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sortofanobsession · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i’ve genuinely read every single one of your roy/jamie fics and i’m obsessed with your writing!

i’d love an angsty established relationship fic — they get into a fight or break up but they’re trying to not have it affect the team or jamie’s playing but it’s hard when they have to see each other everyday. so the team + coaches try to parent trap them back together x

A/N There was a second ask that added this: i just wanted to add i love the way u depict darker themes so diving into their respective unhealthy coping mechanisms for dealing with the breakup would be amazing to read! x

I honestly wanted to keep what breaks them up vague, because I thought it was bit more interesting wondering. I have what I think it was, and I drop hits. But I might save that for it's own thing...maybe not sure.

Word count: 6k+

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy x Jamie (Romantic), Jamie x Ted (platonic), Roy x Ted (platonic), Keeley x Jamie (platonic, formerly romantic), Jamie x AFC Richmond Himbos (platonic, duh, but Sam, Dani and Jamie are besties)

Content warning: Anxiety, nausea, mentions of vomiting, heavy drinking, mentions of violence, fear, paranoia, manipulation, injury, self-esteem issues, ptsd, self-deprecation, swearing/cursing/cussing, jealousy.

It’s Phoebe, so yeah

Roy had been staying with his sister until he could find a new place, and as much as he loved his sister and Phoebe, it was frustrating.

"Just admit you miss Jamie," his sister said as she sipped her tea as her brother prepared for training.

"Like a hole in my head," Roy says.

"You don't think just abruptly stopping his training will mess with his game?"

"So you think I should have stayed in a failing relationship so he doesn't suck?"

"I am just saying, don't take shit out on him or the team. You aren't the only one miserable here," his sister says.

"You think I'm that unprofessional?"

"You took your shit with Keeley out on Jamie, but the difference is, back then, he was a willing participant. Just don't ruin your career as a coach because you and your boyfriend had a spat and broke up."

Jamie is fucking miserable. He hates being alone. Dread had already had his morning shake threatening to make a reappearance twice before he made it to the Nelson Road car park. But he had nearly two decades of hiding his pain and misery. And heartbreak couldn't be as hard as hiding bruised ribs or broken toes, right? The team didn't have to know they split. How would they know that Roy had left him? Roy wouldn't tell them. He didn't like people knowing about his life. All Jamie had to do was go in, change into his kit, do his job, and he could go home and fall apart. He jumped slightly when someone knocked on his window.

"You good, bruv?" Isaac asks when Jamie gets out.

"Yeah, just a rough morning," Jamie says. He is already ruining his own plan.

"Try and shake it off. We have a brutal match tomorrow," Isaac says.

"Yeah, 'course," Jamie agrees as they walk into the building. "I'm sure I'll be fine once we get on the pitch, normalcy, yeah?"

"There we go, good vibes," Isaac says as they enter the locker room. Jamie keeps his head down and goes through the motions of getting changed. He mentally talks himself through the well-rehearsed process to keep his mind from wandering so he doesn't think about anything else. He must mutter something out loud because Cockburn gives him an odd look.

"Miss training this morning?" He asks Jamie.

"What?" Jamie asks, shocked he was so terrible at hiding shit these days.

"You are usually a ball of energy, but you're like a…live wire today," Cockburn says.

"Oh, yeah, slept like shit, so yeah, no training." He didn't have to tell him that it was because Roy didn't want to see him anymore. That Jamie had fucked up and ruined everything again. And now he was risking fucking up the team again. And he hadn't been this anxious for training since he came back to Richmond after getting booted from Man City. Yeah, he just keeps fucking up.

"Well, channel that shit into the ball. You're good at that."

"Yeah, thanks," Jamie says before he finishes changing. When his boots are laced, he doesn't wait to be told to head out. He just does. Maybe Cockburn is right, and he can work his shit out on the pitch. He is already out warming up by the time the team joins him. He doesn't notice the way Ted and Beard look at each other as Jamie silently joins them.

Roy does everything he can to avoid looking at Jamie. He won't admit it out loud, but he's a bit concerned about what he will see when he finally does. He hadn't missed what Cockburn had said or how Jamie had responded from where he was waiting on Ted by the office. He thinks about what his sister has said, and then Cockburn calling Jamie a live wire. But this is Jamie Tartt. Sure, he might have an off day, but he's young. He's talented. He'll bounce back in a day or two. He ignores the tiny voice of doubt in the back of his mind that points out Jamie never got over Keeley. If he did, it was because of Roy. So he might not get over it until he finds someone new. And that made something twist in Roy's stomach. The idea of Jamie with anyone hurt, even though Roy was the one that walked out. He had no right to be mad at a hypothetical version of Jamie. So he tried to focus on doing his job. He was thankful that Ted called for 11 on 11. That meant Roy wouldn't have to try and coach Jamie and the other forward players directly yet. Because he isn't sure, he is ready. That little voice is back, asking him if he ever will be. He has to finally look at Jamie when he misses an easy shot. And just looking at him, he can already tell Jamie is being harder on himself than anyone else could be. He knows that from the way Jamie waves off Dani and Sam, trying to cheer him up. Normally, Roy would go over, hype Jamie up, and get him over whatever is in his head, and it would be fine. But Roy's the problem this time. He knows it. He is the one that packed his shit and walked out on Jamie. And he can't do that to Jamie. He doesn't want to be that couple that breaks up constantly. No. He has to stay away from Jamie. It's for Jamie's own good. He's young. Being with Roy could fuck up his career. The little voice points out he already has. Jamie's a mess, missing wide-open shots and shutting out his friends. Jamie’s backslid, and it's Roy's fault. Roy really needed a drink. As soon as he got out of training, he was going to the pub.

Jamie is wound tight like a spring and rung out like a rag by the time training ends. He doesn't say anything to anyone. He just changed and goes home. At home, he doesn't eat or even change out of his clothes. He face plants on his bed, which still kinda smells like Roy, and tries to shut his brain off. He stays there until he eventually falls asleep after hours of tossing and turning. He wakes up, and everything is dark except for his phone. His phone is ringing.

"Hmm?" He answers.

"Jesus, Jamie, I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours. The team is freaking out. What is going on?"

"Roy broke it off," Jamie tells her.

"I'm sorry, babe, how you feeling?"

"Like shit," Jamie admits.

"Right," Keeley says as she thinks about it. "You get some sleep tonight. I'll let Sam know we talked. He's worried. And I'll come by tomorrow night, and we can talk, yeah?"

"Okay," Jamie says. He hangs up, double-checks his alarm, and goes back to sleep.

Roy goes to the pub but ends up just getting food and leaving. He was not in the mood to deal with annoying fans. Normally he just tells them to fuck off, but he just wants to eat his dinner and drown his sorrows. So he goes back to his sister’s, goes to her liquor cupboard, and grabs a bottle, not really caring what it is. He pours a glass of whiskey and eats his dinner. Phoebe joins him, and he goes through the motions of listening to her. He tries, but he just doesn’t have it in him to entertain her. But he doesn’t send her to her room or get mad at her. It’s her home, and he’s just crashing there. The glass doesn’t stay empty for long. He drinks a bit more than he probably should before he passes out on the couch. He wakes up with a hangover. He finds a bottle of water and painkillers left for him by his sister. And he hates himself for being so stupid and being a burden on his family.

Jamie’s stomach threatens to reject the small breakfast he managed to eat. But like the day before, he pushes through.

"You look like shit," Colin says when Jamie walks into the locker room to prepare for the match, they have later in the day.

"Good to see you too, Colin."

Jamie takes a nasty tackle during the match. He is so pissed at himself that nothing anyone says registers as he makes his way to the locker room. He'd come down hard on his wrist, and it was already swelling by the time he gets to there. The med team splints it and gives him an ice pack. He sniffles when he is alone in the treatment room. A voice that sounds suspiciously like his dad mentally berates him for being weak, for being soft, and a crybaby. He looks up to see Ted approaching him.

"Should be fine in a bit, don't use me hands in the game anyway, so should be good to go in-"

"Not sure that's the best idea, Jamie. Took a heck of a hit. You should rest."

"I'd feel better if I was back out there."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you have been struggling before that hit. Have been since yesterday. I figured you'd talk to someone eventually, but clearly, it is starting to impact your ability to play-"

"You're benching me because of this?" He gestures to his splinted wristed.

"I'm benching you because you don't look well, Jamie. And I tried to see if you could sort it out on your own, but short of calling your mom, I'm not sure how else to get through to you. Take a day or two and try and sort yourself out. Call someone if you need to."

"You're serious," Jamie says in disbelief.

"Go home, Jamie, rest up. Heal up. Check-in with you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Jamie says, his tone a bit cold. He goes back to the locker room and changes out of his kit. He leaves before the team even knows he's out of the game.

"You what?!" Roy shouts at Ted.

"Sent him home, he's injured, and clearly he-"

"He needs his support network, not to be sent home to overthink every mistake he made."

"For someone that walked out on the guy, you sure seem to be mad."

Roy has no comeback for that. All he can do is send a text to Keeley asking her to check on Jamie. And Keeley leaves the match early to do so.

"When was the last time you ate?" Keeley asks him when he lets her into his flat.

"Earlier," Jamie says.

"Did you eat after they gave you pain meds?"

"Not hungry."

"Tell that to the future ulcer in your stomach from taking painkillers on an empty stomach."

"If I eat a sandwich, can I go back to bed?"

"Jamie, I know you are hurting, but you can't just sleep all day."

"I'm not allowed to train. I can't focus on shit. I'll heal faster if I sleep, so seems fine to me."

"You aren't resting to heal. You're depressed. I know breakups are hard, but you can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Jamie says.

"Jamie," Keeley was shocked by how defiant he was being. He had been a prick in the past, but this felt different. This was him determined to wallow in sadness.

"Sorry," he mutters before going to make a sandwich he didn't even want but would eat because Keeley said so. "No guarantees it stays down," he adds.

"Are you sick?" She goes over and feels his forehead, and he lets her. But he knows he isn't sick sick. It was just in his head.

"I'm not that kind of sick," he points out. He taps his head. "It's in me head. I just, I think about having to go to training. About having to see him. About letting the team down again. I feel like I'm back trying to get accepted at Richmond all over again, but I just keep fucking up, and everyone is going to hate me. And I can't even train to be better because he was the one training me, and I try to eat, but my stomach won't let me. I try to sleep, and I can't and-" He doesn't realize he is crying until Keeley hugs him.

"It's understandable to be anxious, babe," she drags him into the living room and sits him down. She gets out and orders him something she thinks he can eat to be delivered and something for herself because she has a feeling she isn't going anywhere for now.

After they eat, Jamie falls asleep snuggled against her on the couch. Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. She rolls her eyes. It's Roy asking if Jamie is okay for the sixth time.

Keeley: if you are so concerned why not see for yourself

Roy-o: I'll only make it worse

Keeley: how

Roy-o: because I am the reason he is this way

Keeley: no shit

Keeley: that means you could also fix it

Keeley: you're an idiot and a right prick you're both miserable

Keeley: you could fix it for both of you but you won't

When Roy doesn't respond, she gets frustrated. She texts Ted.

Keeley: I got Jamie to eat, take something for his wrist, and sleep.

Ted: how bad is he?

Keeley: he is an anxious and heartbroken mess that has himself worked up that he is letting the team down

Ted: which only makes it seem like he is failing more which makes it worse and he's caught in a spiral of bad. Got it.

Keeley: I'll stay with him tonight but I have to work tomorrow.

Ted: don't sweat it. We'll handle it.

Keeley: thanks Ted

Roy is the last one in the office, and the locker room is empty. Everyone else had gone home after the game. No one was in the mood to celebrate. An injured and benched striker could really hurt their chances in the league. Roy had thrown his phone across his desk after rereading the texts from Keeley. He gets a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and pours himself a drink. He wanted to check on Jamie himself. He wanted to make sure that Jamie wasn’t beating himself up for someone else tackling him. But he knew he couldn’t. He had been the one that put Jamie off his game. His phone goes off.

Ted: You’re right. He needs his team.

Ted: He will still be at training but he is not allowed to train.

Roy leaves him on read and drains the rest of his drink before heading back to his sister’s place.

Keeley is trying to coax Jamie to eat the next morning when his doorbell rings. She finds a smiling Dani Rojas and a concerned-looking Sam Obisanya.

"Oh, hi," she gives them a tired smile.

"Coach said Jamie needed friends," Dani says.

"And breakfast," Sam adds.

"He does," she nods and lets them in. "Look who dropped by, Jamie."

Jamie immediately gets up from his spot on his sofa but relaxes a bit when he sees it's just Dani and Sam.

"Hi guys," Jamie says.

"I have to run home before work. Text me if you need anything." She hugs Jamie. "Let them help you," she whispers to him. "They care about you like I do. Don't fight them." She feels him a nod. She gives Jamie a kiss on the cheek, which earns her a small smile. "Okay, babes, see you all later."

"How is your wrist?" Sam asks as he sets the takeaway containers on Jamie's coffee table. Dani hands him a paper cup. And Jamie smells the lovely scent of coffee, and he almost cries because Keeley is right. His friends are there because they care. They don't hate him. He hasn't actually ruined his relationship with his teammates. Maybe it was all in his head.

"I…fuck, it's good to see you guys," Jamie says, and he does have tears in his eyes.

"Of course, mi amigo," Dani smiles. "All you have to do is ask. We will be here."

"But we cannot help you if we don't know what is wrong," Sam says. And Jamie tells them everything because he can't keep it in, and he is a fucking mess. But Dani hugs him and tells him he is okay that he isn't bad or a failure.

"You haven't ruined anything," Sam says. "Well, nothing that cannot be fixed. If you need someone to train with, just ask. Might not be 4 in the morning, but a few extra hours could be good."

"And we can do it together," Dani agrees. "Always more fun with more friends."

"You guys would do that for me?"

"Of course we will, you are our friend and our teammate, and this could help all of us be better, but not until after your arm is healed. Until then, we can still keep you company." Sam finds the remote and turns on the TV. He finds some mindless show that will work as background noise or a distraction. And they all settle in to eat.

A few hours later, Sam has to leave to help his dad at Ola's, but Ted swings by to take his place for a bit. Dani and Ted fill the quiet and put Jamie's mind at ease until Dani leaves in the afternoon. Leaving just Jamie and Ted.

"How you feeling?" Ted asks as they eat a light dinner.

"Better, actually. Like my thoughts aren't so loud, and I can eat without it coming back up."

"That's good, Jamie," Ted smiles at him. "You know I didn't send you home as punishment, right? I knew you were struggling, and I was going to call and check on you after the match. I was worried, but being with the team was making it worse, so I figured you needed a breather. Maybe I should have waited until after the match, but you do need rest, Jamie. Maybe not the time away from the team, but you need to let yourself relax. And I know that being alone ain't helpful when your head gets caught up in everything, but running yourself into the ground isn't good for you. You don't have to hide it, though. No one will think less of you for being in a rut. You have friends. You haven't failed anyone. You've worried them, but the team knows that this isn't the normal you. They aren't mad. They want to help. Let your team help you."

"It's just hard because…" Jamie can't say it.

"Because Roy is there?" Ted finishes for him. Jamie nods. "I can't imagine that is easy to deal with. But you aren't alone. You have the team. They're a good buffer and a great distraction. Now that Sam and Dani know, they'll help you. Keep you out of your head. Hopefully, keep a few of the others from asking questions."

Jamie groans because he knows the whole team is going to know now, and they will probably blame Jamie or Roy, and it could get even more awkward. He doesn't want anyone to be mad at Roy. He wasn't even mad at Roy. He missed Roy, and having to see him every day didn't make it any easier not to miss him. He was so fucking close, but it wasn't the same, and it hurt Jamie's soul.

"Jamie," Ted starts. "This is just another obstacle you have to learn to navigate. Can't be avoided, but it can be overcome. You might need a bit of a boost from your buddies, but you can, and you will get past it. It just takes time. It will get easier."

"Thanks, Coach," Jamie says.

Roy gets a text from Ted that Roy's going to be working with the defenders and reserves for the time being. And Roy knew this was coming. When Keeley told him, he was an idiot. His sister was right. He needed to find a way to make this work, or he'd have to leave Richmond. He couldn't let his issues ruin Jamie's career. And Richmond was good for Jamie. Yeah, it was Roy's home, but Jamie thrived there. He was hours away from his fucking old man. So he was safe from that bullshit. He had friends on the team that loved him. And he had Ted. Roy could find a new team if he needed to. He didn't want to, but he wanted Jamie to get better. And he did want Jamie to get better. But fuck, he didn't know how else to fix this. Jamie deserved better.

A few days go by of Roy coaching the defenders. He tried to ignore the way Sam and a few of the team members would look at him. It made Roy feel uneasy. Most, if not all, of the players, knew that he'd left Jamie, and that is why Jamie was struggling. They knew Roy could see Jamie suffering, and as Keeley figured, he was just being a prick by letting it go on. They didn't know that they had fought over stuff they do all the time. That Jamie would be better off with someone that wouldn't ruin his career if the press found out. That Jamie deserved to be with someone his age. The nights are filled with liquor, and Roy’s mornings are usually a blur from being hung over.

Keeley and Sam meet Ted and Beard at the Crown and Anchor.

"We have to do something," Keeley says as she takes a pull off her drink. "They are both miserable, but Roy thinks Jamie is better off without him, even though Jamie is clearly not better off."

"How do you know Roy thinks that?" Beard asks.

"Because his sister told me so, that and he has been drinking more than usual, and as much as Phoebe loves having her uncle around 24/7, his sister knows it isn't good for Roy."

"Okay, so what do we do?"

"Make them realize they are idiots in love and are at their best when they are together."

"You want to Parent Trap them?" Ted asks.

"Exactly!" Keeley grins.

"But how?” Sam asks. “Neither of them are parents."

"Technically, they aren't,” Keeley states. “But I know at least one child they both would do anything for, and her mum is willing to help."

Keeley drops by training with Phoebe a week later. The match the day before had been a draw, and tensions were high. But they all knew something had to give. She leaves Phoebe with Ted and goes, as planned, to see Rebecca.

Roy has no fucking clue how it happens, but one minute his niece is fine kicking the ball around with a few players. The next moment she is crying. Jamie is, of course, faster than he is and is physically closer to her. He is there before Roy even realizes what is going on. Even with his splinted wrist, Jamie picks Phoebe up and takes her inside. Ted tells Roy to go with them, and he'll find out what happens. Roy doesn't need to be told twice. He finds them in the treatment room with the med team looking over Phoebe's ankle. She sniffles, but Jamie is on the treatment table next to her, talking her through it. Her small little hand was in his. Jamie gets up when Roy enters and looks like he is about to leave. "Your Uncle's here now. You'll be-" Jamie starts to say, but Phoebe interrupts him.

"No!" Phoebe shouts and sniffles. She whispers something neither can hear to the medic, and the medic leaves. Both Roy and Jamie gape at Phoebe as she hops down off the table and hurries out the door. It slams closed, and they hear it lock behind her. Roy tries the door, but it doesn't open.

"Phoebe, open the door," Roy demands.

"No! Not until you two fix it," Phoebe's muffled voice shouts. "You love each other. So fix it!"

"Open the door now, Phoebe!" Roy shouts, and Jamie winces at the volume in the small space.

"No!" She repeats.

"Did we just fall into a trap set by an 8-year-old girl?" Jamie asks. And Roy grunts.

"She has a key," Roy points out. "Which means she had help."

"Is it even legal to have a door lock like this in a public building?" Jamie wonders.

"Probably not, but she had help, and if Beard was in on it, then we are fucking stuck."

Jamie goes to put his hands in the pocket of his trackies and winces as it moves his sore wrist.

"She didn't make it worse, did she?" Roy asks, now worried Phoebe just made Jamie's life even more difficult than it already was.

"It's fine," Jamie says, now fiddling with the velcro on the splint and staring at the floor. "She's not that heavy."

"I know," Roy starts. "But if it's bad enough you can't play, then-"

"It's fine, Roy," Jamie repeats. "It's Phoebe. Wasn't just going to sit there and do nothing."

"Even if it made your injury worse?"

"It's Phoebe, so yeah," Jamie shrugs. "You might not like me anymore, but I'm not going to-"

"Who says I don't like you anymore, Jamie?"

"Leaving with your bag and avoid me like the plague since has made that crystal fucking clear," Jamie says. "I'm going to visit my mum after the match in Blackburn. So you can get your shit if you want."

"Jamie," Roy starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. It is awkwardly silent. Because Roy asked for this, he wanted Jamie to move on. But even when Jamie was a prick to him and literally toasted to Roy's death, it didn't hurt this much. Because he hadn’t loved Jamie back then. And now, Jamie was guarded. Cold. He made Jamie this way.

"Thought so," Jamie muttered. He pushes past Roy to the door. "Phoebe, I know you mean well, but can you please open the door? No matter what happens, you still have me. You have my number. You can use it. And I'm not mad you tricked us. And your uncle won't be either if you open the door," Jamie kept his tone just loud enough for her to hear through the door but not in an angry shout because he wasn't mad. He was numb. It was quiet for a minute before they heard the door unlock, and then it opened. Jamie gives Phoebe a sad smile. "Thanks, Phoebs." He pats her head with his good hand. "I owe you a quid," Jamie says, and he heads to the locker room.

"Are you mad?" Phoebe asks Roy.

"Not at you, kid," Roy says honestly.

"Are you mad at Jamie?" She asks.

"Fuck no," Roy says. He sighs. "I'm mad at whoever gave you that key. And myself, because I think I did more damage than I thought I did."

"Oh, is Jamie's hand okay?" She asks.

"I think so," Roy assures her. "He doesn't mind if it is sore. He cares more about you than he does his wrist. And he's right. No matter what happens, you still have both of us. If you want to talk to Jamie, you can. Be kind of shitty of me to take away another person in your life."

"I know," she says, her tone sad because both Roy and Jamie were still upset.

"Let's find Keeley, and you can make her get you ice cream."

"Okay," Phoebe says.

"Fuck you," Roy glares at Ted as he throws the key Phoebe had given him before she left with Keeley. Keeley had already received a full Roy speech about using his niece in a childish plan. Roy goes and pours himself a drink because he is beyond done. His day is fucked, and there is no way he can do without something to take the edge off.

"Hold on, let me-" Ted starts to say, but Roy is not having it. He growls as he slams the drawer of his desk and is back in the main office.

"Fuck both of you!" Roy shouts at Beard too. "What gives you the right to fucking do what you did? She is a fucking child. You had her fucking lie to me. My own fucking family! You risked Jamie Tartt hurting his wrist worse because, of fucking course he wasn't going to let an injury stop him from helping Phoebe. He loves her like his fucking own. If you ever think of involving Phoebe in your fucking Rom-Communism bullshit again, I will punch you in the throat. She is a child!” He glares at Ted. “You are a fucking father! You should fucking know better! And this isn't a fucking movie! Things are never that simple, and you only made it worse! Because now he fucking hates me more! Made that perfectly clear! So stay the fuck out of it!"

Roy storms out of the office. A few players and staff members hurry to get out of his way.

"Well, that's not good," Ted says, looking over at Beard.

"Nope," Beard agrees.

"Hey, Ted," Keeley says later that day when she calls him. "I need to warn you that-"

"Roy is very angry, I know," Ted sighs.

"Well, yeah, but I think we did some additional damage to Jamie." She says.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I called to ask if he wanted me to pick up dinner and come see him, but he said not to bother. He just wants to get his stuff ready for Blackburn and for going to his mum's. Told me he wasn't mad, but he is just done."

"What do you mean done?"

"I don't know," Keeley admits. "He says he cleared it with Rebecca and Higgins to take the week after the Blackburn match off. He's going to Manchester. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

They load the bus for the 4-hour drive to Blackburn, and it is oddly subdued compared to the normal liveliness of the team. Everyone knows Jamie wasn't going to be returning with them. He'll be at the game, but he is taking the train to Manchester after. Jamie had assured his friends he'd be back in Richmond after a week. He didn't see his mum much, and with his wrist being fucked anyway, he was going to stay with her.

The trip there was an uneasy one.

Jamie and Dani Rojas shared a room. Normally he roomed with Sam or even Roy, but Sam had admitted to helping Phoebe with her plan, and Jamie had said he wasn't mad, but he still wasn't happy. He forgave Sam before the match, but nothing changed.

Roy paces around his hotel room after the match. Jamie had told him he was going to see his mum. But knowing he was and seeing him leave were two very different things. He had watched the team say goodbye. Some members of the team gave Roy pitying looks, and a couple of them glared at him. But Jamie had barely looked at Roy. And that had Roy's chest feeling painfully tight. He still loved Jamie. He couldn’t deny it. He’d already eaten the food he ordered and more than one beer. Only stopping when he realized how stupid it was to keep drinking like that. Jamie didn’t mind if the people in his life drank. But he was not a fan of drunks. Jamie’s father had thrown a few too many bottles at him while pissed. Roy ended up leaving the rest of the pack in the hotel room fridge untouched. He needed to get his shit together and drink until he passes out because of the idea of falling asleep without Jamie beside him fucking hurt.

After a mostly sleepless night, Roy made a decision. He had everything set before most of the team was probably even awake. He went and knocked on Ted's door.

"I am going to Manchester."

"What?" Ted was half awake.

"I'm going to Manchester. I won't be on the bus."

"Going after Jamie?" Ted asked hopefully.

"Might end up a fucking disaster, but I'm going to go."

"Good luck," Ted says. "Let me know how it goes."

Jamie thinks he's losing his mind when his mum answers the door, and he can swear he hears Roy. He makes his way to the hall and hears her arguing with someone. When he rounds the corner to the stairs, he freezes. It was Roy.

Roy's eyes meet his, and he can see how tired Roy looks.

"Fine," Jamie hears his mum say. "But you upset him, and I will throw you out. This is my house."

"Understood," Roy says, looking back at Georgie. She disappears down the hall and into the kitchen. Roy steps further into the entryway and closes the door behind him. He looks up at Jamie again.

"Hi," Roy says.

"Eh…hi," Jamie says. "What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk?"

"Sure," Jamie makes his way down the rest of the stairs and leads Roy to the living room. Jamie waits silently.

"I don't want to get my shit. I don't want to find a new flat. I…want to go home."

"You want me to move?" Jamie asks, annoyance in his tone.

"Fuck no," Roy says. "Not really home if you aren't there."

Jamie just stares at him. Roy sighs.

"Phoebe was right. I need to fix this." Roy gestures between Jamie and himself. "I know I fucked up. I just keep thinking you would be so much better off with anyone else. Someone that isn't an angry and broken idiot."

"But what if I don't want anyone else? What if I'm happy with an angry and broken idiot?"

"Are you happy?" Roy asks bluntly.

"Been a shitty few fucking weeks," Jamie says. "But I was happy before that."

"Even when I pick fights for stupid reasons?" Roy asks.

"Even then, because when we fight it out, the sex is fucking awesome," Jamie grins but it fades. "Not so much when you leave and don't come back. Even when you had the chance."

"I didn't want to make things harder for you," Roy admits.

"Harder? Roy, I couldn't eat or sleep unless Keeley, Sam, or Dani stayed with me. I fucked up my wrist and couldn't even play. It was already too fucking hard. And after what happened with Phoebe, I didn't even want to see them. I just shut down. Went numb."

Roy grimaces. "I thought it would be better for you in the long run if you had the team. You would find someone new."

"I don't want anyone new!" Jamie shouts. "I just want you."

"I know but-"

He is cut off by Jamie grabbing his wrist and dragging Roy upstairs to his childhood bedroom. "Fucking look!" Jamie gestures to Roy's poster on the wall. "I told you I fucking loved you. Loved watching you play. Then I said I love you for you. Fucked up knee and-" Jamie goes over and takes the plastic whistle off the wall. "And your stupid fucking allergy to whistles." He throws it at Roy. He points at the poster again. "You fucking think I would want anyone else? I used to fucking dream of this, you fucking prick. Quit trying to fucking fight me, and let me love you."

Roy stares at the whistle as everything Jamie just said sinks in. Jamie loves every version of Roy. He can see that now. And it's a violent and terrifying feeling of love at times. But he feels it. And Roy is moving before he even knows what he's doing, but he just needs to be with Jamie. He feels like shit when Jamie isn't there. He pulls Jamie in and kisses him.

"I can't fucking sleep either," Roy tells him. "Could only drink until I could actually sleep. Seeing you struggle and not being able to help was eating away at my fucking heart. Fucking shattered it when you told me you wanted me to move out."

"I never wanted you to leave, and if I was there when you came to get your stuff, I'm not sure I could have kept it together. I'd have lost my shit and either begged you to stay or just cry. So I gave you an out."

"I don't want an out," Roy puts a hand on Jamie's cheek and wipes away a few stray tears that were there. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy with you, you fucking bellend." Jamie kisses him desperately, hoping to make his point. "No one is ever happy all the time, not even Ted. It's how you handle the shit times that matters. You can't just run away, Roy."

"I know, and I won't. Not like this. Not again." Roy holds him close.

"Fucking good," Jamie says. He even nudges Roy until the older man is sitting on his bed. Jamie goes over and kicks his door closed. "Now fucking prove it."

"Fulfilling those childhood dreams of yours?" Roy grins.

"Fuck yeah," Jamie says as he straddles Roy's hips.

"I fucking missed you," Roy growls before pulling Jamie into a kiss.

"Missed you too," Jamie says against his lips.

"Fucking love you, you know that, right?" Roy grunts when Jamie shifts his weight, and he hits Roy's clothed and half-hard dick.

"Yeah, I do," Jamie grins. "Fucking love you too. Now shut up before my mum hears you." Jamie kisses him. Roy swallows Jamie's moan when in a quick move, Roy pins him to the bed.

If Jamie's mum hears them, she doesn't say anything when they finally make it back downstairs. She gives Roy another lecture about taking care of her son before telling Roy he is welcome to stay. Roy thanks her but says he booked a hotel. She even serves him tea.

"For how long?" Jamie asks.

"Didn't want to assume you'd just accept me back," Roy says. "Or that your parents would even let me in."

"Thought you'd have to prove it, yeah?" Jamie says. The striker smirks when Roy chokes on his tea. Jamie had told him to prove it in his bedroom, and Roy had fucked Jamie under Roy's Chelsea poster.

"Goodness, Roy," Jamie's mum took the mug of tea from him as he coughed. "Are you alright?"

Roy nods. His eyes were watering. "Yeah, I'm good," Roy manages when he can breathe again. "Sorry," he says.

"No need to apologize. Just try not to inhale it this time," Georgie insists. She hands him back the mug.

"Thanks," Roy says. Jamie laughs.

"Fucking finally," Someone says as Roy and Jamie walked into the locker room together a week later.

"Fuck off," Roy glares.

"We're just happy for you," Sam says. "Feeling better?" He asks Jamie.

"Yeah, thanks, mate," Jamie grins and puts his hand over his heart. "Didn't know you all missed me so much. I'm touched."

That earns a mix of laughs and boos.

"Well, I'm glad you are back, mi amigo," Dani hugs him.

Jamie hugs him back. "Me too, mate, me too."

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demoonlady · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 207: Stars and Oil, Part 3

// SPOILER WARNING!!! DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE CHAPTER YET.

Opening words: “Choso reappears in Tsukumo’s critical moment! His plan is...?!”

》 Kenjaku: "So heavy!!"

》 Choso: "Are you watching... my little brothers? I'm going to kill our faaaaather!!"

》 Yuki: "This is getting interesting, fallen warrior!!"

*fallen samurai — the kanji is 落ち武者 (ochimusha), which means "fallen warrior". I personally prefer "fallen warrior".

》 Yuki: "You've been a great help, big brother."

The term used here wasn't just a mere thank you like "arigatou" or even "domo". Yuki said 助かる (tasukaru), which is spoken when a person is "saved" by someone else — in the sense that the rescuer helped that person escape from an undesirable/troublesome situation. 助かる (tasukaru) is used to give respect and it also conveys a deeper gratitude to the person/people who helped you out.

》 Yuki: "He got out [of Garuda's hold] during the time when 「Bom-Ba-Ye」 was weakened 'cause I was using Reverse Cursed Technique."

》 Yuki: "...he crushes everything with Cursed Spirit Manipulation!"

John Werry, have you forgotten what Geto's CT is? 🥹

This is just me nitpicking but I think "mini Uzumaki" sounds much better.

》 Kenjaku: "Your weight does not change when you use 「Bom-Ba-Ye」... That must mean even if your density increases, your durability remains the same."

When I read "tensile strength", my eyes hurt. I do believe the kanji in this context meant durability, or toughness. (And guess what? I asked my friend and she told me that the kanji 強度 means "tensile strength" in chinese 💀)

Closing words: “Direct hit!!”

–

My thoughts:

Good chapter! The battle was so intense that it could pass off as one of the close-to-end-of-series fights, y’know? All three of them are Special-Grade sorcerers and I believe Gege is trying to reiterate to us with this battle.. that if one cannot use RCT or if they run out of cursed energy, then it's basically endgame. And ultimately, it also boils down to who has the highest durability to tank the physical blows once their CE runs out. Hats off to Yuki and Choso for their strategy to try and deplete Kenjaku's CE as well as tire him out physically since right now we can assume that Kenjaku isn't like Gojo who doesn't run out of CE, or like Yuuta who has abundant amounts of CE. But with that ending, things don't seem to look real good so what's gonna happen next?

Kenny using Rasengan on Yuki was purely intentional, I bet. Especially after he has confirmed that she’s capable of using RCT. Since CE has been said to originate from the belly, it’s not surprising he pulled that move against her. But ayo, I was definitely taken aback by the mini Uzumaki, it’s so smollllllllll. With that hole in the stomach, I'm not sure if she’d be able to channel CE to perform RCT on herself, but maybe she still can do it since Hakari did it too haha. Nevertheless, being the gutsy woman that she is, chances are Yuki will gamble everything she’s got and finish this fight strong. Reminder that she's a Special-Grade who's said to be able to overthrow a nation, so I don't believe she's gonna get offed in the next chapter, as such please don't worry, Yuki stans! Perhaps, like everyone's been hoping for, we might get to see her expand her domain - though, the effectiveness might be significantly weaker.

Choso isn’t in good shape either and will need time to recover from “Gravity” technique. But even if he plunges in to help Yuki, he’s not gonna be able to keep up. Between him and Yuki, IF one were to die, I’d say it’s most likely Choso. Just continue to say our prayers, alright, guys? :’) Meanwhile, Tengen.... isn’t going to do anything much, is she?

If you ask me, the best conclusion to this battle is... Uraume showing up to grab Kenjaku's arse outta there, and they'll cop Tengen on the way too. Maybe Uraume's gonna announce that the preparations are now ready..? A popular take right now is that Tengen will merge with Yuki, which is plausible, but I think it’d be better if the merger doesn’t work in the way they wanted it to. Seriously if it does happen and the both of them think that Kenjaku’s plans will be hindered, please tell me that they're ded wrong. I can't see him being stopped right now, not yet. Kenjaku's gonna remain as the final boss until Sukuna has properly reincarnated in a body of his own.

Meanwhile, I’m still waiting on the secret that Tengen’s hiding from us all. Yeah, no problem, just keep us waiting some more, Gege-chan. You enjoy doing that to us anyway lmaooooo.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk 207 #yuki & choso vs kenjaku #gege akutami #jjk manga spoilers #m/translations

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grey-spark · 2 years ago

Note

What if Daddy Longlegs is, in a way, a representation of Sunny's dad?

Sunny is a child, so it's normal he sees him as really tall.

His dad has a fedora. He almost never see him wearing it, but it doesn't mean he never wear it in Sunny's presence.

Kids often see their parents as beings of knowledge. Wich would explain why Daddy Longlegs knows the origin of Headspace.

And we only see visuals details of his dad in the familly picture. Beside that, he's always a shadowy silhouette.

What do you think?

That's a serious possibility. Take a look at this:

If you add a coat to the rack we see next to the front door, (like I did in this artistic depiction) it almost looks like Daddy LongLegs in the darkness. It make sense he'd be based on a coat rack since that's the object you use when you're preparing to leaving the house.

Now, whether he's Sunny's Dad is a different story. It makes sense on some level. It's his hat, and Sunny Dad left over the Truth, or rather Sunny's unwillingness to face the truth. So to have his dad be the voice leading him out would make sense. But there are some holes, like why is he in Pryfly Forest of all places? If his dad was as nice as LongLegs why would he abandon Sunny? There's also someone else competing to be Sunny's Dad. Okay, while we're on this topic we need to address Jawsum.

In the lost Library, it says that either Sunny or Hero's Dad was helping build the treehouse. But the way the sentence is structured it (annoyingly) doesn't really specify which. This is relevant because Last Resort is strongly associated with the construction of the treehouse. Which means, Jawsum is either based on Sunny's Dad or Hero's Dad. But I'm not sure which. There are good arguments for both sides. I'm genuinely split.

On one hand, Jawsum is a boisterous back slapper seen wearing cargo shorts just like Hero's Dad. He has a strong connection to Hero. Even seen in a picture with him, that could easily be based on a photo Sunny saw in Hero's house. Also, the Lost Library message leans towards it being Hero's Dad's truck since Hero's name was mentioned last.

On the other hand, Jawsum is based on the poker game and computer given to him by Sunny's Dad. And we also know his dad built all the shelves in Sunny's House; telling us he is a builder. Its also his backyard. And finally:

It all comes full circle. The hat his dad wears is right next to Jawsum's desk. That might be the smoking gun, but I'm not convinced either way. This leaves us in a messy place. Is Jawsum based on Sunny's Dad? Hero's dad? Both? If so, is his dad also Daddy LongLegs, who also wears a hat and also has "Daddy" in his name? Here is what I can say confidently...

Daddy LongLegs is likely based on a camp counselor from Sunny's trip to Summer Camp.

The Summer Camp is only mentioned ONCE in a one-off joke comment when Kel is threatening Angel:

But apparently, its a BIG DEAL to Sunny's subconscious. Not only does Daddy LongLegs look the part of a camp counselor. The rafting activity also reappears in Humphrey. Another area that represents Headspace in microcosm, and the only other character to reference the cycle of blissful ignorance.

Point being, Summer is a big deal in OMORI. Even the last photos taken in Basil's album are on the last day of Summer, September 22nd. Summer represents the good times they used to have. The head counselor and Daddy LongLegs can be considered the ruler of Summer Camp and by extension, the ruler of Summer itself. One who has a responsibility to bring activities to a close.

Welp. That does it for the Daddy LongLegs post. One of the more interesting characters who can teleport from Headspace and Black Space at will. I like to think he's Humphrey's archnemesis. He's also vaguely based on the Slender Man creepypasta, another artifact of 2014. Sorry for the late response, but hey, at least I got to post it on the 22nd.

#omori #omori analysis #omori meta #omori daddy longlegs #sunnys dad #sunny #omori lore

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emperorofvos · 3 years ago

Text

How to rescue a stray Starscream

Starscream knew it was wishful thinking to imagine his alternate would open the door just because he knocked. The good news was he heard the definitely sounds of something scurrying around past the heavy metal walls. He was even pretty sure he heard a blaster engaging. That probably meant the mech he was looking for was in there, at least, and he was in decent enough shape to try and defend himself.

"Hold on!" he calls, hoping that his voice can carry through to wherever his alternate is hiding. Surely the sound of his own voice will, if nothing else, give him pause before firing at his intruder. He creeps around one corner of the building, finding a window with a hole in it that can allow him to be more audible inside. "You wouldn't want to shoot yourself, would you?"

Some moments of silence pass by, and Starscream is about to shout again when he hears a "What the frag?" from inside. The other, identical voice doesn't sound far, so Starscream goes out on a limb and reaches a servo through the broken window. He offers a simple wave.

A pair of familiar red lights appear. Starscream knows his own optics when he sees them, even if they're a bit more dim than they ought to be. "What is this?" says his other self, his vocals tense. "There were no clones left. None that I made. Makeshift is long dead. So what are you supposed to be?"

"Not a clone." Not in the way he was thinking anyway. "And not a disguise."

A dry bark of laughter pierced the dark space his alternate hid in. "Then what? Am I going mad?"

"No," Starscream answered evenly. "And I'll prove it." His servo retreats briefly only for both of them to reappear holding something he'd brought along in his subspace. He knew his alternate had to be low on energy, but he brought more than a plain energon cube. No, he brought an entire energon dessert, prepared by his own city's confectioners.

If he knew himself, he knew a taste of sweet decadence would prove a most powerful temptation. "Could a hallucination give you a gift? Go on and take it; it's real."

The duplicate pair of optics did not come closer at first, only blink and flicker with obvious focus to look for any signs of treachery. Starscream attempted patience, but his own bait was working against him. "Look here, I don't have all solar cycle, and I'll have this myself if you're just going to let it go to waste."

The threat of someone else taking the energon seemed to spur his alternate to action. The other Starscream approached, wings and hackles raised in a defensive stance, and snatched the dessert from the matching servos as soon as he could reach it. Starscream studied his alternate as he stood back just a bit. He looked quite glad to find the food he'd been given was truly real. Starscream knew how desperate he had to be for energy to let another mech, even himself, dig into the semisolid energon with his servo to scoop it to his mouth. Though he attempted to return to the obscurity of the shadows, Starscream could also get a sense of the state his frame was in. There were scratches all over him, patches of dirt, dents here and there. One corner of his mouth seems the slightest bit eroded. Worst of all, the tip of his red crest had apparently been broken off. Starscream frowned. This would not do at all.

"Look," he began. "I'm going to get right to it. I've come to get you out of here"

His alternate only momentarily paused in his eating, glaring at him from the side of his optics. "You still haven't explained what you're supposed to be."

"I'm you," Starscream tried to explain. "Not a clone, not from the future--well, not from your future, but--ugh! Look, you remember theories of the multiverse, don't you?"

"Yes? Wait, you're not telling me you're--"

"Ahah, see, I knew you'd catch on fast! Well there you go, now you get it, so come with me and--"

"Hold it!" his other commanded. "You expect me to accept such an incredulous idea just like that? If you're about to tell me you're from another universe, how are you here, how did you find me, why did you--?"

"Look, look," Starscream groaned. "There's time for that later! Why don't you just get out of there already and come with me to my Vos!"

"Your Vos...?"

"Yes!" Starscream gripped the bottom edge of the window he was looking through. "My Vos, where I rule. It's in the process of being rebuilt, you can live there--"

"I can live here," his alternate growled, taking a step back. "What is this? Some kind of rescue? I don't need the help of some multi-universal nonsense! I can survive here, in my own home, my own Vos!"

Starscream sighed. Really, he could be so stubborn at times. "There is no point in keeping up this struggle. I know your pride won't allow you to take handouts from other mechs, but think of this as you helping yourself," he told him. He knew he had to keep a delicate balance when speaking to his alternate. Motivation and not scolding. Compassion but not pity. "You lived through your war. You deserve a better reward than this world has to offer."

"You expect me to believe that I can be whisked off to another world, another Vos, like the one I dream of?" his alternate challenged. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I should believe you just because you could give me real energon?"

"I know it's an absurd thing to consider," Starscream replied. "But really, is there anything you have to lose by trusting me?"

That gave his alternate a moment pause. He finished the last of the energon and held the dish close in a subconscious need for protection. "You expect me to just run away to another world," he finally says. "This is--this is my world. This is my fate. What does it make me if I just run from it all?"

"Forget your stupid pride," Starscream growled. "Wake up already. There's nothing left for you in this world, and this isn't the fate you deserve! I'm giving you what you want the most, a chance at another life, so just come and take it already, and let me bring you home!" He reached his servo farther through the window, holding his palm upward and waiting for his other self to just take it already.

His duplicate made him wait a bit as he fully processed his words and the promise laced within them. Finally, he made his slow approach forward, his wings dropping low in submission, until he was close enough to lay his identical servo over the other's. "I don't understand..." he finally said. "Why do something as insane as cross a universe to save me?"

Starscream grasped his alternate's servo gently, knowing how starved he would be for delicate touch. "Because I have to save myself if no one else will."

"Steve, set a bridge to take us home."

#current status

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

Note

For the bingo card, I'd like to request the "tortured for information" square with Dick being the one who's tortured (sorry Dick alskjda). You can include any other batfam member(s) that you want, I'm not picky 😁.

Oooo, that’s a good one! I was super excited to see your request, I hope this does the prompt right~ @hood-ex

Tortured for Information

The room they’re being contained in is small, perhaps eight foot by eight, and the ceiling barely crests at seven. It’s cramped and hot, the stone bricks that surround them leaving no room for air ventilation or any sort of moisture except their own sweat. They know there’s a door somewhere off to the right, but the enclosing darkness leaves most of it to the imagination. Pitch black inks the area, not a single source of light filtering through its void. They only know there’s a door in the darkness because there used to be four of them where three now sit in anticipation. A few inches rest between each of the three remaining figures, all trying their best to breathe through the heat and not inhale the stench of their own gross fluids.

Time is hard to tell in the dark, minds so used to constant movement that stillness is unexpected and dangerous. What they do know is that, before there were just three, they awoke one by one, feeling out for one another in the darkness, checking supplies (they had none), and trying their best to figure out how to escape. The door was the obvious solution at first, the largest of them using his shoulder as a battering ram against the heavy wood. There’s no give, no weakness, and the eldest stops the biggest before there’s unnecessary hurt inflicted. There are no hinges or door knobs or anything obvious through the touch of careful fingers, so other than hopelessly banging against the door, there’s no way to open it.

All of them were still on the cusp of disoriented when they realized there’s no air flow and that, if they’re as trapped as they believe themselves to be, conserving oxygen was the next priority after a failed escape. Suggestions of being underground were thrown around, all failing to recall how they ended up in the small room in the first place or who took them. The underground theory is plausible, being that there’s no light, but the sweltering heat doesn’t match the coolness of deep earth. Being in a basement was also likely, but seeing as their prison isn’t much of a room for a house or other building also leaves the hypothesis flimsy. They compared notes from what they could remember.

“Patrol,” Tim started, a small voice in the black, “in the West portion of Gotham. I was alone though.”

“Spoiler accompanied me in the South,” Damian said.

“Last I remembered, I was in the Cave with B,” Dick chimed in. “We were going over logs. Hood?”

“Drunk,” was the muttered reply. “Still nursing a headache actually so if you guys could shut up and think, that’d be great.”

They’re still on rickety terms with the estranged brother. Things have gotten better over the years, but the progress only graduated from ‘shoot on sight’ to ‘stay the hell away’. Progress is progress though. They’re getting there, slowly, and one day Alfred will coax him into a Manor dinner.

Silence fell on them, more out of nothing else to say rather than to comply with the command, and the only sound was their breaths filtering through the stagnant air. The heat isn’t unbearable. No, far from it, they’ve all endured worse, but the closeness of their bodies provided little relief. There’s hardly enough room to stand and take a few steps before accidentally smashing someone’s hand and soon enough, agitation was brewing. Britsling words, huffs, tuts, an occasional snap; none of them did well in dark, small, and claustrophobic situations.

The hard part about residing in shadow is that one cannot tell when eyes are open or closed, seeing darkness or dreaming in black. When Jason awakes for the second time, a fierce pounding building behind his ears, he realizes that someone is missing. Someone is gone from their eight by eight confinement. A stutter of breath is absent among the shallow patterns. His fingers fumble loosely against the hard flooring, rough in texture and covered in cracks and pebbles, until he finds a body.

He shakes them. “Wake up. Wake up now.”

It’s Damian. He’s up and alert in an instant, grasping at Jason’s wrist in a move meant to harm the older man. It merely pinches him. “What’s going on?” the boy hisses, grip frightfully tight.

Jason ignores him. Feels around for another body. His hand barely moves a foot before he feels something loose and soft. He tugs at it and a startled yell answers. “What the hell?” Tim growls, low enough to be a whisper but quick enough to be panicked.

A snake of oil and water falls into his stomach as Jason confirms it. It twists around in his gut even as he crawls over to where he thinks the door is, slamming a fist into it over and over again as he feels his own panic settle coolly into his feet. They took him. Dick is gone.

That was, in their best estimate, an hour ago. Now they all sit within reaching distance, careful to watch for the signs of induced slumber, periodically calling out to reassure one another. Tim thinks it was gas. Damian thinks drugs. Jason doesn’t know what to think, just that it happened and now Nightwing is gone. He does not voice his more sinister thoughts aloud on what happened to the man in blue, what might be happening right now, but he does not console the younger vigilantes. Order would dictate that it was now his job to look after them, as the second eldest, but he’s been on his own for years and doesn’t know how to.

Dick is gone and they can only sit and wait.

~oOo~

The vapor takes him last. He’s wedged himself into a corner, straining his eyes to make out even an outline of his brothers, when he hears a body slump to the floor, followed by two after. The noise is alarming because, well, those were bodies hitting the stone floor, his brothers, and Dick prepares himself for something as he holds his breath, clasping a hand over his nose.

The door suddenly opens and white light pours into the small room like an ocean hell bent on taking everything with it. It washes over everything, and for a moment, Dick is completely blinded and overwhelmed with the sudden contrast. Just as quickly as the light burst in, there are hands scraping and clawing against his shoulders and Dick is tempted to shout, but the vapors have finally reached his lungs and he feels the lull of sleep drag at his insides until his eyes weigh a thousand pounds and he is forced to close them.

When he blinks them open, he has to bite back a scream because there’s a masked face in front of him, a ghastly brown mask with gaping holes that peer into the depths. Dick is more than a little startled but finds it within himself to evaluate. His mask is still firmly in place, he can feel the spirit gum sucking at his skin, and he is still fully garbed in his Nightwing suit. A quick glance is easy enough to prove he is no longer in that dark prison he and his brothers had been held in, and another glance confirms that he is the only one out.

His brothers are still trapped.

He, too, is trapped, secured against what feels like a metal cot with leather and metal chains and straps tying his feet and arms to the corners of the cot. The masked face moves away from him, decidedly once it's confirmed he is in fact awake, and retreats back. Dick strains to see where they go but they disappear out his peripherals and is instead replaced with the sight of an old woman, gray, almost silver, hair falling in front of her eyes. There’s bright pink lipstick on her mouth, a dull blue shimmer shade smearing her eyelids, and a coral pink blush struggling to lift up the saggy flesh in what might be an attempt at youth. She smiles down at him. Her teeth are plastic.

“Good evening, Nightwing,” she simpers, reaching out a gnarled hand to stroke at his face. “Did you sleep well?”

Dick says nothing, trying to piece together the woman’s motives. He doesn’t recognize her. She’s new. But old. Perhaps an underground leader then. The masked person from earlier would indicate some sort of dramatic cult. Dick doesn’t know if the concealment of their identity means they intend to release him later, or if the showing of the old woman’s face is a move of power, as if to say that they have the means to keep him stationary and have little fear in doing so. The woman could be anyone from a simple grandmother to an “immortal” mortal, striving for some elixir of youth like the League of Assassins. Really, this could be anything. They, whoever it was that took Dick and his brothers, were clearly very capable.

Just as Dick begins to consider the idea of magic being involved, the old woman snaps her fingers and the wooden face from earlier reappears. The blow is quick, a metal stick coming down to strike at his abdomen, and Dick has little time to brace as metal meets his thin flesh and pain lights a fire inside his stomach. He bites back a scream.

“Now, you listen here young man,” the woman berates, a shaking finger pointing accusingly at him. “When you are asked a question, you answer. Where are your manners?”

Dick is too busy catching his breath to form a coherent response, and the woman snaps her fingers again, another blow striking at his stomach again. Dick relaxes as fully as he can despite the panic that’s quickly taking hold of his limbs, and the metal collides with his side this time with bruising force against one of his kidneys. A huff of hurt escapes his mouth and Dick instinctually begins to curl up into himself, only stopped by the straps that hold him down.

“Do you understand?” the old woman asks, raising her hand threateningly as if to snap again.

“Yes,” Dick wheezes out, breathing through the pain. “Yes, I get it.”

She drops her hand, a pleased and rather pleasant smile marring her face once more. “Good. Lovely. I’m sure you have many questions, Nightwing, but I am not obliged to answer any. However, I want you to answer some questions for me. How does that sound?”

Dick isn’t sure if a head nod is enough to placate her inquiry, so he manages another verbal affirmation.

“Excellent,” the old woman crows. “I’ll begin then. Oh drat, I almost forgot. You arrived with your brothers, yes?”

Dick feels the blood in his face drain. She notices.

“Oh, not to worry!” she reassures, a wrinkled hand coming up to pat his cheek. “No harm will come to them. I would never hurt a child, Nightwing, no sir. Family is very important after all. That’s why you’re here! So, to make sure that you answer truthfully, I would like to propose a bargain.”

“Bargain?” Dick questions. His side winces, still struggling to adapt to the injuries. He’ll have to deal with it later. Later.

“Quite so,” the woman agrees. “If you answer my questions with complete honesty, and I mean that young man, I will grant a few privileges to your brothers. I don’t like shutting them away in their room, but I know otherwise they wouldn’t behave. You can help them though. Here, I’ll show you.”

A screen flickers to life above his head, a monitor illuminating the ceiling.

“If you answer my question, I will turn on one light for them,” the woman says, shakily motioning to the pitch black screen. “That is how this will work. I will tell you what privileges can be earned for your brothers, and then ask you a question. Answering truthfully is the only way to give them those rewards though. Do you understand?”

“And if I don’t?” Dick questions back, the situation finally settling into his head. Rule number something that Bruce had always instilled in him was to never bargain with your captor, especially when others were involved. Innocents.

“Then I snap my fingers,” the woman responds coldly, “and Burtrum will do his best to force the truth out of you.”

Burtrum. The hulking figure in the wooden mask. Burtrum. Okay. Okay. Not the weirdest but- okay, fine. Burtrum.

“We’ll start easy, just so you understand that I am truthful in my promises. Are you ready, Nightwing?”

He can say no. He can say no and get beaten for it, but if he says no, then there’s the chance that his brothers will suffer for it. The old woman promised not to hurt them, she said she wouldn’t hurt children, but he can’t take anything she says as absolute fact. If he says yes, that he’s willing to answer her, there’s no telling what kind of questions she might want to pry an answer for out of him. She could ask about anything: identities, the Justice League, the Titans, Batman, codes, locations, anything. And if he doesn’t answer the way she wants, he’ll get beaten for it. Tortured, more like it, and he really doesn’t want to put himself through that if he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t know how you were raised, but I don’t accept silence as an answer. You will use your words.”

Tell that to Bruce, Dick thinks ruefully, mulling over his options once again. “Fine,” he settles on, “I’m ready.”

“Splendid. Burtrum, do please fetch me a chair. My knees are brittle and it’s cold in here.”

The massive figure of Burtrum, dear lord that sounds like a name Alfred would know somehow, lumbers away and Dick, admittedly, feels a little tension ease out of him now that the immediate threat is gone. Well, the immediate physical threat.

“Now, I promised you that I would turn a light on for your brothers. I understand that children can be afraid of the dark, and it is not my intention to frighten them like this. So, tell me, Nightwing, what is your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” he repeats back dumbly.

“Yes, indeed. Answer that and I will lighten the room. It’s not a trick question. Everyone’s got a favorite color.”

Dick can’t think of how his favorite color might be used against someone, and he certainly doesn’t use it as his own password or anything, so he says, “I like blue.”

The old woman laughs, a vibrant blue fingernail tapping against the emblem spread across his chest. “I do as well,” she titters excitedly. “Lapis is such a beautiful color, wouldn’t you agree? Such a darling, delicate shade.”

Dick doesn’t know if it’s a question he actually has to answer, it seems rhetorical, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. The fewer bruises, the better as always. “Yeah, it’s-”

“As promised,” the old woman interrupts, talking over him, “I will turn on the light. I am an honest person, Nightwing, so I hope this show of good faith will inspire you.”

Immediately, Dick’s eyes snap to the screen above him, holding his breath in anticipation as he stares into the darkness. A few seconds later and a calm yellow washes over the dark screen, the slumped figures of his brothers finally in view. It appears to be a live feed, something Dick had originally been worried about, but as he sees Jason stand up at the new lightness and Tim’s head whipping around in astonishment, Dick feels his heart sigh.

Burtrum re-enters the room, rumbling with a newer heaviness in his arms as he carries a padded wooden chair. He gently places it onto the ground and the old woman sinks into it with a gratefulness that reminds Dick that this is literally an old woman he’s dealing with. Not some crime lord, not some super villain, not some drugged out meta human. She is, quite literally, just an eighty something year old lady with a singular, large butler like henchman at her service. It all feels quite ridiculous now that he thinks about it, and for a moment, Dick wonders if he’s hallucinating or dreaming.

The smarting ache in his stomach reminds him that, no, neither of those things are true and this is truly a dangerous situation with so many unknown variables. He needs to be careful. Needs to be smart about things.

“Now that we have established my honesty, it is time to establish yours. Let’s begin, shall we?”

~oOo~

The darkness retreats suddenly and unexpectedly. Damian does not jolt, any Robin to a respectable Batman never jolts, but he will admit the sudden brightness leaves him feeling antsy. The lights meant a few things. One, someone was watching them. Two, the room was far more complex than a few bricks and an immovable door. Three, something was going to happen soon with this new development or something already did.

Todd is swearing left and right, making for the door again. Drake is peering around the room skeptically, angling his head this way and that in an attempt to understand the new light sources. And he? Damian is staring a hole into the rough ground, thinking hard. About what, he can’t quite put to words, but somehow, the light does not comfort him. It only reassures him that there was something, rather someone, crucial missing from this entire situation, the darkness having hidden that blatant fact beforehand.

The illumination does not heat the room any further than it already feels, but Damian supposes time will change that. By itself, even before the brightness, the small prison was near sweltering and Damian could feel the back of his suit becoming soaked in his own sweat. Perhaps three hours, maybe a bit more, has passed since the first time they awoke to be trapped in this confinement. Dehydration was inevitable. Escape, by all means, was still a quandary that would not be answered for the foreseeable future. There was no telling if anyone was looking for them currently, no way to communicate a location with all of their materials stripped from their persons, and being trapped inside such a tiny space with two of his least favorite people in the world only worsened that fact.

To top it all off, Richard was still gone. Still missing. Captured. Elsewhere.

The heat must be making him light headed because suddenly his neck feels too weak to support his thoughts. He rests his face in between his knees and continues to think. There is little else to do.

~oOo~

“I have a list of necessities here. Every question you answer is one of them given to your brothers. When I have run through the entire list, of which there are only three elements, I will have Burtrum deliver the items you answered to. Is that clear, Nightwing?”

It’s insane is what it is, is all Dick can think, but his voice says otherwise. “Crystal.”

“We’ll start with hygiene. How often do you patrol in Bludhaven?”

“Whenever I have time to.”

The old woman frowns and taps two fingers against the metal cot. Burtrum and his dark brown mask loom forward and Dick can feel hands rest against his ankles. Dick has the sudden realization that his boots are gone. He has nothing but thick socks and a few band-aids on his feet.

“Do not be coy, young man,” the woman carps. “Answer properly. A schedule will do.”

Will giving away specific days be too much? Yes, likely so. Though it’s true he patrols whenever he has time to, those are for extra patrols when he has the opportunity to do so with a friend or fellow vigilante. Every second month on the third Tuesday, he patrols in Gotham with Batman and Robin. On a ‘regular’ schedule, he takes every chance he can get to go out on the streets of Bludhaven. Even then, if someone watches closely enough, he does have a pattern in the how/when/where he patrols. It’s a bit too far reaching to truly connect dots, but he can’t be sure. He also had to consider that there was hygiene on the line, whatever that meant. It could be a bathroom, a shower, medical supplies, medication. It could be many things, so was he willing to pass over that for his brothers? No, not truly, but he doesn’t really know how far he can push vagueness in order to appease the lady.

He’s taking too long. The grip around his ankles is tightening and though he’s almost sure Burtrum isn’t a meta-human, he certainly looks strong enough to do some serious damage.

“I don’t have a schedule but-”

The twists are sudden, efficient and ruthless, and the sickening snap that echoes in Dick’s ears takes a moment to register. Adrenaline keeps his brain from processing the sight of both of his feet and the tops of his toes pointing straight at him, but the bulge that shines through his socks is enough to jerk his thoughts to a screeching halt. Then the pain comes. It’s blinding. Bones grinding against each other, snapped unnaturally and grating against his muscles, creating a euphoria of fire and cold, cold ice that spreads to the very tips of his toenails. On instinct, he flails and immediately, immensely, regrets it as tears spring into his eyes and his lips contort in a half snarl, half gag of anguish.

“Your brothers have lost toilet privileges,” the old woman mutters unkindly, dull eyes unfeeling for his pain, “and Burtrum has done exactly as I warned. You are a selfish man, Nightwing. Selfish and unwise. I pray this has been a lesson for you on the consequences of being dishonest.”

Dick can hardly hear her over the roar of blood in his ears, heart beating faster and faster as the pain only continues to torment him. It’s crazy, he knows he can’t actually feel the bones touching one another, it’s not something he’s aware of on a daily basis, but right now it feels like his bones are singing and his nerves are their opera house. A raging cacophony of violence and crackling misery. He sucks in a breath. Slowly pushes it out. Repeats. In. Out. In. Out.

“Let’s try again. Water, three twelve ounce bottles. Do you work with the BPD often?”

Even in his agony induced haze, Dick understands that this is something he must answer. Water is important, essential, and he doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be captured here. The offer of water is much too tempting to pass up and he knows that the room the others are cornered in is already hot. Dehydration would take hold of them soon and he only has the flimsy word of his captor that his brothers will not be harmed. He has to have some trust that the bottles of water will remain un-tampered with.

“No,” he manages, words thick like sludge on his tongue, “not officially. Sometimes, I’ll help them with drug factions or serial killers.” Dick closes his eyes and breathes deeply again. Speaking is difficult when he wants to bite through his lip to distract himself from his broken bones. “I don’t have a working relationship like Batman does with the GCPD.”

The old woman hums, clapping her hands together. “I am happy you’ve come to your senses. Your honesty has earned your brothers some water.”

She reaches out to brush some of the sweat slicked strands of hair from his face, cooing in an odd motherly way. He hates the tenderness in her touch, as if she hadn’t just ordered someone to break his ankles. This woman wasn’t just dangerous, she was psychotic. Unpredictable. To further worsen a bad situation, he still can’t figure out what the purpose in all of this was. What the ultimate goal is. She seems interested in him, Nightwing, rather than his secret identity. She’s neglected to pry about Batman, of which all villains do when they’ve got a bird in their grasps, and the soothing motions of her hands juxtapose her violence.

Dick’s head is spinning from it all, the fire licking at his feet worsening the vertigo. He doesn’t understand anything at all and the circulation in his legs is thrumming in the worst way. His feet will turn blue soon, but before that, the flesh will balloon into something almost unrecognizable with the swelling that is sure to come. How long does it take for ankles to heal? Two months? Three? That’s ignoring physical therapy and if all goes according to plan. The breaks look bad, not exactly clean, and Dick is scaring himself with the possibility of never walking properly again.

“Let’s proceed with the final item on the necessities list. Three granola bars, all high in calorie. A real treat with chocolate chips, ho ho. I know children just love sweet things.”

He’s tempted to drown her out, just focus solely on the monitor still hanging over his head and watch his brothers, but once again he evaluates that food is indeed essential too and that he still doesn’t know when rescue or escape will be. His best estimate on timing is that they’ve been captured for the better part of four, maybe five hours. Possibly more. They’re nearing the timing in which someone will notice all four of them gone. Help will come soon, but he’s got to compensate for that large if in all of this. If help arrives. If they escape. Those snacks could end up being a saving grace depending on all of those ifs.

“What do you know about the Anaconda Killer?”

The moniker is familiar. An early 2000s serial killer in Bludhaven that strangled his victims after kidnapping and holding them for a week. Most of his victims were young girls, high-schoolers and undergraduates in college, and all were blonde with blue eyes. The killer was never caught and it haunts the BPD as their first major cold case, a total of seven known victims staining the profiles.

He tells her as much, paraphrasing, and she frowns. For a moment, Dick fears that he wasn’t specific enough despite his little knowledge on the subject. His eyes dart to Burtrum, still stationary at his feet and mask staring at nothing and everything, and Dick waits for confirmation as the old woman closes her eyes.

“You worked on the case?” she asks slowly, hands crawling up to rest lightly against the metal cot. “You know of the victims?”

“Yes,” he answers, careful to keep his tone steady. A jolt of doubt strikes through him though as the old woman’s eyes snap open, a feverish excitement taking hold of her.

“Oh that’s good,” she whispers. “Very, very good.”

~oOo~

They pass out for the third time.

Knocked out is probably the more correct term, but Tim can’t find it within himself to actually care because that was the third fucking time. He can’t figure out how they do it. He’s almost completely sure it’s some sort of gas agent that leaks in through the bricks, but he can’t find any gaps or seams where the gas would invade from. He’s looked, double checked, and he can’t find any discrepancies between the bricks and stones. It’s driving him crazy because if it’s that easy to take them out, why hasn’t anything been done to them yet?

And furthermore, why leave water and food in its place?

He’s holding one of the bottled waters in his hands, inspecting the seal to make absolutely certain it hasn’t been opened. Tim knows there are other ways to tamper with water other than actually unscrewing the cap, but honestly he feels a little desperate for a bit of relief for his thirst. He’s sweat through his uniform, having unclasped his cape about an hour into their confinement. He’s sure his face is a little clammy looking and breathing through his nose feels like he’s sucking in sand, so the water was like some sort of hallucination when he first saw it. The others weren’t sure what to make of it at first either, Damian suspicious that it was poisoned and Jason not really giving a fuck.

Tim’s thirst is winning over his skepticism though, the more he turns the bottle around in his hands, the more appealing the slosh of water looks. “They wouldn’t give this to us just to poison us,” he suggests, trying to reason his way into feeling less guilty about drinking. “It just wouldn’t make sense. Why give us drugged food and water when they’ve already shown they can do that with the air? It would be-”

“Holy shit, just shut up and drink it,” Jason mutters, uncapping his own bottle and taking a large swig. Both of the younger boys turn to him with large eyes, clearly watching to see if there are any immediate, negative side effects. Jason will admit he’s a little nervous to find out as well but his defiance on the subject merely just makes him take another sip.

Ten minutes go by and Tim’s tongue is feeling tacky and borderline dry. He gives in and drinks half of the bottle, swishing the lukewarm water around in his mouth. It’s a huge relief.

“Imbeciles,” Damian says, watching with ill-concealed fascination and disgust. “You are both foolish to accept that from the enemy.”

“Maybe,” Jason tosses back, lying down. His feet almost touch the other side. “Or maybe not. It could be from Nightwing.”

Damian's head snaps up. “What do you mean by that?”

Jason hums. “Well he was taken, what, a few hours ago?”

“Four.”

“Yeah? Huh, no shit. Either way, that leaves time for negotiations. A deal. Goldie just loves making deals.”

“You’re implying that Nightwing is speaking with the enemy about our treatment?” Damian says slowly.

“Speaking, screaming, dying, who knows. But sure. He’s talking to them about our treatment.”

Tim throws a small glare to Jason’s slouched form, irritated that he’s being so casual in such a potentially dangerous situation. A small part is also starting to get more worried though because the older man does make a point. Dick is probably speaking with their captors but it’s a far reach to say it’s voluntary. There’s about a seventy-three percent chance Dick is being tortured at the moment, tortured for information or otherwise. In terms of stubbornness and resistance to torture, Dick was only second to Bruce when it came to that sort of thing, be it threat of pain or mental anguish. His eldest brother has a hard head and an even tougher mindset, but his weak spot is his heart.

If Tim and the others were being used as bargaining chips, well, there wasn’t much Dick wouldn’t agree to. Suddenly, the bottle of water doesn’t feel so much like relief as it does guilt.

~oOo~

“We’re moving on from necessities,” the old woman proclaims, anticipation now tainting her voice. “I have no intention of keeping you and your brothers here forever; children should be allowed to frolic and such. So, Nightwing, this is your chance to earn them their freedom.”

He’s never been offered something like this before. Typically, the go-to style of his torturers always involved a threat of ‘You tell me what I wanna know and I won’t kill you and your loved ones,’ or ‘You’ll eventually talk if I keep you here long enough,’. Dick can’t remember a time where he’s been offered his freedom in exchange for information. It’s just not how these things work.

“I am willing to give your brothers their supplies back as a first exchange, excluding their weapons of course. Such a prize, however, can only be earned through truth and if you lie, I will know and your punishment for lying will be severe. I do not like hurting you, you know,” the woman simpers, “but I will order Burtrum to do so. This is very important to me. Do you understand?”

The stakes are climbing higher and higher with each minute that ticks by. Dick can’t really feel his feet much, only if he chooses to think about it or if he attempts to move anything below the knee, and the pulsating in his stomach isn’t a fantastic sign. He hadn’t originally thought the blows were enough to cause actual harm, maybe a few dark, dark bruises to show for them, but the sharp pin pricks in his side where he had been struck in the kidney doesn’t feel right. Internal bleeding is something that crosses his mind, the symptoms of numbness and a faint migraine building, but Dick forces himself to categorize and shelve the pain. Now isn’t the time. It’s really not the time.

“Yes,” he says stiffly, feeling his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth. “I understand.”

“Splendid. Who is the Anaconda Killer?”

And wow, that’s a loaded question to start off the promise of liberty with. “The BPD never caught-”

“I don’t care,” the woman snaps, leaning forward. Her breath smells like old soup. “Tell me who the killer is.”

Dick swallows. Takes a breath and releases it. Eyes Burtrum, who is still hovering by his feet. Trails his eyes back to bright lipstick and shimmer eye shadow.

“Kennedy Giavich,” Dick says, unsure if he really should be giving out the name of a civilian that has never been charged. “My investigations pointed to him being the killer but there wasn’t any conclusive evidence.”

The old woman taps a fingernail against the cot and Burtrum moves forward, placing a single meaty hand on top of Dick’s mangled feet. Slowly, languidly, the man pushes against the soles of his feet and Dick sucks in a quick breath, screwing his eyes shut. The pain, like the first time, is laced with fire and ice and Dick is starting to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have nerve damage if this keeps up. Never mind having to stay off his feet for a couple months, he’s never going to have proper feeling in his toes again.

“Who is Kennedy Giavich?” the old woman presses, leering further into Dick’s face.

In. Out. In. Out.

The woman taps her finger again and the pressure releases, the small scream Dick had been holding back dissipating as well. “Who is Kennedy?” she repeats.

“H-He’s a security guard,” Dick manages to wheeze out, still trying to catch his breath. “Works at a communal library. It’s where he sought out his victims. He, mgh, quit last year though. Brown hair, brown eyes, large build.”

“What else?”

“I tailed him for a couple months but he didn’t have any new victims. He lives near the library he worked at and hasn’t gotten another job since. That’s all I know.”

The old woman eyes him, pressing her lips together in what might be a scowl. She regards Dick with an air of suspicion, as if she could somehow read his mind to discern if he was telling the truth or not. He is, seeing as he really hasn’t done much follow up on Giavich in the past few months. A mistake, possibly, on his part but a cold case is cold, and Dick leaves it at that. Especially when there are more active and pressing things to attend to with the little time he has.

Reaching a decision, she raises a wrinkled hand and waves it behind her, signaling Burtrum to leave the room. Dick’s eyes travel upwards to the screen again, watching with a sick feeling in his stomach as one by one his brothers succumb to whatever invisible agent leaks into their small room. A minute later, the thick wooden door creaks open slightly, Burtrum out of sight of the ceiling camera, and a few utility belts are thrown in. The door shuts quickly, presumably some sort of locking mechanism closing it completely, and Dick abruptly doesn’t feel as bad giving away a supposedly innocent civilian’s name. Hopefully, with their tech back, his brothers will find away to escape and get out of whatever hole they’ve been trapped in.

“You said that he hasn’t taken any victims in recent times,” the old woman says quietly, hands folded into her lap. “That he’s been inactive?”

Dick nods. The sick in his stomach is starting to roll around a bit more violently, nausea taking hold. Burtrum re-enters the room holding something in his left hand, but Dick can’t tell what it is, the large figure just out of his peripheral vision. He swallows at the silence that follows his entrance, the air thick with tension. Dick holds his breath.

The old woman snaps her fingers and Burtrum descends upon him.

The blows are rapid and without prejudice, slamming into every available surface that isn’t obstructed by the straps that hold him down. It’s so fast, so savage, that Dick can’t follow the movements and prepare accordingly, the flash of a weapon and it’s strike zone too much for his pain muddled mind to physically follow. One barely glances against his feet but even that is enough to send his brain into a shock, white fire lacing up his legs and to the tip of his nose. It’s bruising, crushing force, each impact enough to completely paralyze him for a few precious milliseconds. His arms are jerking in their restraints, knees bumping against each other on reflex, and there might be a sound escaping his jaw each time a blow connects, but he can’t be sure because everything is happening much too fast and his lungs are gasping for air that escapes him.

All the while, as Burtrum continues to pummel him and break his bones and bleed him dry, the old woman is muttering, gazing at the beat-down with angered, uninterested eyes and a frown cold enough to freeze the sun.

It’s all Dick can do but try and relax, there’s no point in defending himself like this, but his instincts are going hay-wire. He wants to clench and retaliate, snatch the weapon out of those ruthless hands, but Dick’s own hands are secured tightly. He can feel the marks pulling at the skin of his wrists, indenting and leaving bright red and raw flesh behind in his frenzy. Desperately, his eyes once again travel to the screen above him, his brothers’ forms still and un-moving. The sight brings little comfort, a small and irrational portion of his head screaming that they’re dead, that the old woman killed them, that Dick killed them, that he’s going to die to-

The beating stops. The old woman has a frail hand resting against Burtrum’s huge arm. She’s staring right at him.

“That was unfair of me,” she says. “I should have warned you again.”

Blood dribbles past his lips, saliva and bile sliding out as well and leaking onto the cool metal.

“I told you at the start that I wouldn’t tolerate lies.”

Something shifts inside Dick’s chest. He thinks a rib might’ve been broken. Or maybe that’s his clavicle. Sternum. Something. It hurts. It hurts.

“That Burtrum would extract the truth if necessary. Really this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, Nightwing.”

Breathing is difficult. His stomach spasms with each inhale and exhale. It’s slow and pained. Thoughts are difficult too. His eyes remain fixed on the dull monitor. Jason is moving. Reaching for his empty holsters. Tim is shifting. Damian remains still.

A gentle hand guides his chin away from the screen.

“Don’t lie to me,” the old woman whispers. There are tears in her eyes. “I told you that this was very important to me. Would you like to know why? Why I do this?”

Dick doesn’t have the strength to say yes or no. Doesn’t have the will to nod his head or turn it away. He can only stare through the lens of his mask.

“He has my grand-daughter,” she admits, voice trembling. Her fingers tap a frantic rhythm against his chin and blood flicks in their dance across his face. “I just know it. And I know you must know it too. You live in Bludhaven, don’t you? You work with the police there. Surely you must know? You’ve told me as much, so surely… Surely you know where she is?”

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

The tapping stops and fingernails dig into the sides of his jaw, shaking him. It jars something in his mouth and he coughs, spittle flying out and something hard dislodging. He’s lost a tooth then it would seem.

“Her name is Maria Dunken,” the old woman tells him, looking, searching, for anything like recognition in Dick’s bloody face. “She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s only sixteen. Please, you must know what he did to her. Where she is. Answer me! Tell me!”

Dick feels himself drifting, mind floating somewhere between coherence and dizziness. He can’t feel his feet anymore, his heart is beating beating beating, and there’s a dark fuzz building at the edges of his vision.

The old woman releases his face, pulling instead at the heavy arm of Burtrum. “This,” she says almost breathless, the panic building in her voice, “This is her uncle. Don’t you see? You must, you must know where she is. We are her family. Family is important, I know you understand this. See, look at your brothers! You do this for them, don’t you?”

Yes, Dick thinks, a mist falling over his sight. Always.

“I, we both, would do anything for our families. This was my last hope, Nightwing. My last resort. I tried so hard to get the police involved but no one would answer. Do you know how long I searched for you though? How long would you have ignored my grand-daughter if I had not brought you here? How long?”

Dick doesn’t know. The room is getting darker. He can feel his shoulders sagging against the cold table, muscles trembling and collapsing.

“Sorry,” he rasps, because that sounds like the right thing to say. He is sorry about Maria Dunken and her poor grandma. He is sorry he didn’t stick with Kennedy Giavich longer. He is sorry he ever got into this situation. He’s paying the price for it now.

The old woman laughs wetly, Burtrum jerking in her grasp. “All will be forgiven if you tell me where Maria is. Everything will be okay. Just tell me. Please.”

Dick’s eyes are drifting back to the monitor, it’s dull glow all he can focus on. Its bright edges are just enough to chase away the luring darkness that’s clouding his eyesight. Jason is up, pacing, pounding against the door. Tim is picking through his belt, nimble fingers taking stock. Damian is staring right at him. Straight at the camera. Dick feels a smile tugging at his sore features. He doesn’t remember the last time Damian ever looked so small. He’s grown up, hasn’t he?

“Nightwing?” a voice calls to him, distracting him. “Where is she?”

Slowly, Dick glances back over to the petite and frail woman and her hulking figure of a son. They make a funny picture, contrasting spectacularly against each other, but their faces, even if one is covered, are filled with a dangerous kind of hope. Thrill. Expectance.

Suddenly, a headline crosses to the forefront of Dick’s mind. Two weeks ago, a body was found in an alleyway, stuffed underneath piles of garbage. It was a young girl, a Jane Doe, and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was strangled to death. Even now, the details are barely there, the news a similar story to all the other tragedies that happen and continue to happen. But still. Grandmother and son look at him, his bruised and broken body, and think he has the answers they seek.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“She’s dead.”

Dick blinks and finds he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes again.

~oOo~

Jason is about to punch the door for the fifth time when he hears something click on the other side.

Tim is trying to figure out how to get his communicator to work with little reception when he sees Jason take a step back from the door.

Damian is still staring at the weird indent in the ceiling when he realizes neither of the other occupants are moving.

They all stare at the heavy door as Jason carefully edges towards it, pressing a hand against the far side. There is little resistance and the obstruction that had trapped them for so long swings open. White light pours in and they have to squint against its brilliance. An empty hall reveals itself past the frame, and through the hall is another open door, the sounds of the city filtering beyond it.

Jason is the first to move, taking a step out of the small room that smelled of sweat and old heat. Tim follows, gathering his emptied belt and peering into the white expanse. Damian trails after, suspicion the only thing keeping him from fleeing out into the streets. No one stops them as they walk down the long, clean hallway. There are no doors, no windows, no other exits other than straight ahead and when they step out into the damp and smog filled air of Gotham, life dances before them.

They are free.

They are free and are forced to wonder: At what cost?

#bad things happen bingo #tw:blood #tw:torture #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #fanfic #prompt #tbh i wrote another version of this with about 10 pages before i decided i did not like it #maybe one day i'll try re-writing it but for now it's just going to be some random draft #uh i don't think dick died in this story? it's an open ending i suppose #so you can make up whatever ending you want #dick grayson whump #angst #in the good ending the boys find dick and take him home and he makes a full recovery with a thousand hugs and some nice hot chocolate #in the bad ending the boys dont find dick and he just kinda lays there and succumbs to his injuries #yikes that'd be real sad wouldn't it?#dick staring down at his broken body: haha don't die you're so sexy #dick looking at his feet: haha don't become lame and lose all feeling haha you're too sexy for that

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

Text

My ramblings and thoughts on US Election day...

Someone on our early morning work call asked me why I was concerned enough about the election to take tomorrow morning off so I could watch it live this evening in the UK. And more so I was given the line again about Trump being better for the UK Post Brexit than Biden would.

Maybe he would be, I don't know, but my response was simple. You see, watching the American election as a Brit is like watching a giraffe on fire running through a fireworks factory. There’s nothing you can do about it, you can’t stop thinking about it and it’s really concerning because you live next to the fireworks factory.

Given the state of our own piss poor Government and Brexit, the thought of Trump getting back in petrifies me for 2 main reasons.

One

I dread to think what fucking 'relationship' BoJo and Trump will continue to forge going forward and how this will impact the utter shit storm that is Brexit.

Back in 2017 when Darth Mayder was PM, she visited the White House and a number of things were discussed, one of which was Brexit. Trump's advice involved Britain threatening to leave the EU within 90 days, intimidating Brussels “with litigation” and embarking on a fast-track US-UK trade deal. In other words, he wanted a rapid hard Brexit. And he did so with 2 motives. The first was mercantilist. Maybot's plan would have forced Britain to conform to Europe’s tariff schedule during a transition period of two years — and likely for far longer. That would have killed American appetite to parley with the UK. Not to mention it would have diluted British food rules to permit mass US imports and scrapped the National Health Service’s role as a price setter, rather than a price taker, for pharmaceuticals.

Such a deal might have been possible before the US midterm elections. But Democrats made it clear they would block any US-UK trade deal if a border reappeared between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland...well shit...would ya look at this.

Who could possibly have thought it?

So whilst Trump's 'advice' is now kind of irrelevant as were 3 years into the whole bollocks process now anyway, I'd LOVE to watch the Tories and Brexit voting wankers crawl their way outta this hole if Biden does get in and the Democrats do indeed stick by their statement. Because a greater relationship with our US cousins was banded as a huge pro from Brexit...

L O L.

And yes, it probably would make things worse for the UK in the long run...possibly...as we can't reverse Brexit now as far as I'm aware, but im sick of being told to "get over it" and "concentrate on coming together to rebuild and make Britain great again" (yes, that IS the slogan used). Well, I didn't burn the house down, so you can fucking rebuild it yourselves.

And then we move to Trump's second motive for wanting Britain to act like cunts in Brexit- the fact his kindred spirit is Nigel Farage. A man who makes Boris look like a cuddly little kitten. He's a vile right wing racist and Trump gives that fuckwit credibility. Which is bad. Very bad in my eyes.

Two

Linked to above, we have SHEEP in this country. And I don't mean the 4 legged type that give us wool. I mean the idiots that merely repeat rhetoric. That swallow right-wing bullshit without so much as a fact check. That believe immigration to be the cause of all ills. That call all Muslims terrorists. That have no respect for anyone outside their little white, Nazi-saluting communities. That you could literally smack in the face with every, single FACT known to man and they'd still dismiss it and tell you that "Islamics are taking over."

The master race, ladies and gents.

youtube

Whilst Trump has been in charge, here in the UK that's rocketed, as the ideology is echoed by the Tories and other RW parties who cite him as "having the right ideas." Biden might not be perfect, but him getting in shuts that bollocks down once and for all.

So, to summarise, I sincerely hope that after 4 years of that lunatic running the asylum so to speak the votes go the right way...or should that be left, you get my drift.

My thoughts are with you, and my friends who I spoke to early this morning/last night in Texas, Cambridge and Florida who are all preparing for a shit storm.

I'm with you all... don't fuck it up like we did, please.

Coz maybe if you don't I might escape and come live over in NE...

#ridinwithbiden #us election #fuck trump #fuck boris #wiypt gets political

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iamhaaru · 5 years ago

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INFATUATION

(Fan fiction- Min Yoongi)

“Get the hell out of here!" she yelled on top of her lungs. The man who just bashed in her room without knocking put his fingers in his ears and responded with the same tone, "YAH! Don't scream!"

"How am I supposed to not scream when you just bashed into my room without any notice, PARK JIMIN?" she was pissed at her twin brother. Jimin, on the other hand, loved bothering his three minutes younger sister.

He sat on the side of her bed and smiled at her. Seeing that smile, Ji-Hye knew something was unlikely.

"What do you want this time?" she asked with her hands crossed.

"Can't I just simply smile at my lovely sister for no reason?" he questioned, trying to sound as innocent as possible with puppy eyes. She shook her head in rejection.

"Even I don't believe my own words," Jimin whispered under his breath. "YAH, PARK JIMIN! I heard that!" she uttered loud enough for Jimin to come back to reality. She raised her eyebrow and mouthed 'what?'

Jimin scratched the nape of his neck and asked in the softest voice possible, "Can you cook for my friends? They are coming over for dinner."

"Not happening mister," she spoke and tried to flick his forehead but Jimin was fast enough to catch her hand and squeeze it mildly and pleaded.

Jimin knew about her infatuation on Yoongi and notified, "Yoongi will also be there, little sister." A proud sneer was visible on his face.

"Aish…you sure do know how to get things done by me," she replied, trying to appear annoyed but her inner satisfaction was a shred of clear evidence that she wasn't annoyed.

A pair of manly arms wrapped around Ji-Hye's waist as she was cutting the vegetables. She turned around and pointed the knife towards the owner of those arms and gave him a death stare. Her eyes were as if they were red fumes burning out of anger.

"Listen carefully Jimin, if you want peace in this house then stay away from me. Otherwise, I won't proceed with the cooking for the six men."

Jimin always loved to disturb his sister. It was almost like their routine. He cleared his throat and stated, "Correction, you're cooking for seven men, that includes your handsome and kind brother." He said it as a matter of fact and pressed her nose.

"Aish..handsome and kind brother," she muttered through gritted teeth. Jimin chuckled at her reactions and ran his fingers through his hazel brown hair like he always does.

"Please don't forget that YOONGI would also be here. So try to put some effort to impress him," he teased.

"PARK JIMIN!"

She ran after him with a wooden spoon in her hand. The siblings ended chasing each other when they heard the doorbell ring. Jimin peeped through the see through-hole of the door and signalled Ji-Hye to get back in the kitchen as the boys were here.

Jimin escorted them. "Welcome guys," he beamed. The boys were occupied in talking and laughing until the aroma of the cooked food started to reach the living room from the kitchen. Jin stepped into the kitchen and greeted Ji-Hye.

"Let me help you," he proposed. She kindly refused but he insisted. Soon they both got involved in their friendly conversations and continued with the dinner preparations. Sometime later, Jin whispered to her ear, "I know you secretly fancy Yoongi." She was frightened at his words.

"And Yoongi knows it too," he finished his sentence and stood upright. She was completely bewildered and nervous. Fear was visible on her face as her secret was disclosed.

Jin giggled and stroked her hair.

"How did all this happen?" she asked.

"Your actions are very understandable, Ji-Hye," he replied. Jin then continued, "The way you stare at him continually and the way you smile upon hearing his name and et cetera."

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, almost whispering. Jin acknowledged.

"What do I do now?"

She was terrified. Jin held her shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. He bends a little to reach her eye level and said, "All you have to do is be yourself and confess your feelings to him because I'm pretty sure he likes you too." His words of reassurance gave her the confidence she needed and a little smile crept on her lips.

Dinner was served by Ji-Hye and Jin. Jimin felt a poke in his arm and looked over to Taehyung who motioned him to help his sister and the older guy.

"Let me help you, my little sister," Jimin said, advancing for the dishes. Ji-Hye just rolled her eyes and replied, "Sure, my three-minute older brother."

The boys were already seated on their seats. The only empty seat left was next to Yoongi's. Ji-Hye hesitated to sit next to Yoongi. "I'm not hungry. You guys can carry on without me," she spoke.

"Come sit with me," Yoongi said, smiling. Ji-Hye's heart was beating faster and her hands were sweating out of nervousness. "I don't bite, Park Ji-Hye," he added. She finally gave in and took the seat next to him.

They all praised her cooking skills and she thanked them back, politely. When the boys were caught busy with their talks, Yoongi bends over to Ji-Hye's ear and murmured, "After dinner let's go to the balcony." His lips were so close to her ear lobe that she felt his hot breath and that was only enough to send a shiver down her spine, making her nerves and butterflies to begin a war.

As soon as the dinner was over, the siblings cleared the table and did the dishes together. Meantime, Yoongi went to the balcony and the rest of them settled in the living room.

As the dishes were done cleaning, Jimin noticed that his sister wasn't accompanying him in the living room. He grabbed her hand and asked, "Where are you headed to?" The smirk never seemed to leave his face as he knew where she was going. She removed the grip and glared at him.

"You're going to the balcony, more specifically to YOONGI, right?" he asked.

"None of your business," she responded.

Jimin and the rest of the boys knew about their infatuations but waited for them to confess themselves.

The weather was nice. The breeze was moderate. The night sky was a mixture of dark blue and violet colours with scintillating stars. As he heard her footsteps, he turned towards her direction and a little smile flashed on his face.

"Hi, you wanted to see me here," she said, rather too shyly. Yoongi caught her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. He pointed at the stars and said, "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Yes, they are." Her smile became brighter than before when she was with her brother. She suddenly heard some footsteps from a bit far distance and felt some presence.

"Do you hear that Yoongi?" she asked, suspiciously. He lied, "It's nothing." He understood that the boys were secretly watching them.

There was an unexpected change in the weather pattern. The gentle breeze became stronger and lightning struck all of a sudden which was soon followed by the thunder sounds. Yoongi quickly hugged her and stroked her back gently, whispering, "It's okay, don't be afraid."

Ji-Hye gave him a puzzled look and said, "ummm…I'm not afraid of the lightning nor the thunder." Yoongi's face was red in embarrassment. "It's okay if you want to hug me. I don't mind," she quickly added with the intensified blush developed on the apple of her cheeks. Hearing this, Yoongi's smile reappeared.

Yoongi held her shoulders and gazed straight into her eyes and said, "Before it starts raining, I have to tell you something, right now, right here."

"I'm listening," she answered.

"I like you, Park Ji-Hye."

"I like you too."

As soon as she said those words, the rest of the boys didn't waste a single second to come out of their hiding spot and congratulate them.

"I never knew there was a sweet and soft corner in Yoongi," Jin smirked.

#writers on tumblr #my writing #bts #fanfic #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts fanfction

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years ago

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Best of DC: Week of August 7th, 2019

Best of this Week: DCeased #4 - Tom Taylor, Trevor Hairsine, Stefano Gaudiano, Rain Beredo and Saida Temofonte

This book went out with a bang and it’s only been four issues of the six!

Captain Atom is one of the strongest heroes of the DC Universe. He’s right on par with Superman and under the reigns of the government, he’s an asset that they have complete authority over. The Atom, likely Ray Palmer, has dived into the body of an infected girl to see if there were a way to solve the crisis before it gets any worse, but then he goes dark. Captain Atom tells Amanda Waller to just way for The Atom to chime back in, but she orders him to go outside and clean the mess up.

He does so, but soon realizes that something is horribly wrong. The next thing we see is The Atom tearing his way through Captain Atom's body, infecting him with the Anti-Life Virus.

We cut to the aftermath of the last issue with Clark bringing Martha Kent to the Daily Planet, crying about Jonathan as the entire Kent Family embraces each other over the loss. One of the big themes of this issue is the loss of family as there will he two big examples later on, each feeling more devastating than the last.

Soon after Superman returns, he's ready to go back out there and rescue more people, but Dinah reminds him of the danger everyone could be in if he were to become infected. He counters that with the fact that he's been using x-ray vision to counter the effects of the virus as it's transmitted through screens. Lois makes a transmission to any hero or villain still alive and tells them to all come to the Daily Planet building.

It's one of the few bits of hope that we get in this issue as we see that some people have boarded up their homes, some of the Titans are still alive and even Lex Luthor is listening in. Best of all, the transmission makes it to Themyscira and Wonder Woman makes her presence felt as she tells her mother and an arriving Mera that she's going to Metropolis.

In Keystone City, Superman and Green Lantern Canary find Flash and Kid Flash who are doing their best to stay down as them becoming infected would be a nightmare for the world. In Gotham, Harley is being rescued by Ivy, who kills the infected versions of Catwoman, Huntress, Batwoman and Batgirl. I really liked this because, on top of finally getting one over on the Joker, Harley is saved by the true love of her life, albeit in a gory and bloody manner that I'd hoped I'd never have to see for some of my other favorite characters. But they do make for a really adorable couple.

Back in Metropolis, however, things have taken a horrible turn for the worse. Hairsine struts his stuff in an amazing double page spread that shows an infected Giganta tearing her way through the city like a Kaiju. She looks absolutely monstrous with a giant scar running down her face, eyes and clothes caked with the blood of untold tens or hundreds of people that she's likely killed or eaten. With only Black Lightning, his daughters, Green Arrow, Robin and Superboy to defend the Planet, things look incredibly dire.

That is, until a surprise Batwing appears and distracts her… only to get knocked out of the sky, but saved by a returning Canary, Superman and the two Flashes. Wonder Woman also appears and prepares to cut the head off of the infected Giganta as she is knocked over by Superman. However, he stops her, pleading that there may still be something left there.

The little bit of hope that he may have had is crushed as Cyborg reappears and blows a hole straight through her head, explaining that none of them are alive anymore. While it's a mostly clean shot, the few bits and blood that do fall out feel gnarly as hell and her dead eyed expression is enough to send chills down the spine.

While the other heroes are talking, the Batwing's hatch opens and Damian somehow expects it to be Batman only to be met by Alfred. He hugs his grandson and tells him Bruce's last words before his untimely passing and we're brought back to another tearful embrace.

*HEAVY SPOILERS AHEAD*

But this somber moment doesn't last as Hawkgirl appears, crashing down into Diana's arms, telling everyone that Captain Atom is infected and that he's about to explode. Superman and Wonder Woman do their best to contain it, but the sheer power of Captain Atom proves too much as his eruption destroyed Washington DC, then Baltimore and eventually...Metropolis where Black Lightning tells his daughters to close their eyes as he embraces them, the bright light engulfing them all.

*SPOILERS OVER: PRESS ON*

DCeased has gone way beyond the gimmick that a lot of us thought it might have been. Exploring themes like the loss of family, love and hope versus hopelessness, we see these characters placed in a new light where they have to adapt to a harrowing situation that no one was prepared for. Black Canary taking over as Green Lantern after Hal gets infected is a new and fresh take for her and she absolutely fits the role like a glove. Superman having to dissociate in order to keep himself focused on saving people gives him more depth as it clashes with who he is as a hero. Diana is far more willing to cut the head off of Giganta where normally she would try to talk her down or knock her out, she’s ready for the high stake over the situation. Also seeing Damian actually show his feelings, crying as Alfred hands him the briefcase of Batman’s gear, gives a lot more humanity as he’s been showing a lot of it because this is legit one of the first times he’s been truly afraid and didn’t have a plan.

Trevor Hairsine’s art by itself is enough to sell the book on. It has a flavor of horror that hearkens back to some of DCs Vertigo stories, but also has the color and flair of normal superhero stories. The feelings of despair are very clearly shown and the gore, for how little there is in this issue is still unsettling to see. It’s all very high quality and appropriate for the story. Unlike most Marvel Zombies books, I’m actually scared for everyone here and I love it. High recommend.

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

Jarro is the best new member of the Justice League and I will not be persuaded of the otherwise.

Runner Up: Justice League #29 - Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Bruno Redondo, Hi-Fi and Tom Napolitano

Since the events of No Justice (2018), the Universe has been without Starro, the sentient and powerful telepathic starfish that served as the Justice League's first ever villain. In an uncharacteristic act of heroism, the conqueror sacrificed his life in an effort to save the universe from being destroyed. All that was left a small part of him that was kept in a jar and maintained his sense of heroism, becoming Batman's newest son, Jarro.

Jarro is the epitome of "doing his best" as this book involves him single handedly taking on the Legion of Doom.

Lurking in the shadows of the Hall of Doom, listening to their top secret plans, lies Jarro dressed as Robin! He waits for the perfect moment and strikes at Lex and the others! They're all stunned that someone had the knowledge of their location and the gall to attack them. They all think that they can overpower him, but forget that Jarro still has all of the memories of his former self and creates an energy weapon that knocks them all back, including Sinestro and his constructs.

Though things take a turn, even after Jarro manages to take control of Braniac for a moment, and Lex gains the upper hand, pinning Jarro to a wall. As he's about to lay the final blow, the Justice League arrives to save their companion!

Throughout the book, however, there are numerous questionable things that makes it seem like it's just too good to be true. Jarro is referred to as Batman's favorite Robin by Sinestro. How did Jarro even find the Hall of Doom and how did the League track him? Hell, when Batman sees Jarro, he SMILES. That's a huge red flag.

When Jarro begins to spawn more stars and takes over the minds of the Legion, Batman chides him for his actions and eventually realizes that he's had a star on his face the whole time. Jarro had been showing the good guys a vision where the League wins after deciding that control is the only path to victory after the shared vision he had with Starman in the last issue.

It's all very reminiscent of any time that the Black Mercy plant is used and while what Jarro did was horrible, Batman manages to convince him that everything will be okay. So he releases the hold on everyone, jumps on Batman's shoulder and tells the others to prepare for war.

What this book does best is simply allude to the idea that not everything is as it seems. It has little hints planted with things that only a could would say about themselves or their parents thoughts. Told through Jarro's perspective, it's good to see that Batman has raised him to be a being of hope and a cute one at that. Even his little Robin costume made me absolutely giddy and excited for the little guy.

Once again, it's Batman that has to save the day because he's always the most sound of mind. Though what this story does is shine a light on just how powerful Jarro could be. He managed to take over the minds of the Justice League without anyone being the wiser and shows just what an asset he is. It's even implied that he has a potential that even he can't see yet and I'm excited for his future.

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