knew just about every alley in the city, and where they lead.

Some were more famous than others.

Jim's wet shoes squeaked on the clean floor. The building seemed a little emptier than usual, he noted, as he walked the familiar halls towards the largest break-room, where he had stashed his food in the fridge for later. He had considered dropping off his damp hat and coat in his office, but it was too far for his stomach to wait.

When he turned down the hallway, Sarah was sitting on a bench outside the double doors. He noticed her before she saw him, and even from down the hallway he could see how anxious she was, how she was bouncing her leg up and down and biting her lip. His eyebrows pulled together slightly in confusion as he walked up to her. When she heard his footsteps, she jumped up.

"What's wrong?" He asked before she could say anything.

Her eyes were huge on her pale face. "He was here Jim."

"Who was? What are you talking about?" He asked slowly, trying to calm her down.

"Batman! He dropped off these, these goddamn files and left!"

"What?"

"Oh just come see," she exclaimed shortly, whirling around to open the door.

It seemed like every officer in the building had crammed themselves into the room; Jim couldn’t even see the table through the crowd. Lots of people turned their heads when the doors opened, but when they saw it was Jim they went back to speaking in hushed undertones to the people around them. The air was hot and thick with so many people in the room, all their anxiety in the small space.

As he walked further into the room, Sarah right at his back, some of the crowd parted so he could see the table in the centre. There were enough pages of paper on it to cover it completely.

He picked up the closest page to him, and noted with quiet, reluctant amusement that the formatting was the same as the pages that Batman had left when he had stopped the arsonists.

At the top of the page was several pictures, dated from around two months ago. They showed a woman - a prostitute, based on how she was dressed - leaning against a car, and the man inside clearly showing cash. The other picture was the woman entering the vehicle with him.

The prostitute's face had been blurred out, but looking closer, Jim could see, with a dull pang of shock, that the driver of the car was Tolbert; the officer who wiped cases for Falcone. He was even wearing his police uniform in the pictures.

He quickly scanned through the rest of the report. It described the timeline of Tolbert picking up the prostitute in almost unnecessary detail.

The pictures were damning enough.

As he finished scanning the page, Jim's mouth twisted in a wry smile. Though Batman clearly knew the identity of the prostitute, her name in the report had been blacked out every time; it was classified.

Jim picked up another page, putting the prostitute one down.

This one was from last month, a week before Zsasz had been broken out. It showed Tolbert being guilty of possession and sale of drugs, complete with chemical analysis of the drug (62% cocaine purity). Batman had taken pictures of Tolbert with bags of the small white crystals, and him accepting money from the other dealer. This time the other person's face hadn't been blurred, and Jim recognized him as the drug dealer that the Batman had brought in a few weeks ago; the one with the broken jaw.

It mentioned that the drug's were sold for Falcone by name, and made a point of saying that Tolbert was likely a middle man to move money between the crime boss himself and the individual dealers.

Jim could feel that his eyes were wide, and his pulse was pumping furiously under his skin as he put the drug report down and looked around the rest of the table.

He had known that Tolbert was a dirty cop, known it like he knew his own name, but that was different than seeing it all presented to him in an easy to follow format.

Sarah, still standing behind him, nudged him in the elbow. He turned and looked at her, and she nodded her chin to the centre of the table. He followed her solemn gaze to a big report; this one several pages long; kept together with large, heavy duty black staples.

The first page had a different formatting than all the other reports that Batman had left for them. It was, Jim recognized with another pang of dread in his gut, lifted directly from the GCPD's own records on guns. This particular record showed all the details of Tolbert's service gun, from the date it was activated as an official police gun the service number on the side.

He flipped the page.

The pictures on this page, like all others in the various reports, was taken from a high vantage point. The roof, maybe. The focal image in this photo was not Tolbert, but two clearly dead bodies lying in the shadow of a building. Batman must have gotten to the scene too late to save the victims, but he caught an image of the still smoking gun.

The next image was the view of the gun zoomed in.

Tolbert's gun's serial numbers were clearly visible.

In Batman's examination of the two dead bodies, he had found a piece of paper with the name of the street corner where they had died, as well as Tolbert's name. It was also pictured as part of the report, seemingly an innocuous afterthought for the chaos it would cause in the city.

In the following pages, Batman had pointed out that the men were both members of Falcone's and Maroni's individual arms trade, though from opposite sides. Batman had estimated, and Jim would agree, that the men were trying to negotiate a cease-fire in that area, as the mob violence would be hurting both businesses. Tolbert was supposed to supervise, to make sure it didn't get violent.

And he had shot both of them, including the fellow member of Falcone's mob.

Jim took a slow breath in, and exhaled equally slowly, fighting against the rush of adrenaline. He wasn't surprised that Tolbert was a murderer - that was practically expected of the bad cops of Gotham - but that he had betrayed Falcone of all people.

People had been tortured and killed for much smaller transgressions against Gotham's oldest gang.

Jim looked back on the first page of the report.

It was dated three days ago.

He tossed the large report back onto the table, rubbing at his moustache and shaking his head slightly. There was so much information, almost too many changing facts to keep of all at once.

But before he could even begin to process his emotions - horror at the death of the two men, fear of how much Batman knew, at how apparently easy it was for him to get police records, petty satisfaction at seeing Tolbert exposed for the dirty cop that Jim had known he was for years - the door opened. Jim's head joined everyone else's in turning anxiously to see who it was.

The captain of the station, the tall, wide man that he was, was the first person that everyone saw. Right behind him was Tolbert himself. He was as rat-faced as always, with a pointed nose and small eyes that always looked beady, even when he wasn't walking around like he was better than everyone else. The room buzzed loudly at their entry; a hive of bees all speaking at once, before going silent.

"What the hell is this?" Asked the captain, who was very taken aback to find half the GCPD waiting for him. Tolbert's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, but otherwise his smug demeanour didn't change. Despite himself, Jim felt a thrill of anticipation at the idea of watching Tolbert realize just how fucked he was.

The whole room shifted again, moving to let the two men reach the table, like they just had with Jim.

It stayed silent in the room as the newcomers started reading through the reports, as they slowly reached the same conclusion that everyone else in the room had already figured out. Jim watched as the captain's face grew more and more pale, and Tolbert's face and ears flushed a raging red.

"So how was the sex?" An unfamiliar voice called from the other side of the room. The tension broke, slightly, as some people started chuckling.

"What?" Tolbert demanded furiously, looking up from the page he was reading to find who was speaking. He must not have found the prostitution report yet, Jim noted.

"With the prostitute. Was she any good? Asking for a friend." More laughter rang around the room.

For the first time, Jim noticed Bullock, standing quietly across the room. He barely recognized him; he was looking so pale and withdrawn. Jim nudged Sarah, and nodded his head towards Bullock. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Did you really kill those people?" Another voice asked, more quietly this time, making Jim turn away from Bullock. Once again the break room fell silent, but this time it was as dry and as sharp as ice.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tolbert snarled.

"It's all in the big report there," Jim said causally, gesturing to the stapled report. He hadn't meant to respond, but the words were out of his mouth before he had thought them through.

Tolbert whirled around to stare at him, his tiny eyes bulging more as he recognized Jim. Behind him, the captain picked up the report with trembling hands.

"You've got no proof," he spat, taking a step towards Jim threateningly.

Jim met his eyes without flinching. "Well, actually the Batman put the proof in all of those. So."

Sarah inhaled sharply behind him. Tolbert took another step towards Jim; they were now eye to eye. His furious red face made his thin blond hair look even lighter.

The room held its breath. Jim's heart was pounding with adrenaline, but he didn't let it show on his face.

"Enough! That's enough." The captain said, grabbing Tolbert's shoulder and hauling him back a step. "We're going to the commissioner."

Tolbert didn't move, and neither did Jim. If Tolbert wanted a fight, let him be the one to start it, in front of everyone. He may be good at shooting unsuspecting people at close range, but Jim knew he could take him in an actual fight, if he needed to.

He clenched his fist.

The captain, who had been moving towards the door with the damning report grasped in his hand, suddenly noticed that Tolbert wasn't following.

"Now!" He said sharply.

Tolbert's jaw twitched angrily, but he slowly broke Jim's gaze and stormed out of the room, and the tension followed him.

"Don't the rest of you have jobs to do? What are we paying you for?" Yelled the captain as he followed Tolbert out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

It was the most authoritative that Jim had ever heard the captain sound in the seven years he had known him.

The crowd started to disperse sleepily, like it had just realized that the show was over. Some started to leave, most continued to talk among their friends. Bullock, however, had made a beeline for the door. Sarah and Jim, without having to say anything, moved to follow him.

He rolled his eyes and made an ugly face when he noticed that they were following him, but otherwise didn't fight as they caught up to him and continued as a group to Sarah's office, which was closest.

Bullock entered first, walking to the corner only to turn and cross his arms over his chest defensibly.

Jim closed the door behind himself and Sarah. "What's wrong?"

Bullock stared at him incredulously. "What's wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you? Damn near starting a fight in the middle of the break room."  

"Tolbert wanted a fight, all I did was point out which report proved him to be a traitor," Jim said shortly, shaking his head slightly.

"Oh my god," Sarah muttered, rubbing at her forehead with her hand.

Jim turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. "What? I didn't start anything."

"No, technically you didn't do anything," she admitted exasperated, "But you weren't subtle when you publicly stood up to a traitor and name-dropped Batman, you moron. That isn't exactly keeping a low profile!"

Bullock snorted loudly. Jim glared at him, but he just shrugged.

"But," Sarah continued, "Jim getting testy is the least of our problems. How the fuck did Batman get into the break room that's in the middle of the building, in the middle of the night when so many people are here?" She looked back and forth between them.

Jim sighed, pushing the last of his anger aside. He thought back to the room, trying to picture it.

He rubbed his moustache with one hand. "Isn't there that air vent in the corner?" he finally said.

"I think so," she replied frowning. "But wouldn't someone have heard him?"

"No, that's not it," Bullock interjected. "He obviously teleported away by turning into pure shadow, or whatever the rumour of the week is," he said bitterly, lacking any of his normal humour.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but Jim's mouth twitched downwards in a frown.

"What's bothering you Bullock?" Jim said slowly, staring at him over his glasses. "This wasn't really anything new, Batman has had written proof of guilt when he's taken down criminals before."

Bullock tilted his head slightly, again looking at Jim incredulously. "You fucking idiot. This is completely different. I know you had a history with Tolbert, but he was a cop. Batman went after a police officer."

"Tolbert was more gangster than cop." Jim said stubbornly, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm not happy about him going after police now, but I'm much more concerned that he's hacking official police records to get some of his information," Sarah said.

Jim inclined his head in agreement, before going back to looking at Bullock. "Tolbert's a criminal. He's as corrupt as they come, he's a bad cop, and if the mob didn't run this city he would have been gone years ago," he finished bitterly.

"Sure he was a shit head, but he was good at covering his own tracks! And Batman pulled apart all his lies like a parent scolding their five year old." Bullock shook his head back and forth in short, jerky movements. "I'm a bad cop too Jim! Who's to say that he isn't going to expose me next for having ties to the mob?" he finished shortly, staring at Jim.

"But you're not a fucking murderer Harvey!" Jim stopped just short of yelling.

"Is that going to matter?" Bullock asked, taking a step towards Jim. "What rule book is he following? What if he decides I'm the next bad egg that needs to go? What’s your plan then?”

Sarah bit her lips, looking back and forth between them. They stared at each other.

Jim looked away first. He wanted to reassure Bullock, because the idea of anyone going after him when there were so many worse cops.

But he couldn't. Because he truthfully didn't know what Batman would do next, who would be the next person that he chose to target.

Jim didn't know that Bullock wouldn't be next.

"Dinner's ready!"

"Ok, I'm coming," Barbara replied from her room as Jim finished putting the spaghetti in the two bowls. He had meant to make something more elaborate, but after the... eventful day at work, all he had been up for making was the simple pasta.

She met him at the table a minute later, throwing herself into the seat.

"Hard homework?" He asked, looking over his glasses at her.

"No, there's just a lot of it," she replied, already starting to dig in. Jim smiled slightly, before following her example.

"Didn't you have a math test today? How'd that go?"

She rolled her eyes. "It was easy, I finished early," she paused to take another bite, chewing and swallowing quickly. "I don't think that Mr. Sosa really cares anymore, some of the questions were the same as they were in the homework."

Jim chuckled. "Really?"

"He didn't even change the numbers!" She said with a sly grin.

"Oh, so it was really easy," Jim said, waggling his eyebrows and matching her grin.

She giggled, taking another bite of spaghetti.

A knock at the door made them both turn and look. Jim slowly put down his utensils and walked to the door.

He exhaled slowly before checking the peephole. Relief flooded his body; it was the just the newspaper delivery. He could see the delivery man across the hall.

He darted out the door and picked up The Gazette off the ground. Waving in thanks at the delivery man, he returned to the apartment, and locked the door behind him.

The front page, once again, was all about the Batman, or the Gotham Bat, or the Dark Knight, or whatever term Vale had coined this week. She had been relentless in her coverage; writing a new article almost every day, despite there rarely being any new information.

The Gazette was reaching record numbers of sales, so she must have been doing something right.

"Is it about Batman?" Barbara asked from the table.

Jim turned to look at her, astonished. "How do you know about Batman?"

"We talk about it during lunch at school," she said casually, taking a bite of food.

He slowly raised his eyebrows at her, and she sighed exasperatedly, but smiled. "Keisha was telling everyone that her older sister saw him when someone tried to take her purse. And then Benny said that Batman saved his dad during the fight in Newtown from a few weeks ago,” she trailed off, watching to see how he’d react.

Taking deep, controlled breaths, Jim put the newspaper on the table and sat down.

The fight at Newtown had been a nasty skirmish between Fish and Falcone's people.  It had been a shootout in a car repair shop. Six civilians had been killed. Batman had been at the scene - all the surviving gunmen had been found disarmed and tied up - but had obviously been there too late to stop the fight before people had got hurt.

It was comforting, somehow, that Batman had apparently rescued some of the people in the building.

It was less comforting that he was hearing new information about Batman from his twelve year old daughter.

“I suppose you uh, talked about that during lunch too, huh?” He finally said.

She looked sheepish, or at least pretended to look sheepish. “Yeah. Everyone kept asking Benny all sorts of questions for a while.” She paused. “I think he really liked the attention,” she said, taking another bite.

Jim’s mouth quirked up in a half smile, before settling back into a frown. When had she grown up so much? She seemed too young to be discussing things like vigilantes and mob attacks at the lunch table.

He remembered discussions of the mob when he was in school. Everyone knew whose family was in what mob, and who was responsible for the shooting, who was selling the drugs and for who. Jim knew lots of classmates who would disappear from school, only to turn up a few weeks later, either arrested or dead.

Barbara was still far to young to be having these discussions at school.

Or maybe Jim was just getting old.

Either way, it made him sad.

“What else are people saying?” He asked, hoping to sound casual.

“About Batman? A lot. Like Jia Huang doesn't like him. She said that her dad said that Batman is a criminal menace who should be taken down-“ That wasn't surprising, the Huangs had been with the Falcones for years - “and she keeps saying that her dad is going to go to the mayor to complain.

Jim huffed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. A few people even agree with her,” she nodded seriously.

“Sounds like there are lots of mixed feelings then.”

Barbara nodded because her mouth was full.

The kitchen quieted as Jim considered his daughter.

“What do you think? About the Batman?” He asked, still looking at her.

Her mouth twisted slightly downwards, thinking the question through carefully.

“I think that he’s a hero. He’s helping people, and that is what heroes do. Like you,” she said like it was an easy statement, like it was just another fact that she had memorized.

Jim swallowed his food, and swallowed his initial flash of anger at being compared to a lawless vigilante.

“How do you figure that? He's breaking the law.” He asked, desperately keeping his voice even.

"Well," she paused again, still thinking her of her answer carefully, "what if a house was burning, and there were people inside who were trapped, and the firefighters weren't there yet? If someone broke into the house to rescue the people inside, they’d be a hero, right? Even though they're still technically breaking in. It’s like that.”

Jim exhaled slowly and deliberately through his nose, forcing back the mess of words and emotions desperate to escape. He should be revulsed, furious, or scared even, that Barbara thought that Jim's job was the same as a vigilante's.

But his initial spark of anger at the comparison was already cooling, leaving him with the familiar bone-deep exhaustion. He even couldn't manage indignation, and that in itself was frustrating.

When had the line between his job and Batman gotten so thin? When had he gotten so comfortable with Batman working in his city that he couldn't find it in him to argue with his daughter that he's different that the Bat?

Because he couldn't argue that he was helping people, more than Jim or anyone else could help alone. And though there were plenty of people fearful of the Batman, more and more were coming forward with stories of how he had saved them.

Jim had spent his life defending the law, and Batman was blatantly disregarding it, but it was feeling more and more like they were on the same side, even though Batman had made a point of going after a police officer.

But how could he align himself to dangerous vigilante, even in spirit, when he had spent his whole life fighting against criminals, and fighting against other police officers who worked with them?

[riathedreamer]

Prompt by @secretlystephaniebrown: “Grif comes back, only to discover that Simmons has started dating his doppleganger.” -Halfway through I realized I made the others return instead of Grif, but I am really happy with how this one-shot turned out so I hope it works anyway! Thanks for the prompt!

This story does not contain spoilers for episode 10 (but you should probably not read if you have not watched episode 9), however it goes with one of the many theories that the Blues and Reds are too suspicious to be trusted and it is very strange there is no fake Grif. So technically spoiler-free, but I just came up with this particular situation to fill the prompt. Enjoy.

No actual warnings: just a lot of angsty thoughts and heartbreak.

English is not my native language so I apologize beforehand if there are some grammar-mistakes.

Can also be found on AO3 here.

Wordcount: 3382

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Simmons returns with a raised chin, a happy tone to his voice and an orange soldier whose name Grif hates.

When the ships arrive, they fly straight through the cloud Grif has just declared a puma. Retirement gives you the time to sleep late and eat breakfast for dinner and play ukulele at 3am and drive around in the Warthog all day and when all that gets boring you can lie down to look at the clouds while not giving a shit.

Grif pushes himself up with his palm, fingers buried into the sand. He does not walk until they have all exited the ships, setting their feet upon the moon again.

He squints, counting from distance. In the hours where sleep had not come to him (it is a grave fact that you can, in fact, sleep too much, to the point where your eyelids refuse to grow heavy, no matter how long you stare at the ceiling) he had come up with scenarios.

Not all of them involve them coming back because Grif is smart and Grif knows a suicide plan when he sees one. But in all the worst case scenarios they would be fewer or entirely missing.

Bringing someone extra back with them is unexpected. Sure, the mission had been to find Church but since when does the AI have an actual body?

The journalists are there, sticking out from the rest of the group with their armors. Then come the Freelancers. Cyan. Grey with yellows stripes.

Aqua. Deep blue.

Purple. Maybe not that surprising, considering history.

Red. Pink, obviously. Brown.        Maroon.

 Orange.

 Whatever surprise Grif feels is only revealed by a small frown, black eyebrows touching each other just slightly. Making sure not to take his eyes off the soldier in the distance, he reaches down in his pocket. Years of practice allows him to light the cigarette without even looking.

It is first when he has inhaled and exhaled that he begins to walk, never raising his feet quite enough to avoid leaving a long trail behind in the sand.

The chatter dies down when he comes close enough, a faint “Do you think…” hanging in the air before someone clears their throat. Most of them are not looking at him, the bases are suddenly a very interesting sight, and Grif regrets he left the beach.

It would only have been fair had they been the ones to make the first step.

Donut sounds happy when he yells his name, ”Grif!” He suddenly freezes, pulls his head back to stare at the orange soldier in their group and he lets out a short laughter, like an intern joke or something. Grif certainly does not understand.

The pink soldier reaches out, trying to go for the hug, but Grif’s arms are crossed and he watches them all with an unimpressed stare, cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth.

His blank expression is enough to stop Donut dead in his tracks. He let his arms fall weakly to his sides, taking one step backwards so he is with the rest of the group. Someone coughs again but it does little to help with the awkwardness. Grif hopes they have not brought the damn plague back with them or something.

He raises one eyebrow, gesturing for them to begin the conversation because he sure as hell isn’t going to.

“So,” Wash says, oh god the awkwardness, and maybe he continues his sentence but Grif is not really listening.

He is staring at Simmons. He is noticing how Simmons is not stiff as a board, how Simmons for once is not tense, how Simmons looks a bit too comfortable, shoulders relaxed and chin raised high in confidence, and his fingers are brushing against the hand of the orange soldier next to him.

Grif becomes aware that he has lowered his head, revealing just where he was looking at, and he raises his glance to stare directly into the stranger’s visor.

“’sup?” the man in the orange armor says, arms crossed as well.

When the name is revealed, a noise escapes from the back of Grif’s throat. It sounds more like a bark than a laugh, low and raw.

“Griff,” Simmons says, eyes darting the room. “But, uhm, with two F’s,” he adds quickly, as if that improves the situation somehow.

Grif nods – of course that’s his name, of fucking course – and turns away. “You found Church yet?” He throws the question into the stuffed air of the Base, trying to sound like he does not give a shit because he does not.

Carolina tenses – that’s a no then. “Not yet.”

“Dude,” Tucker says. His helmet is off and judging from his expression the next words to leave his mouth are not going to be nice. Still mad, obviously. To be expected.

But Wash cuts in, “We’ve found some leads. We’re working on it.”

Grif nods again and points to his left, towards the couch that has already been invaded. “So where, when and why did you adopt the yellow copycat?”

“Orange,” the guy says, looking like he is about to flip him off but Simmons’ hand is on his arm, holding it back. The cyborg does not withdraw his hand even after the- the imposer takes his glance off Grif.

“Right,” Grif huffs, and is about to point at his own chest plate to prove a point but then realizes he is not wearing armor. He took it off the day they left and has not seen a reason to wear it since. After being stuck in that metal can for years it is only right to let your skin breathe. Especially with no one around to comment on your smell.

The others are still in their armor, though a few have removed their helmets. It makes Grif feel like the small person for once, almost naked (but not in the way Donut prefers) and the many armored figures only make the room feel too crowded.

Wash steps on something, makes a face, and tries to rub it off the bottom of his boot.

“Yeah,” Caboose says, inhales, and he is obviously going to try out with an explanation. If anything, it is going to be amusing. “So we found our evil twins and they turned out to be nice. They let me play with their toys. But not the big one. It would invite all the fish inside and they don’t like that. Then they turned out to be evil evil twins. But then Griff came and he invited all the fish and a lot of other things happened but he got to join our rescue mission. He brought popcorn.”

Grif does not even blink. “Right.”

“You got all of that?” Wash asks him. “I’m pretty sure he might have skipped some details.”

“See, I never really gave a shit so-“

“What is that diabolical smell?!” Sarge enters the base and immediately makes his presence known. He turns his head to stare at Grif. “Did you invite the rats to live with you? Aw, did you get lonely?”

There is a mocking tone to his last question which Grif matches perfectly when he says, “You know, better company than what I had before.”

The following thick silence is broken by Donut, appearing from behind Sarge, who chirps, “Did you remember to water my flowers, Grif?” He pulls his head back again, laughs, and looks at the orange soldier in the couch. “I suppose there’s a bit of name problem there. Nothing more awkward than calling out the wrong name. Ooh, we could give you a nickname! What about Double F?”

“What?” Grif asks with a snort. “Short for Fuckface?”

Simmons is still staring at the floor. Griff merely tilts his head and from behind one of the couch pillows he fishes out an unopened snackbar. Grif had not even known it was stashed there, and that just makes the insult worse.

“What is… Ugh.” Wash has stepped on something again and he looks in distaste at all the trash littering the floor. “I suppose you have not found the time to clean up since we left.”

Carolina opens the fridge before Grif can attempt to warn her. “That’s… a lot of mushrooms.”

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure I just saw that pile move.” Tucker is pointing at some of last week’s laundry with his rifle. “Caboose, don’t touch that!”

Grif shrugs. “Yeah, right, sorry I did not tidy up. I didn’t expect guests.”

He leaves before the other one can take off his helmet to eat the snack, before he can reveal if this whole thing is weird enough for him to have a scar across his face as well. But if Grif has to choose between having a clone with scars or with an intact face, he is not quite sure which is worse.

Sarge is blocking his path through the doorway, and the Red Leader stands firmly, not intending to move.

Grif brushes shoulders with him on his way out, hitting a hard armor plate, and keeps his expression neutral so no one can see that it hurt.

 Grif has never had a mother-in-law before, for obvious reasons, but he has seen the horrors in movies. He is pretty sure this situation is equivalent to those nagging monsters. He lives here, and yet people just walk right in and start criticizing his way of living. Not cleaning up isn’t a choice; it’s a lifestyle and a beautiful one.

The others left. Grif owns this place, this moon. He may not have signed any contracts but that is clearly how it all works. His place, his rules.

And yet he is forced escape the base. Too many people, too much tension. Grif has grown used to silence these last couple of weeks; these new voices and new insults are too annoying, and he has had too long a break to grow thick skin for it all.

He is on the way back to the beach, hoping to hide behind an umbrella and escape this shitty situation with a nap, but Doc appears from out of nowhere, opening his mouth before Grif even has to time to sigh.

“Hey, Grif! Long time no see, huh?”

Grif’s headache is too big for him to answer the medic.

“The others did say you were taking a sabbatical. Didn’t believe it at first; you guys never really quit before. And I suppose it did take some days to realize you weren’t Griff. Pretty weird how much you all have in common, huh? Except the whole being evil thing. At least Simmons is happier now.”

Grif sets his jaw.

“Wait, that sounded wrong.” The medic holds up both hands to apologize. “I mean, before Griff arrived. Caboose told me how sad he was after you… Well…”

Without speaking Grif lights another cigarette.

“Oh, those are really not good for your health. Or your fellow man’s. I thought Simmons had made you cut down on-“

Grif hopes Doc can take a hint and exhales the smoke into his face. Well, visor, technically, but the rude gesture should still work.

When the medic finally stops coughing he wrings his hands and says, “I’ll- I’ll just leave you to your bad habit then. But I do have a free brochure I can find for you later.”

He runs off when Grif inhales deeply, as if preparing for another round of smoke cloud.

How strange. Doc is gone more often than he is actually here, and yet he has never been replaced. Maybe because he is so useless. Probably. Definitely.

The moon is suddenly too small, and Grif finds no other option than to retreat to his cave.

He is not even surprised when he finds Dylan at the entrance, obviously waiting for him. The reporter has tilted her head, obviously curious about him and, oh god, is she going to talk about feelings again? At least the camera guy is absent, probably too busy trying to shoot a documentary about hoarders inside the Base.

“I figured you would come here,” she says, and congratulations to her if she believes that means she knows him well. She has already proven she is under the false belief that she can figure out them all and their actions as well. “I can give you the whole story, if you want.”

“No thanks,” Grif snorts and puts out his cigarette with his heel. He uses the foot that has once belonged to Simmons, the one that has nerves too badly sewn together to truly feel the pain from the heat. “Already told you; I don’t give a shit about it. You guys found a whole bunch of lookalikes and did not cry out bullshit? Joke’s on you, then. Because that shit is creepy as fuck.”

“It… took an unexpected twist.”

The visor is too focused on his face, obviously trying to gain some sort of eye-contact but Grif moves his head to stare into the darkness of the cave instead. “So why the fuck are you guys here?”

“We figured it was only proper to give you a visit. You’ve been without any news for a while.”

Without news, without insults, without human presence in general. Not a lot has happened on the moon while they were gone but Grif is not about to tell her that.

“What makes you think you can trust Wannabe-Orange?”

“He was the first one to call bullshit, as he put it,” Dylan says softly. “A lot like you, I suppose.”

“Great!” he exclaims too loudly. “Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can keep the others alive for a whole month! Looks like he drew the short straw. Poor guy.”

“Grif-“

He walks past her into the cave, sighing slightly relief when she does not follow. Maybe she does not want him to shout at her again. Or maybe she has realized he deserves a nap.

She does, however, betray him and informs Donut of his hiding place. That at least seems to be the case, since no one else knows of the cave, and Grif had been extra careful to make sure that Donut of all people would not wander in here by accident.

To be fair, Grif is not sleeping but he is resting against his head against the cliff wall and his eyes are closed which should be enough hints to make an intruder fuck off.

But Donut is not too good when it comes to hints, and he sits down in front of Grif, helmet in his lap.

“He is a nice guy,” he begins, and Grif opens his eyes only to roll them. “Well, Sarge still needs to warm up to him but-“

“Does he threaten him with a shotgun?” Grif asks, more out of spite than actual curiosity.

“Oh yes! Only silly threats of course; no one wants anyone to get hurt.”

“Right.”

Donut is fiddling his thumbs. Even silence is uncomfortable when you are stuck with the pink soldier. “Simmons likes him.”

“I can see that.”

Something flashes across Donut’s expression. Pity, Grif realizes with horror. Even the scarred part of his face seems to soften as he looks at Grif. “Simmons was very heartbroken after… Well, after you told him… And there are some obvious similarities. Oh how they can bicker. But at least Simmons does not seem that devastated now. There are some positions you do not want to see a man in, Grif, and I have never seen Simmons that low before.”

Grif wonders how much he has in common with the imposer.

He wonders if Griff’s mother left him.

He wonders if Griff once had to dig twenty-seven graves alone on an outpost that quickly became forgotten by anybody else.

He wonders if Griff has a dead sister.

“You could apologize,” Donut continues, voice echoing in the cave. “The others will warm up eventually. And I’m sure Simmons would not mind an extra man.” He hesitates for just a second before adding, “I think you should come along.”

Grif glances at the ground as he snorts, “Not a fan of hanging around suspicious doppelgängers. I have less creepy things to entertain myself with.” He wonders if Griff is being called a fatass too, or if that is an insult only to be used on him.

Donut inhales once before saying, “I suppose you don’t like him.” He is not the guy who snaps at people or keeps his voice bitter, but there is a certain tone to that last part of the sentence that informs Grif that he hurt him too back then.

Grif sets his jaw and says nothing.

Eventually Donut leaves, and Grif is alone in the solitude of the cave.

Later he ventures out to grab something to eat (he refuses to starve because of him) but his appetite dissolves when he sees Simmons and Griff on the top of the base. They have their backs turned towards him, staring together into the sunset, rifles on the backs.

They are standing too close to each other; Sarge has to appear soon, threaten Griff with his shotgun…

For a moment Grif can almost hear their conversation –

                                       “Hey?”

                                       “Yeah?”

                    “You ever wonder why we’re here?”

-but then he realizes he is too far away to hear anything. His mind is probably playing a trick on him; isn’t it unhealthy for it to be alone for too long or something?

Then Griff leans closer and grabs Simmons’ hand.

It’s all wrong, the scene is all wrong, Grif never did that-

“Grif?”

Simmons has seen him. He lets go of Griff’s hand, jumps down the base, and Grif remains where he is standing.

Grif expects him to wring his hands or stutter or just act a tiny bit like he has acknowledged how weird all of this is. But his back is straight and as always he as taller than Grif, looking down at him. “Did the others ask you? Are you coming with us?”

Trying to keep up, Grif blinks, but his mind is still too busy replaying the scene.

Simmons continues, “I mean, you can’t stay here.”

“’course I can, there’s no law ‘bout it,” Grif cuts in quickly to disagree. “It’s my moon now.”

“Don’t think anyone is going to try to take it from you,” Simmons huffs and turns his head to stare at the base and the endless amount of trash bags surrounding it. Suddenly he seems to deflate, and he inhales deeply before saying, “You could at least come with us to Chorus. We- We need some supplies before heading towards the next clue, and since you don’t really have any food to spare…” He trails off.

Grif fills in the missing words. “A fatass gotta eat.”

“We could at least drop you off,” Simmons says again, ignoring Grif’s statement.

Grif does think about it. But, honestly, Chorus has nothing more to give him, maybe except some extra MRE supplies. He does not miss being Captain, does not miss having to count each member of his team after a mission to make sure no one got lost in the gunfire.

Matthews is probably sucking up to Kimball now. Always wanted to be her personal assistant. Grif hopes he succeeded; Kimball has dealt with headaches bigger than Matthews. Bitters is probably… Well, it’s hard to predict a maverick. But he’s probably making himself comfortable. Grif doubt he wants a Captain back in his life.

He can’t blame them; he was the one who taught them not to give a shit in the first place.

Simmons is still staring at him, expecting an answer. Grif looks past him, towards the Base, towards Griff who sucks at pretending he is not watching the scene with great interest.

Finally, Grif turns his head to meet Simmons’ glance. He can feel his expectation through the visor, he can almost imagine the soft glow from the cyborg eye, even though it has been so long since he has seen the face…

“Don’t really think anybody needs me,” is his final answer, followed up with a shrug.

Simmons inhales. Swallows. Raises his head so he no longer trying to gain eye-contact. “I guess you’re right.”

He waits for just another second before turning around to join Griff on the roof.

The ships leave the day after.

This time Grif does not leave the cave to say goodbye.