#mine is about pistol safety courses

[j-a-nuary]

You ever get a phrase that materializes in your head and you're just like "that needs to go in a fic" but you can't think of a single wip that it would fit in???

[aspecriddler]

THEE Guide to Not Being a Punk Poser

Hey, so if you're reading this, you may or may not be looking to get into the punk scene, and you also may or may not be at a total loss on where to start

Well fear not! I am here with this little introduction post on how to Not Be A Poser (title pending)

FIRST UP: The Ideals

When it comes to the ideals of alternative subcultures, this graphic by @theygender (hope the tag is ok, lmk if it isn't) is the best summary I've ever seen

And if you're like me, you're solidly on the line between punk and grunge, but leaning just a bit more punk. This is fine /gen

Punk is about community. Punk is about fighting for a better future. Punk is about doing no harm and taking no shit. Punk is about looking out for the underdog. If you don't embody these values then you're not punk. The ideology of Punk is, in my opinion, the most important part of the subculture

But if you've been doing your research you already knew that. Now let's get into what a lot of people call the fun stuff: the music and the fashion

SECOND: The Music

There are a Lot of different subgenres of punk music, the most famous being punk rock and folk punk. I subscribe more to punk rock because I really enjoy fast music

Bands to look for include: Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, Pansy Division, Dog Park Dissidents, Cheap Perfume, Mommy Long Legs, Gang Green, The Germs, Rage Against the Machine, G.L.O.S.S., X-Ray Spex, The Cramps, Circle Jerks, Crass, Limp Wrist, and Pure Hell

Of course there's a lot more but those are some staples plus some of my personal favorites. You can find my personal punk playlist here

Overall the sound is Loud and it is Angry. There are many songs about killing cops and hating capitalism and it fucks. If you like funky basslines, sick ass drums, angry yelling, and shredding guitars this music is for you

PART THREE: The Fashion

Okay, okay, I had to save the quote unquote best for last. Imo the fashion of punk is the most diy out of almost any other subculture

Literally anything you can get your hands on can become fashion. Steal what you can, pick up shit off the side of the road, and if you can't/don't know how to do something get a friend in the scene to either teach you or commission them or something

Brands? The fuck is that, the only brands you need to know are Rit fabric dye, goodwill, etsy (sometimes), your local craft store, and a good spike maker (I don't deal with spikes currently so I have no good resources for them, so other punks feel free to chime in!)

Want cool metal shit? Take apart cans and turn them into spikes. Take a lighter apart and use those metal bits. Steal safety pins from walmart.

Want/need to sew something? Yarn and a tapestry needle if you can't get/don't want to use dental floss. When sewing patches do a straight stitch around followed by a hobo stitch around again and that shit will stay forever. Alternatively pin patches on with safety pins, this works pretty well in a pinch

Fabric paint is your best friend!!! Start with a white base layer and the colors will be much more vibrant. Don't think you have painting skills? Doesn't matter, you're punk and you have the audacity to wear whatever you make with pride

Invest in a leather jacket. I don't mean in terms of money, I got mine at goodwill for ten bucks. But it will change your life. I recommend getting two: one to keep plain and one to diy. Also flannels are good for diy and can also be made into vests for warm weather very easily.

Both of these flannels I decorated myself in a matter of hours. If I can do it, so can you

Also! When you cut the sleeves off of a flannel you can use the extra fabric to make diy pockets :3

PART FOUR: Community and Conclusion

So this is kind of my close out section lol

I'm not sure what kind of discord communities exist for true punk culture, so if anyone has one they wanna promote feel free

Do some research on local punk bands in your area, get your friends together and diy outfits for a concert, or just to wear. The world is your punk oyster, and as long as you or other people aren't getting hurt you can do whatever you want forever

Plz use this post to find other punks so we can start gaining more community (I'm totally not desperate lol)

[corvidstoneage]

Pt. 0. Introduction

Shortly after the 2024 USA election results were announced I was contacted by several of my friends in the queer community with requests for advice regarding firearms ownership and concealed carry. Since many queer people seem to be looking for information on how to protect themselves I decided I would compile some documents on the subject so you won’t have to crawl through so much information written by people who hate you.

So why should you pay any attention to what I have to say? I hold several instructor ratings through the National Rifle Association, have carried a gun on my person every day for the last four years, and have taken courses in self defense (armed and unarmed), combative pistol use, trauma first aid, and low light shooting. That being said, I’m not a lawyer and I mostly do this as a hobby. This is all based on my personal experience, if I reference someone else’s experience I’ll do my best to link their work.

This will be a series of short essays with the goal of explaining some of the most common terminology you’ll run into in the firearms space and giving you a basic idea of the mindset, tactics, skill, and gear you need to effectively protect yourself and the people you care about.

Much of what I’ve learned has been from the late James Yeager of Tactical Response and as such a lot of the information here will echo his teachings, especially the focus on mindset over all else.

My own work on this project is licensed CC-BY-SA 4.0. Other’s work is attributed and used under US Code Title 17 Chapter 1 Section 107 for nonprofit scholarly use.

“But Corvid,” you say, “I don’t want to wait for you to write a series of essays. I want answers now.” Fine. Let’s talk about safety.

There are either three or four rules for safe gun handling depending on who you ask. Since I’m not operating in my capacity as an NRA instructor there are four.

As written by Jeff Cooper, they are:

1.All guns are always loaded Even if they are not, treat them as if they are.

2.Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy. (For those who insist that this particular gun is unloaded, see Rule 1.)

3.Keep your finger off the trigger till your sights are on the target. This is the Golden Rule.

4.Identify your target, and what is behind it. Never shoot at anything that you have not positively identified. [1]

Over time these rules have been modified to be safer and more effective but following them as Mr. Cooper wrote them will still prevent unfortunate accidents. Modern versions of the four rules will be discussed later in the essays in the safety section.

“Alright,” you say, “I’m not going to blow my own face off. But what do I buy?”

There is a great deal of consternation in the firearm community about the optimal carry gun, and we will discuss some of that in a later essay. If you are absolutely determined to get a gun right now this second, here’s what you should get:

1. A Glock 19 as it comes from the factory, no fancy doodads and add-on’s.

2. At least two factory Glock magazines, the third party mags break too easily (most handguns will come with two magazines anyway)

3. A solidly built, kydex holster that fully covers the trigger guard (mine is from NSR tactical but there are plenty of reputable manufacturers)

4. A sturdy belt designed to carry a gun. No, your super cool graphic canvas one from Hot Topic won’t work (Galco Gunleather is the industry standard. Just make sure it’s sturdy and specifically designed to carry a gun)

5. Enough quality hollow point ammunition to fill both magazines (9mm 115 gr. JHP. Show the dude at the counter. He knows what it means. We’ll talk about it in a later essay. Speer Gold Dot is the industry standard here)

6. Training from a reputable source (Cousin Billy who was in the army knows just enough to get you hurt, I promise. We’ll talk about training companies in, you guessed it, a later essay)

[1] https://www.gunsite.com/about-lt-col-jeff-cooper/

[draw-you-coward]

“I think Marjory is asking me out on a date,” Roza says one afternoon.

“Hm?” Trahearne looks up from his magazine (one of the ones they have stolen from various dock waiting areas worldwide to grow their collection, of course). “Oh, where to?”

“A. Coffee shop?” Roza wrinkles his nose in confusion. “I believe. But they mostly sell drinks there. She says I have to try it because she knows I “make a habit of guzzling down balls.’”

Trahearne wonders who is going to tell dear Marjory that sylvari have no need for that particular bit of anatomy. “You should go,” he suggests, not bothering to question what Roza thinks a ‘date’ is. He has long since learned that lesson. “It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe.” Roza scratches the back of his neck. He tucks in his chin, looking at Trahearne with large black eyes. “You would not be there, though.”

Trahearne laughs. His beloved puts on an affronted expression, which he is in no hurry to soothe. “Your antisocial habits have turned you into a rabbit afraid to leave its burrow without a friend,” he says with a smile. “You’ll be fine, darling.”

“You know I’m not good with little shops,” Roza mutters.

“Marjory will be there with you. Besides, if it all goes pistils-up you two can run a good round of shenanigans together. You’d enjoy that.”

Roza sighs. “That… is precisely what I do not want to do, although I appreciate your vote of confidence.” He shoots out a sidelong glance that Trahearne only smiles tranquilly to. “This sort of thing—reconnecting with her culture—is important to her. I think I am her little stuffed safety toy in the same way you are mine.”

What a cute little metaphor. “Roza,” Trahearne says, finally putting on a passably reassuring tone, “You will be fine, I promise. Order a drink with her and gossip like you do with Kasmeer, or perhaps ask her about the wedding. Do not,” and he raises his forefinger at Roza’s guilty expression, “Call me. Resist the temptation. Be in the moment with her.”

“‘Be in the moment with her,’” Roza repeats to himself. He nods, at first hesitantly and then with more confidence. “Right, yes. Thank you, Trahearne. I shall take your advice.”

“Good boy,” says Trahearne, lifting up his magazine.

“You fucking whore,” Roza says back.

He starts to patter around the living room, looking for his things and no doubt stalling. He pets Harley, hums and haws over his pistol, unhooks Caladbolg from the wall, fusses over its glamour, pets Harley again, and checks the cat treats. He makes three rounds of the house before he finally approaches the door.

“Perhaps put some clothes on before you leave, darling,” Trahearne suggests when he turns the handle.

Roza pauses. “Ah. Right.”

And then he patters on up the stairs, no doubt to spend a good few hours picking out his outfit. Hopefully Marjory gave him plenty of advanced notice. Trahearne leans back in his armchair, turns his page, and pets his cat.

[deathpacito]

merynger​:

punisheye​:

Seeing her is a relief. Now that they’re here, they don’t have to worry too much about her getting hurt if any of these ghosts happen to find out who lives here. If any of her roommates wake up and poke their heads out it’ll be a bit awkward trying to explain, or maybe they’ll just mind their business.

He’s so, so tired.

Wolfwood sits heavily on the couch, groaning. The Punisher hits the floor with a thud.

Out of the corner of his eye he watches Livio and Meryl introduce themselves, noting the comical difference in their size and how Livio’s hand could probably engulf her whole head, and then he launches into an explanation, not only for her but for Livio, too:

“Woke up, Spikey wasn’t feelin’ well. Happens. Seemed real bad. Got a knock on the door, more than just a knock. Legions of the fuckin’… undead? I don’t know. All at our doorstep. Lookin’ for him. They’re not happy. They’re from—”

He’s trying to piece together his frantic thoughts. He’s ready to vibrate out of his own skin.

“—Jeneora Rock. And July, seems like. Our world’s. I think they want…”

Revenge. Like Vash willingly caused that much death and destruction.

“Figured if they’re lookin’ for mine they might mistake Blondie for him, too… he told me to go check on y'all while he went to find him ‘n’ his brother. Seems like that little Vash’s already run into trouble, huh?”

He’s gripping the arm of the chair so tight it’s a wonder his nails don’t rip into the material. Wolfwood’s phone dings in his pocket then, and he fishes it out. The other Wolfwood finally got back to him. He holds up his phone to his ear to play the voice message left.

Wolfwood groans again. Jesus Christ.

“Little wolf’s off tryin’ to find Blondie by himself. I should just go scruff that scrawny little fuck and bring him here.”

@merynger

➥ “Nice to meet you too!” Meryl tells Livio, and means it; he has a kind smile. She scrabbles over the side of the sofa, perching on one of the armrests to listen as Wolfwood explains. Her grimace gets worse and worse the more he goes on. “Ghost armies,” she manages, laughing anxiously. “Awesome. Cool. Normal time!”

It’s good to hear that other-Vash is trying to find Vash; there’s a twinge of relief that somebody’s out there looking for him. If Wolfwood had taken any longer she’d have gone herself. The twinge of relief is promptly smothered, though, at the fact that her own Wolfwood is trying to find him as well. It’s just as unsurprising as it is frustrating. “He doesn’t even have his gun, just the silly wooden cross,” she whines. “We have to go get him.” Not that Wolfwood can’t probably do some damage with the wooden cross alone, but… “The ghosts… I heard you shooting; they do die when you kill them, right?”

@deathpacito

She seems like a sweet girl, dragged into all this. He doesn’t blame her for being worried. Even after all the crazy things he’s seen, this isn’t exactly just another day in paradise, not when it’s people they care about in trouble. 

And weaponless. 

Eying Wolfwood warily, he drops his duffle bag onto a nearby chair, and retrieves a pistol-- nothing as wonderful as a derringer, but it’s small. Safety on, he offers it to Meryl. 

“We can at least do this. You can hurt yourself a lot less with this, than a knife or something.” He knows she’ll need a tiny crash course before actually trying to defend anything or anyone...but this...he feels alright about this. 

(not the greatest, thinking about the first time he held a gun, but that’s for another day)

He sounds much calmer than he feels. 

“The dead need to stay dead--” his gaze flickers to Wolfwood again, so tired and haggard, more than he’s seen in a long time. Their hands are saturated, drenched in blood. There’s nothing they can do for these people...if they are the actual souls of those who were lost, then. 

“I’ll go get them. Baby Wolf, baby Vash. You guys keep calling them, get them to answer. This has to stay as home base.” 

The rest, to him, the mystery-- maybe he isn’t very smart, he’s never been one for all that strategy, unless it meant living, unless it meant making Mas-- Chapel proud. 

“These things’ll stay dead if you pop them.” 

@punisheye​

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[antisociallilbrat]

Lover Of Mine

Read on Ao3

Rating: T

Gift for @derrydeer

Summary: Of course the losers fell in love with him. He was the sun and them but the susceptible planets. The thing about being in love with Bill Denbrough though, it hurts.

Bill could be an enigma, even to the ones who’ve known him the longest.

Or my second and unexpected work for the Fourth Poly Losers Exchange

Warnings and Prompt under cut

Warnings: Minor disordered eating, Cigarette use and brief drunkenness

-

Prompt: “Six times Bill left them, and the time he stayed” 5 to 1, ending in each one of his partners showing him how much they love him

-

At one point in each of the Losers’ lives, they realized they had fallen in love with Bill Denbrough. And who could blame them? It’s easy to fall in love with someone who’s brave enough to stand tall, stutter and bolden blue-eyed, and stare the Devil down. He did that, and he brought all of them back to safety because he was him. Bill was brave but more importantly he had this way about making someone feel seen.

When you were having a conversation with Bill Denbrough, he wasn’t looking at the color or the weight of your skin. He could care less if you wheezed on every breath or didn’t know how to take a breath when talking. He didn’t judge you based on what rumors had been spoken by the adults and mean kids alike, he only cared what you  were  saying.  Talking to Bill Denbrough made you feel like you could face the mightiest of dragons and jump off the highest of cliffs.

Of course, the Losers fell in love with him. He was the sun and them but the orbiting planets. The thing about being in love with Bill Denbrough though, it hurts.

Bill could be an enigma, even to the ones who’ve known him the longest. The inner working of Bill’s mind was more complicated than one would guess at first glance. As much bravery was stored there, there was as much guilt. A feeling that haunted him, constantly constricted around his chest and crushing his ribs, so intense he could feel it in the hollows of his bones.

It tightened every time the sunlight glinted off of the scars that haloed Stan’s face. It itched in the back of his teeth every time he watched Eddie scrub raw at his hands, trying to get the sewage he still saw from underneath his nails. It threatened to drown him every time Mike would flinch at any sound of a bang, the sound of the bolt pistol still ringing in his ears.

To Bill Denbrough, he considered himself unlovable. What kind of person leads his friends into the depths of the sewers chasing the ghost of his little brother? He’s the reason they will never be whole again, their missing pieces lost beneath the gravel of Derry. Was the price of winning worth the cost? Most days he’s not sure.

The Losers loved Bill, but he couldn’t even love himself so how could he ever be who they needed him to be? So he distanced himself the moment they got to college. It was more painful than guzzling push pins, but it would be better this way for them. College was supposed to be their glory years anyways, they would hardly notice him missing.

From a distance he watched them start to love each other in a way he could only dream of being a part of. He’d spot them across campus, Ben and Richie holding hands, or at parties, Bev, Stan, and Richie doing shots, and  laughing.  In the library he’d see Mike and Eddie hunched over the same book, reading together, smiling. He was so happy for them even though it tore him up inside. It was just better this way he’d remind himself, they don’t need him.

-

It pained them to watch Bill separate himself from them. They weren’t complete without him, like a train with no engine, but trying to have a conversion with Bill Denbrough nowadays is like trying to capture rising smoke with your fingertips. Maybe it would make them feel better if they saw him having fun, make it hurt less if they knew that Bill leaving wasn't because he didn’t love them. It was the years of guilt, of him never letting anyone inside that festered to a boiling point. They knew he loved them, he just wouldn’t allow himself to be with them.

Ben is the only one out of the group who still gets to see him regularly. They share English 101. Ben sits in the front and Bill sits all the way in the back, purposely making it hard for Ben to see him. Bill always slips into class at the last minute and is always the first one out the doors when it’s over. It kind of hurts Ben’s feelings, does he really think that he’s going to confront him in front of everyone?

He sometimes will steal glances at him, just needing reassurance that Bill’s still real. He almost regrets it each time. Bill is all sharp angles now, cheeks gaunt and his collarbones poke out of t-shirts, and he wonders when was the last time Bill ate something other than vending machine chips. There are purple eye bags under what are now dull blue eyes and makes Ben want to help, but Bill won’t look at him. Bill doesn’t look at anyone in the class, which incites the Professor's rage one day.

“Mr. Denbrough! Are you wasting your money on a spot to daydream or do you actually plan to learn something in this class?!” Professor Todd booms.

Ben flinches, but when he looks back at Bill, because he has to check on him, he smiles. Bill is staring down at the Professor, his lower lip trembling. Not in fear, no, Ben knows this, but in anger. It’s the first emotion he’s seen Bill have since coming to school. The Professor smirks, raising his eyebrows, mistaking his look of defiance for a look of a boy on the verge of tears. Ben watches with bated breath…only for Bill to slump back in his seat with a “Sorry Pr-Professor.”

The class resumes but Ben can’t tear his eyes away, unbelieving what he just witnessed. For the first time, Ben doesn’t take complete notes in class, his mind running away from what’s going on around him in the room. All the way back to the sewers.

When the Professor excuses them after class, Ben bolts out the door and after Bill. He can’t let him get away, not this time.

“Bill! Bill, wait up!” he shouts, apologizing to the people he accidentally knocks into.

For a brief moment, he gets scared that Bill is going to disappear into the crowd, that he’s going to  ignore him. But Bill is still Bill and very reluctantly he stops. He leans against the hallway’s wall and stares at the toes of his converse. They still have the smiley faces Richie drew on them during their junior year of high school.

Ben is giddy when he catches up to Bill, he doesn’t even care that he won’t look at him, it’s just nice to be back in his presence. That is until he realizes he had no plan when he chased Bill after class. “I’m sorry about Professor Todd.” There’s no need for him to apologize about what had happened in class, but he just needs an excuse to talk to Bill.

Bill glances up and those blue eyes still take the breath out of Ben’s lungs. “It’s okay, Professor Tuh-Todd is d-dick.”

“He is, isn’t he,” he agrees, a smile cracking across his face. Bill starts to shuffle on his feet like he’s fighting the urge to walk away and Ben is just not ready for that yet, “So um…we have that poetry due next week, and I was thinking that if you wanted to I could help you out,” Bill shoots him a look he can’t read, “Only if you wanted too though! I know you struggle with poetry, not that you’re bad at it of course! It’s just you used to always complain about it and writing fiction was always-”

“It’s fine Ben,” he huffs, amusement playing in his voice. Ben was rambling, and Bill didn’t mind, he never minded, and the small smile he gives Ben makes his heart soar. It can’t last though. Bill’s small smile drops almost as fast as it came, “I already have my puh-poem done, thanks any-anyways.” Bill pushes off the wall and leaves, turning his back to Ben.

Helplessly he watches their fearless leader disappear into the crowd.

-

When Richie sees Bill for the first time in two months it’s a complete accident. It wasn’t like he was looking for him, not like the others discreetly and constantly do in the crowds around campus. Because if Richie’s being honest, he’s angry at Bill.

He hates Bill for having a savior complex and he hates how the others hurt because they miss him so. Most importantly and selfishly he hates Bill for leaving him. They were the dynamic duo. Batman and Robin, to which they had many arguments over who was who.

So Richie being Richie, he tried to forget that Bill even existed when Bill started distancing himself from them. It didn’t work. Instead, he always imagined that when he finally did see Bill again, they were going to fight it out. It’s how they handled things when they were younger. That doesn’t happen, because like mentioned earlier, he didn’t plan on seeing Bill when he did.

He was out with some friends from his Theater Arts class, and not the losers for once. It was late on a Saturday night and they had just left a bar, heading down the twenty-four hour burger joint on campus. Richie was painfully sober because he was tonight's designated driver. Which was fine! He honestly didn’t mind, but as the drunks were ordering their grease, he really needed a cigarette so he snuck away outside.

Behind the building was a bench, a smoke break area for the workers. It was empty except for one guy leaning against the bench, trying to get his cigarette lit with a shitty lighter. Richie didn’t pay him much attention as he lit his own, but after watching the poor guy struggle a little longer, he takes pity on him.

“Here man,” he reaches over, offering his lighter. The lighter with faded musical notes printed on it, the one he bummed from Bill after senior prom and never gave back.

The worker takes it with a small “Thanks” and lights his cigarette.

In the amber glow of the burning end of the now-lit cigarette, Richie realizes the man is Bill under the white paper burger joint hat at the same time Bill notices the design on the lighter. Bill stares very hard at the lighter, and it’s a good thing Richie is stunned because otherwise, he’d be demanding Bill to at least look at him. In his stupor, he just stares at Bill as if he’s seen a ghost until Bill finally gathers his balls to look at him.

The air is tense and heavy between them, their cigarettes between their fingers momentarily forgotten. Both waiting on the other to make the first move. A toss-up between the two, Big Bill versus the Trashmouth.

This time it’s Richie, “You work here now? Can’t imagine that helps you get your dick wet.”

It’s a lame joke but at least it chips away at some of the tension in the air. Bill doesn’t laugh but the corners of his mouth twitch up and Richie thinks how he misses Bill’s smile with a desperation. He hates this, things were never awkward with Bill before. Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, reminding Richie to do the same. “It’s extra cuh-cash and I work the gruh-graveyard shift anyways.” Richie knows that’s all the explanation he’s getting.

“Well, you’re cute in your little paper hat.”

A brief chuckle escapes Bill’s lips before he reigns it back in, as if he’s not allowed to laugh anymore. “Beep beep Richie.”

Richie doesn’t say anything else and the two settle into silence, smoking their cigarettes. He wonders if Bill ever stopped smoking his shitty menthol cigarettes but they’ve become a staple of Bill’s smell and he thinks he’ll miss them if Bill has. Any other loser right now would be trying to talk to Bill, maybe begging him to come back. Not him, he’s a simple man and he’s just happy to share this time with Bill. The fact that Bill didn’t bolt the moment he saw him is a win in his book.

As Bill snubs out the end of his cigarette as he checks his wrist watch and sighs, “My bruh-breaks over…sorry,” and turns to head back inside through the building's back door.

“Hey, Bill!” The words slip out before he can stop them, “I have to drive everyone home but after I can always come back. Whadda ya say? Me an’ you go dicking around town?”

Bill looks over his shoulder, and he can see he’s got that furrowed eyebrow of his. It always means Bill’s thinking long and hard and it used to lead to some pretty awesome adventures. Now it just leads to heartbreak, “I can’t Rich.” Richie's shoulders slump, at least he tried. “Hey Trashmouth!” he shouts from where he’s opening the door, and when Richie looks up, Bill tosses the lighter right at his chest. Richie catches it before it hits the ground, “Tuh-take care of yourself,” Bill tells him before the door closes behind him.

“You too Big Bill.” That's the last time Richie uses that lighter.

-

Maybe it was because Ben had told them what happened with Professor Todd, or maybe it’s because Richie told her he saw Bill last week with his eyes glazed over with tears he refused to let fall, but she’s not surprised when she sees Bill. She was expecting to run into him sooner than later.

This time comes when she sees him in the hall between classes, making his way into the hall’s gender-neutral bathroom. The front of his pants and bottom of his shirt is soaked as if Bill spilled his morning coffee into his lap. Bill was always a clutz. She has no qualms about following him in there.

Bill doesn't notice the door open, too busy yanking paper towels out of the dispenser, dabbing at the wet stain. The unfortunate stain makes it look like he pissed himself, and there’s a blush steadily rising on the top of Bill’s cheeks, which are more sunken in than she remembers. Ben and Richie were right, Bill looks bad.

“It helps if you damp the paper towel first.”

Bill jumps and drops the wad of coffee-soaked paper towels in his hand. He looks at her in the mirror, not unlike how a prey animal eyes a looming predator. How did things get so messed up?

“Just, here,” she huffs, going to grab her own handful of paper towels, this time dampening them and wringing them out. She holds them out to him, not wanting to cross any lines by touching him. Not that long ago Bill would scoop her up and spin her around till they were both giddy with laughter.

Hesitantly Bill takes them and starts dabbing at his pants, “Thanks B-Bev.” God, it feels so nice to hear him say her name.

“If you damp the paper towel it’ll clean away the sugar so that you’re not sticky when it dries,” she gives him an explanation he didn’t ask for, “Your pants are probably going to be damp for the rest of the day though.”

He grimaces, “Gruh-great.”

Without a second thought she drops her backpack and shrugs off her pastel green sweater, thankful she decided to wear one of Richie’s band tees underneath, “Here, you can tie this around your waist.”

“I-, It’s fine Bev. Th-Thank you, but it’s not the fuh-first time I’ve spuh-spilled coffee on me.”

She smiles, “I know, and it’s not the last time you will,” she holds the sweater against his chest, the back of knuckles rap against his breast bone. Bill looks at the sweater, guilt bleeding into his blue eyes. “Bill please, I really don’t mind. You can just return it later, okay?!” She pleads. She needs Bill to let her do this for him, things can’t continue the way they have been, things can't continue being this messed up.

Bill shushes her gently and grabs the back of her hand, the one currently against his chest. His eyes are glazed and Bev can feel her tears running down her cheeks too, God, this is so fucking fucked up! “Bevie, I cuh-can’t,” he chokes out. Bill drops her and brushes past her, leaving her to watch the reflection of him in the mirror flee, her sweater still fisted in her hand.

-

Mike has always loved the library, so it made sense for him to work as an aid at the university's. He likes to brag and say he has the best job out of all the losers.  (He’s the only one with a job.)

During his shift, every Tuesday and Thursday evening, it’s pretty much his own show. He gets to shelve books, and set aside any new history book Ben may take an interest in, or sit behind the desk and get his school work done, the occasional student needing help locating a book. Sometimes one of his Losers will drop him off a snack, or just hang around. The only time Richie comes into the library is when he’s working, the other librarian, an old lady named Patricia, kicks Richie out every time she’s working. Richie is willing to behave for Mike.

Mike’s pushing his cart of books down the aisle, shelving when he sees him. The book shelves aren’t too tall, but the top shelf can be tricky for people on the shorter side. Bill’s on his tippy toes, and he still can’t reach the book he desires. There’s a step stool a little further down the aisle and either Bill didn’t see it, or he’s being stubborn. Mike knows which is more likely.

He chuckles to himself and goes up to him, pulling the book Bill was reaching for down with ease. “Here ya go,” he passes the book to Bill.

Bill is startled, but the tension in his shoulders relaxes when he sees it’s just Mike. “Thanks, Mikey, I cuh-could’ve got it th-though” he pulls the book to his chest, subconsciously putting up a barrier between them.

“Yeah, I know Bill.” He’s smiling at him, he’s missed Bill just as much as everyone else has, but he knows Bill will come back to them when he’s ready. “So you’re deciding to read Little Women?” he gestures to the book in Bill’s hands.

“Oh, yeah. I wuh-watched the m-movie the other night when I was h-h-high.”

Mike doesn’t want to wonder how often Bill’s getting high nowadays. “Eddie and I read it together last month. Eddie fell in love with Laurie, almost made me jealous.” A brief flash of pain crosses Bill’s face and he regrets bringing up Eddie. He changes the subject, “I heard you were working at the burger joint on campus, how’s that going?”

“It’s uh, well it suh-sucks,” Bill breathes out, never having been able to lie to Mike but still thankful for the change of subject, “It puh-pays decent and so-sometimes they let me eat luh-leftovers.”

“Oh Billy,” He whispers, he doesn’t mean to let it slip and he sees the dread filling Bill’s eyes. They both know how this will play out, it’s inevitable. Just like what happened to them in the sewers, fate is a train barreling towards them at full speed and they can’t jump off the tracks. Best to get it over with, “You know if you want a different job, I can convince the boss lady to give you one here. You’d enjoy it a lot better.”

Bill regards him with sympathy, “Uh yeah Mikey, I’ll thu-think about it,” they both know he’s not going to, “I th-think I’m g-g-gonna go check this out, go see how hot Luh-Laurie is.” He steps around him, and his shoulder barely brushes Mike’s bicep. He gets the delirious idea to scoop Bill up in his arms, hold on to him and never let go, and take him back home to the Losers because then everything would be okay. They’d be complete.

He doesn't give in to temptation and watches Bill disappear out of the aisle, taking a little piece of him stuffed inside the pages of Little Women.

-

Stanley Uris is very aware that he is being watched right now, and he’s very aware that those eyes belong to one Bill Denbrough.

It’s Sunday evening, and all the other losers were busy studying or doing homework. (“We can’t all be perfect like you, boy scout,” Richie had grumbled at him. Stan kissed him on his forehead for his troubles.) Looking for something busy himself, he decided to pay the park a visit to birdwatch. Usually, birdwatching was reserved for Saturday mornings, with Bev accompanying him. She didn’t watch the birds, and would rather opt to curl into his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder to take a morning nap. He didn’t mind. Besides, Bill was the one who would go birdwatching with him but Bill has decided that he’s unlovable.

Bill’s hand is flitting across the page of the open sketchbook in his lap. He’s sitting on the bench across the way, probably assuming that Stan is too busy looking for a Garbler or a Finch. No, Stan saw him. He knows the feeling of being watched all too well, that fucking clown. What is Bill drawing now? Are his hands still perpetually stained in ink? He longs to know these simple things.

Every glance of those blue eyes on him feels like they’re burrowing into his skin. Stan keeps looking through his binoculars. There’s a Blue Jay up in the tree, a piece of hay in its beak. It jumps from branch to branch before flying down to the ground. It hops a few times until it lands a few feet in front of worn converse.  Shit.

He probably looks like a dork staring at Bill through his binoculars, but Bill’s never been one to think such things, especially about the Losers. Stan drops his binoculars and they both stare at one another, unable to move. It’s like they are trapped in this hopeless purgatory, invisible to outsiders. He plays with the idea of just getting up and leaving, because his heart may just break again if he talks to Bill. The Losers have spent too long putting him back together.

Bill moves first, surprisingly, and it’s not away like Stan was expecting. He approaches Stan’s bench slowly, and Stan watches him approach with a look of contempt. Bill stands awkwardly in front of him, fiddling with the frayed edges of his now-closed sketchbook. What fills the pages of it? Is it still the Losers or have more monstrous memories taken their place? Or to Bill, are they one and the same now?

“Hi, Stanley.”

Stan studies the bridge of Bill’s nose, checking to see if any new freckles have joined the smattering across it. He says nothing.

Bill doesn’t react to Stan’s silence, he’s too busy doing his own studying of the silver scars that line Stan’s face. Stan and Bill were in a relationship of sorts before Bill distanced himself, looking back Stan has realized he was in a relationship of sorts with all of the Losers, but for a brief moment he and Bill had their own private thing. Each one of their kisses would be brought to a stop the moment Bill cupped his face and felt those scars. It made Stan hate them all the more. And here Bill is again, letting those stupid scars prevent them from being together.

“What do you want?” The words sound more venomous than he intends, but he can’t find it in him to care.

Bill flinches. He’s probably wondering why he even came over to talk to him, especially when he had no problem ignoring Stan and the others for this long. Stan knows that because he’s wondering the same thing.

“I ju-ju-ju-ju-ju-ju,” he stops and swallows down the fighting words, “I don’t know. Nuh-nevermind,” he gets out evenly and starts to walk away.

Stan’s on his feet in a moment, hysterical laughter spilling out his gut as he grabs Bill by the wrist, preventing him from taking another step, “That’s it? That’s all I get? An ‘I don’t know'? You ignore me for fucking months! Ignore the Losers and then I guess because you’re bored you decide to talk to me?!” He doesn’t remember when he started yelling.

Bill yanks his wrist out his grip like Stan has burned him, “It’s buh-better this way! Cuh-can’t you see th-that? Can’t  any  of you ruh-realize that by n-now!”

“Better Bill?! You think this is better? You left us!” his throat is tightening up but he will not cry, he is done crying over Bill Denbrough,  “You left me!”

“No! You left me! You’re not my friends! You made me go into Neilbolt!”

In the distance a bird coos and there’s a cheer of someone making a basketball goal. Between Stan and Bill, it is stone silent. Stan wants to grab Bill’s hand and use it as a lifeline to steady himself like he used to, but if he reaches for him and Bill pulls away, he’s not sure what he’ll do. So he balls his hands into fists at his sides, knowing that his nails will dig into his palms till they bleed. “Just...Bill please, come home to us,” he says lowly.

Bill opens his mouth to speak but chokes on any words that try to come out. He shakes his head and walks away, and this time Stan lets him.

-

It’s Saturday night and Eddie would rather not be walking the sidewalk, on his way to a college party, and yet, here he is. According to the phone call he just had with Ben, bless his soul- he’s only sober one right now besides Eddie- Bev and Stan started taking shots, Richie is very stoned, and even Mike has had one too many. They aren’t completely blacked out wasted but if Eddie doesn’t get there to help Ben moderate them, they will be by the end of the night.

He almost thought he was going to get out of coming tonight, having to stay home to work on his paper for Intro Into Medicine, but he was able to wrap it up quicker than he thought. Stan was  supposed  to be the other designated sober person tonight, but after what he says happened with Bill last Sunday, he doesn’t blame him for wanting to drink.

Their party is at a sorority house, one of Bev’s friends Kay invited them to, but along the way, he passes the frat party that is also going on tonight. Drunk shirtless gym bros are running around the yard and a couple is making out and grinding on the front porch. Eddie can’t tell you what the name of the frat is, but he’s pretty sure he and the Losers have partied here before. This frat has a big party every Saturday night and he wrinkles his nose, remembering how the house smells like stale beer and piss.

There’s some unlucky soul crouched down and vomiting in the bushes in the corner of the yard by the street. Eddie goes to give them a wide berth as he passes them but then in the porch light he sees auburn brown hair and he knows.

Bill’s hands are on the ground as another retch travels up his spine, his knees in the dirt, his jeans to forever be grass-stained.

Eddie really wishes he had a bottle of water, or even a fucking rag as he immediately kneels down by Bill, rubbing his back. He hates sickness but it never bothers him if it’s one of the Losers. “Let it out Big Bill,” he coos.

Bill’s head snaps up to him, just now noticing Eddie’s presence. His face pinches up but before he can say anything he throws up again. He continues to rub Bill’s back, cooing, and selfishly a part of him loves this. Just being in Bill’s presence and being here for him.

He throws up everything in his stomach until he’s just dry heaving,  “Eds,”  he croaks. Bill pulls himself away and tries to scramble away from him. But Bill is  utterly  wasted and ends up tripping over his long legs, falling down on his ass. He clamors back to his feet, trying to flee down the sidewalk.

“Bill! You idiot!” He yells as he takes off after him.

Bill gets to a turn in the sidewalk and trips, taking a hard fall into the road. Panically Eddie runs to him. Bill is laying face down on the gravel, and when Eddie flips him over, he has a bloody chin and left cheek, some pretty nasty road rash. His forearms aren’t any better. Surprisingly, Bill is still conscious.

He tries to say something to Eddie, but between his stutter and the slurring of his words, it’s unintelligible. It gets worse when he starts sobbing.

Eddie cradles Bill’s head to his chest, murmuring " It’sokayit’sokayit’sokay,”  over and over. At some point, Bill passes out, and while trying not to disturb him, Eddie fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Ben. They are still on the road after all.

-

He can hear them when he wakes up. They’re murmuring all around him. Someone is laying beside him on the bed and the rest are either sitting on it or standing in the room. Someone is running their fingers through his greasy hair and without looking he knows it’s the scrape of Bev’s nails across his scalp just as he knows it’s Richie’s long legs that lay across his. Maybe a subconscious attempt on his part to make it harder on Bill when he wakes up and chooses to flee. They don’t know he’s already awake, he had some sense to keep his eyes closed when he woke up.

A headache is ringing in his ears and his mouth tastes of stale alcohol and vomit. His face is slightly burning from when he fell into the road but it feels like someone, Eddie,  has put Neosporin on it. His arms are the worst and every shuffle of the sheet against them makes it feel like they’re on fire. He deserves it, especially after putting Eddie through that last night. Eddie hates illness.

He didn’t mean to get that drunk last night. He was sad and everyone was invited to those frat parties, he just needed some alleviation. The more he drank, the less he thought about Ben’s look of disappointment, the coldness around Richie, the pain in Bev’s eyes, and the way Mike had breathed out his name. And Stan, he doesn’t know what he was thinking last Sunday. He just  misses  them and he had a moment of weakness, and Stan suffered for it. Again.

The mattress bends as someone else sits on his other side. More Neosporin is being delicately applied to his cheek. Whose bed is this he wonders? Or do they all share a bed? Before college started they planned on looking for an apartment together, that was the same time he had started to pull away, secretly filling out a form for a dorm.

“You just found him last night?”

“He was getting sick in the bushes and then he bolted when he realized it was me. He tripped and fell in the road, I wouldn’t leave him there.”

“Running away nowadays seems to be his forte.”

“Beep beep Richie.”

“Well, thank you for bringing home Eddie.”

“Thank Mike, Bev. He’s the one who had to sober up and carry him home.”

“Do you…do you think he’ll stay this time?”

“I hope so, Stan.”

They hush each other as Bill moves, he doesn’t want to hear any more of this. He opens his eyes and blearily takes in the dim bedroom, the light is off and the afternoon sun is bleeding through the window. Bev stops playing with his hair and moves back a little so that he can push himself up into a sitting position. The pain in his arms makes him wince.

Richie sits across the wall, his legs still stretched out over his. He pushes his legs harder down onto Bill’s, trapping him. Eddie sits to his other side, Neosporin still clutched in his hand. Stan is sitting beside Richie, snuggled up and protected under Richie’s arm. Ben sits on the other side of his legs and Mike stands by the door. He is in all senses of it, trapped.

“You look like shit dude.” Richie gets a throw pillow in the face for that from Ben of all people. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Richie’s not lying. Aside from having a massive hangover and fucked up face, Bill hasn’t slept a full night or eaten a proper meal in months. Aside from munchies when he’s stoned or the occasional burger that was sent back because it was wrong at the burger joint, he forgets to eat. A side effect of his anxiety.

“Here, take this,” Eddie passes him some Advil from the nightstand. He swallows the pills dry before he sees the glass of water in Eddie’s other hand. He takes the water thankfully and avoids Eddie's eyes.

“Are you going to fucking say anything? Or are you still on your savior complex high horse and insisting it’s ‘better this way.” Stan’s words tear into him. No one beeps Stan but Bev’s hand returns to hair. He allows himself to lean into it.

What is he supposed to say? He wants to stand by what he's said because it is  better this way, but he misses them. It’s felt like he was drowning and right now, in the same room with all of them, it’s the first time he’s been able to take a proper breath. “It’s stuh-still better-”

“Cut the shit Bill,” Bev tells him. Her hand hasn’t stopped soothing him, but she looks ready to strangle him, “We  need  you here.”

“I know, I know that you blame yourself for what happened to us, but please stop letting  IT  punish you. We’re the Losers, we’ve proven that we were stronger than  IT ,” Mike adds, walking further into the room.

“We’re not whole without you Big Bill,” Richie jokingly punches the side of Bill’s thigh, like how a bro would ‘punch’ another bro on the shoulder. A stubborn smile creeps on his face at Richie’s antics.

“He’s right,” Ben continues, “They’re all right. We went through something horrible, but we went through something horrible  together.  We’re supposed to be together.” Ben, ever the romantic.

Eddie grasps his shoulder, “We love you, Billy, I love you.”

That's what breaks him. Eddie, his first friend, his first love. Eddie  still loves him. He knows the light Eddie grew up seeing him in, always looking at him like he was the invincible one. But to Bill, he was always in awe of him, of how brave the little boy with the inhaler was. Eddie kisses him and he kisses him back, tasting the salty tang of tears. From whom, he doesn’t care. It’s so nice to be here, with them in this moment, and to feel the pure love Eddie is pouring out his soul for him into the kiss.

Eddie pulls back, teary-eyed and smiling. Bev stops playing with his hair and gently grips his chin, guiding him to face her. Her lips are just as plush against his as he remembers. Richie crawls his way onto his chest, providing a comforting weight and grounding him into the present. Mike pulls Eddie into his lap and they both curl into him, touching any part of him they can. Ben gets between his legs behind Richie, his big hands rubbing at his kneecaps. When Bev breaks their kiss with a parting kiss on his cheek, he sees Stan still sitting at the end of the bed, apprehensive.

“If you stay, you can’t- you  can’t  leave us again.” It kills him how Stan’s voice breaks.

He can’t promise he’ll stay. There’s still a voice in his head telling him they’d be better off without him, but for right now, the love he feels for the Losers is kicking that voice to the back seat. “I’m guh-gonna try.” He  can  give Stan and them the truth.

Stan thinks on it for a moment before quickly nodding his head, accepting Bill’s honesty. He quickly shambles up the bed and crawls between him and Bev, pulling Bill into an earnest kiss. Bill's hand automatically flexes, but he prevents it from reaching out and touching Stan’s scars and just lets Stan kiss him breathless.

Under the weight of his Losers, he’s protected. They won’t let the guilt float him away.

Things start to get better. Not all at once, but over time. Bill moves in with the Losers the next week, primarily staying in the guest room. It’s so nice to have Mike’s home-cooked meals again, he quickly gets back to eating on a schedule. Within the month he officially  starts dating the Losers, filling in the missing piece.

He starts going birdwatching with Stan again and shows all the birds he’s doodled in his sketchbook since he left them. Bev is there too now, and it just makes sense. Sometimes Bill decides to sleep on Stan’s other shoulder. Richie has dragged him out into town, solely to fuck around or get high. He’s missed his Robin, because yes, Richie is Robin. If he says otherwise he’s wrong. He sits by Ben in Professor Todd's class now, and Ben helped him get a B+ on a poetry assignment, take that Professor Dickface! Thanks to beautiful Mike, he quits that awful job of his. Working in the library is much more his speed, and an added bonus, he doesn’t leave smelling like burnt oil.

There are still bad days. Sometimes he thinks he’s made the wrong call, that the Losers are still better off without him. But then one of them is there, reminding him of why he chose to stay.

A/N: This ended up being a bit longer than I planned, but when I got ask to write a second story for the exchange this prompt got me really excited.

I hope you enjoyed it Bambi! Thank you for the prompt!

And thanks to all who read this!

[yesimwriting]

Searing Starlight (chapter one)

SERIES SUMMARY: the most powerful inferni alive, raised to see herself as a god-in-the-making, the bastard of the barrel and his team, and a shadow summoner with a common goal. What could go wrong? The giant mass of darkness known as the shadow fold and y/n’s sense of humor. 

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Y/n is sent to hustle the Crow Club. Technically it’s not cheating, but Kaz Brekker isn’t the type to let people off on technicalities alone. Especially when the one that committed the offense could help him earn 1 million kruge. 

a/n just a little something based on the show bc IM OBSESSED :)) --I’m planning on making this a series so if you want to be tagged let me know :)

The candles flicker as Kenya's palm makes contact with my face. I used to cry after he hit me; I used to run to Anya’s room for comfort and my energy would became so irritated I snuffed out all the candles in the church. Now, I just stand there. You get punished worse for showing fear. Gods fear nothing, and that’s what he wants from us--to turn into Gods so that the heavens will owe him. 

“You risk us again and again!” 

The yelling is worse than the stinging of the slap. I make a point of keeping my palms flat; the candles of the room flicker as if feeling my restraint. “Watch yourself or the tidemaker you’re so fond of will feel my wrath instead of you. At least when I bruise his face it doesn’t cost me a night of revenue.” 

I want to point out that the men I trick in the pleasure district don’t care about bruises, but the reminder of Jace has me frozen in place. Jace is good. He doesn’t deserve this treatment. “It won’t happen again, Father Kenya.” 

He nods once, unsatisfied but growing bored. “Disappear from my sight before my flesh wins and I forget to show you mercy.” Kenya turns sharply, watching Anya’s stoic expression. “Anya--we’re in need of funding, take these coins and triple it by morning.” 

Anya’s lips part; I shake my head once, a subtle plea for her silence. “Father Kenya, y/n’s the most talented card player we have--if she comes with us we can bring five times what you’re going to give us.” 

The promise Anya makes is that of a fool, but I know I’m capable of it. People are easy to read when they’re drunk, they’re easy to trick and lie to. And drunk people exude the clearest energy, something about their bluffing is as tangible as fog to me. 

Kenya squeezes the drawstring bag between his violent fingers. He loathes me more than the others. He expects more from me. He’d lock me in the cellar if he could afford to. But he can’t--he knows what I’m capable of. 

“Go somewhere in the Barrel--somewhere that doesn’t ask questions if the money is good.” Kenya looks at me, the bruises on my arms and cheeks. “Clean yourself up beforehand.” 

I nod once, stomach rolling at the thought of going out and knotting at the thought of staying here. I keep my steps even as I approach Anya, grateful for the excuse to disappear behind the chapel’s doors. 

----

This club is louder than most, boisterous men drinking constantly, slurring their words and leaning over bars. I only smile when someone’s looking, tugging on the dress Anya picked for me subconsciously. 

“Relax, y/n,” Anya hums, “Men don’t understand they’re being hustled when someone pretty is the one swindling them, and you look hot.” 

A particularly drunk man walks by slowly, eyes reflecting no shame as he blatantly rakes his gaze down my form. I shift uneasily. “That might be the problem.” 

She tilts her head back, gaze focusing on the crow marking etched into the back wall of the club. A very strange and consistent crow theme in here. “Maybe you should keep the dress on until you run into Jace.” 

The mention of Jace in that context leaves my face warm. “Wha--what?” Great. I’m sputtering. “Shut up!” 

She laughs easily, “I’m only teasing--he’d probably ta--” 

“Anya!” 

Again, her laugh is loud and bright. “Kidding!” Before I can scorch her, she nods her head towards a gambling table. “An open seat--go, you know Kenya’ll have our heads if we don’t multiply this,” she tosses me the drawstring bag, I catch it awkwardly, “By five.” 

There are a lot of things I’ve ruined--but I never mess up when it comes to gambling. We’re all entitled to our talents and mine are destruction and trickery. “I’ll have six times this amount before midnight.” 

A little cocky, but it’s well deserved. I stroll up to the table easily, comforted by the fact that Anya’s only a few feet away. 

“You’re playing this round?” 

I smile politely, used to this kind of hesitance. “I think I’d like to try it.” The mock-hesitance in my voice burns coming up, but the dumber I seem the faster I make up my money. The rest of the participants snicker. Expected. I’m going to enjoy taking their money. “I can pay if that’s the issue.”

The sound of me fishing through the small bag of golden coins silences the men at a table. The man closest to me, the one with smooth brown skin and a smile I imagine has convinced many people to play into sins for him, leans forward slightly. I let him peek at the coins, the more they want my money the more they’ll believe my lies. 

“How much to enter?” 

A tall man snorts. I fight back the urge to glare. 

“Three of those coins should do.” The boy next to me is decent enough to answer. I’ll steal from him least. “I’m Jesper.” 

I’ve been to enough clubs to know when a man is attempting to find company for the night. I hope the playful niceness I see in him is real. “Kamil.” My sister’s name is salt water on my tongue. 

The first game is easy enough to throw. The second, I have to work at a little more--their smugness is killing me. I pretend to be ready to step away from the table.

“Where are you going?” 

I shrug at the stranger. “I shouldn’t lose any more money, my father won’t be happy with me as it is.” 

The stranger leans forward, glancing at his chips. “We don’t want a girl like you in trouble at home--why don’t we up the stakes? You win this next hand, and you’ll win double what I did.” He pauses, eyeing my drawstring bag, “Of course--you’ll have to be willing to risk a matching sum.” 

Awful odds. “Deep odds,” Jesper mumbles, “Consider cutting your losses.”

Jesper is a better person than the other men here. I almost feel bad he’s going to be losing any money. “One more game won’t kill me,” I smile as politely as I can manage, “Besides--my luck could be about to change and I’d never know.” 

I hand the coins over to the dealer. I watch as the money is shuffled onto the center of the table, suppressing the grin of someone about to release her killshot. Ten minutes later, I’ve doubled what I’ve lost. The man who upped the bet is gaping, Jesper’s expression has shifted entirely, and everyone’s staring at me like I’ve shifted into another person entirely. 

“Wow--luck really does change quickly here.” I’ve hooked them. They’ll want to play again, to prove that my victory was a fluke. “Do you guys want to play again? It only seems fair I give you a chance to win back everything you just lost since you did the same for me.” 

Everyone’s quick to agree, but I’m quicker to win the second round. Some men look murderous, some look ready to play again, their egos incapable of handling defeat at my hands. 

“You came in with a surprising amount of coins,” Jesper muses, reaching over to pick up a piece of gold that rolled towards him, “I hate to accuse you of counterfeiting, but one has to wonder.” 

Typical. “I swear my money’s real.” 

“Real money can take a bullet…” Is he going to shoot it...in doors? Jesper tosses the coin easily, letting it flip in the air before taking out a pistol and shooting it dead center in a movement so casually fluid and deadly I’m taken back. 

The coin clatters onto the table, the bullet embedded into the precious metal. I eye it cautiously, beyond relieved that Kenya at least doesn’t lie. “T-told you.” 

His eyebrows narrow as he reholsters his pistol. “About that, I guess you did.” 

Jesper’s skepticism is a red flag. I need to get out of here before my winnings are taken from me and Kenya kills me or Jace for my failure. “I didn’t take you for such a sore loser.” 

Before Jesper can respond, something black raps against the table once. “What did I tell you about loud noises at the table?” 

Jesper’s gaze leaves mine immediately. “Sorry boss, just checking a swindler.” 

He--he knows. I blink twice, forcing surprise to color my features. “Swindler?” I look between him and the man he called his boss. “N--no, it was just--luck. I played a hand, I lost some money, I played again and I won some money. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” 

“You only started winning after the stakes were raised--I’ve seen that tactic before and it’s not appreciated here.” 

I swallow once, a pinch of dread making its way through my stomach. He had shot that coin with no hesitation--I didn’t even see him click off the safety. How dangerous is the man at my table? How dangerous is his boss? Everyone seemed to straighten at the sight of the stranger with the cane. 

“There was no tactic--it was a game.” 

The man I don’t know tears his gaze away from Jesper. “Someone like you shouldn’t even be here.” 

He has a point--my demeanor doesn’t exactly scream someone who frequents establishments at the Barrel during the night. “I’m only here to keep my friend out of trouble.” A fair enough response. “And I played a game and someone can’t handle a loss.”

“You should have seen her bluff, I’ve met professional thieves that lie less fluently than her.” 

At Jesper’s words, the stranger’s grip around his cane tightens. I imagine that beneath his gloves, the color of marred souls, his knuckles are white. “Who do you work for? Who sent a girl to invade my business?” 

Who do I work for? No one that has any business with him. “What?” How self absorbed can one man be? 

“If playing the fool didn’t get you through a card game--don’t think it will get you through this.” 

What? Before I can question him, Anya grabs my shoulder, pulling me so that there’s a safer distance between me and the man. 

“You’re an idiot,” her whisper is pointed, directed solely at me. “Of course you’d find trouble with Dirtyhands.” Did I hear that correctly? Dirtyhands--as in the Dirtyhands? I stare at her, eyes wide. How had I been so stupid? I should have recognized him from his gloves alone. Anya turns her head towards them. “We don’t want any trouble--forgive my friend, she’s not a spy she’s just an oblivious idiot.” 

“Rude.” 

She throws me a glare. “But she did win.” The money isn’t worth the trouble we’ll find trying to keep it but Kenya’s words follow us wherever we go. “We’ll take what we earned and never come back.” 

“I don’t concede often.” 

I reach for Anya’s arm, brushing her forearm in hopes of telling her things will be okay. Kaz Brekker may be feared, but we’re gods in the making. “Neither do we.”

He seems to want to play at an odd, power-filled standstill, but Anya and I are more desperate than him. Anya leans forward, ready to take the money from the table, but the unidentified man who upped the stakes earlier is quick to grab her forearm. 

“I don’t take losses, little girl.”

Anya. I can only imagine the horror she feels when a strange man touches her. Screw precaution. “Is that money worth burning for?” 

“Y/n.” Anya’s warning comes out low; Jesper raises an eyebrow. I guess being Kamil was short lived. 

“Excuse me?” 

The man will not intimidate me. Fear is a crutch men use to keep women in check. “You heard my question.” I hold up my hand, releasing enough energy to develop a flame in my palm. “And if your answer is ‘no’, I suggest you release my friend before your body is nothing more than a pile of ash your own mother wouldn’t even be able to identify.” 

The stranger blinks, touches the gun on his hip, and then releases Anya’s arm. 

“You can’t come into my club, hustle money away from my men, and walk away unscathed because you’re a grisha.” 

Words cannot express how badly I do not want to speak to Kaz Brekker at any point in my life. His grip on his cane is a silent warning--a threat. But what is a man’s threat to a girl that’s meant to be a god? “You can kill me but I’ll use my dying breath to burn this entire building.” I’ve publicly backed him into a corner--I’m insane. 

Dirtyhands opens his mouth to reply, anyone within earshot holding on for his next words. Anya yanks me back as the sound of something explosive interrupts the room. A bullet flies past directly where I was standing and strikes the wall behind me. Anya just saved my life. Someone just shot at me. 

“Y/n, do you think it’s--” 

“No.” It can’t be. There’s no way a soldier found me again. “It can’t be--we were--we’ve been careful--and Kenya said they wouldn’t look for me--that he purchased me fully.” 

A man is moving through the crowd. A blue kefta. No. No. 

Not here. Not now.

And why are they shooting at me? “Anya,” I breathe out as cautiously as possible, “Run and no matter what don’t turn around.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

Anya. Always the older sister. “They don’t want you--they want me.” 

“You’re not a real Sun Summoner--it’s suicide for you.” 

I don’t have the heart to tell Anya I don’t particularly care about my life. It’s never truly been mine anyway. “I’ll make it out.” 

“You’re an inferni, not a miracle worker.” 

My lips pull into an odd sort of grimace. The gentle kind one hopes is mistaken for a smile. “I thought we were meant to be gods.” 

“A god can’t do what they want from you.” She mumbles. “So you’re capable of producing more fire than most--it’s not the same as creating light. It doesn’t matter how many drugs they pump into you it’s--” 

I shake my head once, “Anya--go.” 

“They want you to play Sun Summoner.” Dirtyhand’s tone is too smooth to trust. I know when someone’s trying to sell dreams that don’t exist. “The way they’ll have you do it will cost you, but the way I’ll have you do it will be practically painless.”

Is he always this confusing? “What?” 

The question is an irritation, that’s apparent in the cold tint that takes over his practically blank expression. “I need a Sun Summoner for a business deal--and lucky for you I’m out of time.” 

“You don’t want to work with me.” 

“No,” his voice is dismissive, he didn’t understand I meant that as a warning, “But I need to have some form of mass light before sunrise.” 

“The man I’m indentured to will never go for it.” Proposing such an idea would leave me with a broken rib again. 

Dirtyhands nods once, a vague acknowledgement. “That’s not your problem.” I keep my jaw set, scanning at the crowd for a flash of that blue kefta. “After all, it wasn’t his problem when he hurt you.” 

I had been careful to hide the bruises. The reminders of my humanity. My weaknesses, my failures, written onto my skin in purple and blue ink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I didn’t until I got that reaction.” I’ve never so quickly felt the need to loathe someone. “It was easy enough to assume--young girl, desperate for money, a grisha powerful enough to be hunted down.” 

Is that supposed to be some sort of consolation? “My freedom would never come so easily.” 

“It wouldn’t be freedom--you’d owe me more than you already do for the kruge scam.” 

I swallow before I can make the mistake of telling him I’d consider any escape from Kenya freedom. “Close enough.” 

The grisha’s closer now, the light blue kefta so easy to spot amongst a sea of darkness. “You’re running out of time.” 

“Can you get my friend out?” 

“Y/n.” She can be mad for the rest of her life if she wants. 

He nods his head once. “She’ll be out the back before anyone knows she was even here.” 

“And she can take the money I won.” Maybe the income will be enough to spare her from Kenya’s wrath. “That’s a dealbreaker.” 

Kaz Brekker hesitates. It’s such a normal pause I almost think it’s a trap. “If she takes it there will be no way out for you--you will do what I ask even if it endangers your life.” 

“Y/n, it’s not worth it.” 

I don’t look at Anya. “You have my word.” 

“Y/n, I’m not taking anything and I’m not leaving you.” 

I finally turn. “Don’t be a self-sacrificing idiot--it’s not in your nature and frankly it doesn’t suit you.” Acts of goodness towards me have always left me feeling raw. Too raw. Like I’m bleeding out. “Sorry, I just…” Anya’s eyes are soft. She knows. She always knows. “I’ll get through whatever it is he’s planning and I’ll come back.” I swallow once, nerve draining from my body slowly. “Take the money--Kenya will be angry enough as is.” 

Anya drops her gaze as she collects from the table. It takes me a moment longer than it should to recognize this is shameful for her. I consider telling her that she’s doing the right thing, but that would burn her heart more. 

“You’re my sister,” Anya’s voice is lower than it’s ever been, “I should have stopped him.” 

Her guilt hurts more than the bruises. “You were as hurt as me--you have nothing to feel guilty about.” 

This is already more emotion than we’re used to expressing when alone let alone around others. Anya stretches out an arm, squeezes my shoulder once, and then takes a step back. “I’ll see you again.” 

“Yes,” I nod once.

“Jesper, take the girl out the back.” Turning forward blankly, Kaz begins to speak to me, “Hide behind the bar--my wraith will find you and take you somewhere else.” 

“Y--you have a wraith?” And I thought Kenya was weird. He lets out a sigh. “Sorry. Not the time.” 

“Desperation leads to bad decisions.” 

Dramatic. “I agree.” 

His gaze falls on me, taking in my narrow-eyed glare. There’s a moment in which I think the left corner of his mouth twitches upwards, but then he turns his head again. A trick of the light. “Go before you’re found and I’m out the money I let your friend take.” 

Yes. I’m not exactly safe right now, but Kaz Brekker needs me for something. That means I will not be leaving this building. By force or willingly. 

Silently, I turn, melting into those in the crowd that are either oblivious or don’t care enough to react to the cat and mouse game I’m currently in. When I reach the bar, I’m quick to duck behind it, pressing my back against shelves of alcohol. 

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Rescued Pt. 2 of "Against Orders"

This was requested a few times between here and Wattpad. *Familiar characters are NEVER mine!*

Part 2 of "Against Orders"

Fandom: TURN: Washington's Spies

Warnings: Angst-ish?? Mentions of kidnapping. FLUFF!! Ben adorable and awkward and we love him!

Pairings/Characters: Ben Tallmadge x fem!reader, Robert Rogers, brother!Caleb Brewster

You were shaking as Rogers sat across the fire from you. Your hands were tied in front of you and you tried not to look at your captor. He'd been drinking and holding a pistol. He was dangerous. You weren't so naïve as to not realize that. That didn't stop you from hoping against hope that someone would rescue you. As a woman, you weren't exactly trained for these types of situations.

As you sat there, your mind wandered. You didn't want to die. Not now. You'd hardly had a chance to live, always being under the gaze of a chaperone. First your parents, then your uncle, and finally Ben's father. Oh…Ben. The boy you'd watched grow into a handsome and brilliant young man. The warrior with a gentle heart that you loved with everything in you to love. And you never got the chance to tell him. If you could, you knew you'd tell him now. He needed to know before the war separated you forever. Now it seemed like you'd never get that chance.

"So who are ya ta young Benjamin?" Rogers questioned, his eyes on you, sharper than any drunk had a right to. Instead of answering, you merely turned your gaze away from him and refused to speak. He chuckled darkly. "No matter. Considering how close ya were ta him, I can guess. He'll come for ya and then I can get justice for my men." You rolled your eyes. Of course that's what this was about.

"War kills. That's its nature," you stated, "You cannot blame Captain Tallmadge for that." Rogers scoffed and you turned your head away again. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw movement behind Rogers. Was that Ben? You caught the gasp trying to escape your throat and pretended to cough. You couldn't give Ben away.

"Perhaps I could trouble you for water? It is the least you could do. I know for a fact that enemy prisoners are treated far better than I am at the moment." Rogers met your gaze for a moment before nodding. He stood up and began walking over to you. To your surprise, it wasn't Ben that came through the trees. It was Caleb. His rifle was raised at Rogers and you breathed a sigh of relief. Your relief was cut short by the feeling of someone behind you. You opened your mouth to cry out when a voice stopped you.

"Don't scream, Y/N," Ben whispered as he began to undo the ropes binding you. Caleb had Rogers distracted. "Ben," you said softly. As soon as you could, you stood up, turned, and wrapped your arms around him. "I'm so glad you're safe," he told you before leading you away from Rogers and Caleb, quickly and quietly.

"What about Caleb?" Ben grinned at you. "He'll be fine. We have a plan. My job is to get you to safety then meet up with Caleb in the morning." You didn't argue as you let Ben continue to lead you away. You trusted him explicitly. The two of you kept going until you entered a small town where several continental soldiers were milling about. Ben took you to the inn and paid for two rooms.

"Will you stay with me? Until Caleb gets back? I don't want to be alone," you asked him, your voice a near whisper. He smiled. "I will stay as long as you wish." For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. The air in the room felt thick with something unspoken, but you let it hang there until you couldn't take it any longer. Both of you opened your mouths and spoke.

"I love you," you declared in unison. You blinked in surprise at him before dissolving into giggles. Ben's laughter soon joined yours, filling the room. You stopped laughing before he did and you watched his face. It had been a long time since you'd seen him so carefree. With a grin, you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Ben stopped laughing and stared at you with wide eyes. "Sorry!" you apologized, but Ben stopped you. He reached up to cup your cheek. "Please never apologize for that, love. I've wanted a kiss from you for longer than I can remember," he admitted then cleared his throat, "I, uh, I don't want my father to find you a husband. I want to be your husband. When this war is all over, I want to marry you, if you'll have me."

You leaned in to rest your forehead on his. "Of course I will, Benjamin. You've always my choice. My only choice." The grin on Ben's face could have put the sun to shame. You both shifted and got closer until your lips were nearly touching. Just before you could completely close the distance, someone cleared their throat.

You and Ben jumped apart to see Caleb leaning against the door frame with a smirk. You hadn't even heard the door open. "I know I said I was okay with this, Tallboy, but there are some things a brother doesn't need ta see," he quipped. Before Ben could reply, you grabbed a pillow and chucked it at your adoptive brother. He laughed as it hit him in the chest. "Alright. I get it." You made a triumphant noise. "Good. Now, shoo." Ben stood with a laugh as Caleb stepped forward to grab his shoulder. "Come on, Tallboy. Let's leave the lady be." Ben quickly pecked your lips. "I love you," he whispered before being pulled from the room.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

[velkynkarma]

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#5

Summary:

When Shiro sends an emergency call while the Covenant is in town, Lance is ready to follow instructions and lay low. But he's not too thrilled with one of those orders: to rescue his vampiric roommate Keith from their apartment and get him to safety. In broad daylight. While he's out cold.

Living was nice while it lasted.

A missing scene from Premium Pandemonium, Chapter 19.

Warnings: None

Excerpt:

“You are of course more than welcome to stay here,” Allura says graciously. She sits down on her chair again, accompanied by a chorus of “HAILS!” and “PRAISE THE KINDNESS OF THE LION GODDESS!” from the mice.

“I’ll prepare your rooms, once we’ve finished warning the community,” Coran adds.

“Better prepare one more,” Lance says, and winces slightly. “We, ah…we have one other order from Shiro. Hunk…we gotta go get Keith.”

Hunk blinks. He and his swarm of hair-snakes stare at him. Lance is very glad Hunk is wearing contacts, because otherwise with that much stunning power he’d be on the floor in seconds. “But…it’s day,” Hunk says after a moment, as though this was obvious.

“Who’s Keith?” Pidge asks.

“I know it’s day,” Lance says. “That’s how bad it is, I guess. Shiro warned me to bundle him up good and get him over here. Which makes sense…you know he’s useless during the day. If Sanda showed up…”

“Ooooh.” Hunk grimaces. “Yeah. Yeah, that could…that could be bad. Really bad.”

“Who’s Keith?” Pidge repeats. “And what’s his beef with day? Is he a bogeyman?”

“Vampire,” Lance says.

“Oh.” Pidge’s eyes widen in understanding.

27 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

#4

Phantom didn’t feel like participating. 

Part of this project over here.

36 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#3

My snake is really weird...

46 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

#2

Summary:

After the defeat of the Galra cult, the Holts dig into the research of their leader, Haggar. At Shiro's request, they search for information about him and his newfound magic in those notes.

Shiro fully expects them to find uncomfortable truths in those pages. But he doesn't at all expect what they actually find.

Warnings: None

Excerpt:

Shiro sits up immediately, on high alert. “Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?”

He’s already running through a mental inventory of his current weaponry, trying to decide if it’s worth rushing out the door or taking another minute to secure a few more knives and an extra pistol. Before he has to make the decision, Sam interrupts his train of thought. “Oh, no, no. There’s no danger and nobody is in trouble. I’m sorry, I couldn’t remember if you had classes tonight, and this discovery is...well, you’ll want to hear it as soon as you can.”

“Discovery?” Shiro’s interest perks immediately. “Is it about the magic?”

At its mention, the fire magic bound to his right arm stirs, tongues of violet fire licking over his fingers once before settling back into the runes carved into his arm. True mine?

He rubs his fingers absently together in a reassuring gesture. If it is, I promise I’ll return you, he thinks in the language of magic. The flames quiet inside of him, calmed.

“It’s...related,” Sam says carefully. “I honestly don’t think it’s a wise idea to speak about it over the phone. Are you available today?”

Well, that certainly catches his attention. “I don’t have classes today,” Shiro says. “Mostly just doing prepwork. I can be over in half an hour, if that works?”

“Excellent,” Sam says. “That works perfectly.”

“I’ll be there soon, then,” Shiro says, before hanging up.

56 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I got my dream pet recently, a snake, and I really wanted to try my hand at snake shed pendants. 

I thought it’d be fun to experiment with some fandom ones, so here’s some Deceit pendants from Sanders Sides.  

Featuring Phantom, my ball python, as seen below. And yes, the keychains do have real snake scales in them :) 

See the full post

65 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[bbystark]

Sharp Shooter 

Tom Holland x Southern!Reader 

Request:  “Heyy, I was wondering if you could do a image were Tom Holland and his family (and ofc Harrison) go to meet your family that all live in Oklahoma so soulthern reader and they shoot guns and Tom is very impressed with readers shooting abilities? Thanks (sorry this is kinda long :)”

Warnings: Use of guns, cussing? idk i don’t remember 

A/N: LOL I’m not southern nor have I ever been to Oklahoma, so apologies for anything that is not accurate anon 

Word Count: 874

Requests | Feedback 

“C’mon Tommy! It’ll be fun!” You grab his hand and pull him up off the bed from your (too) lavish hotel room. 

“Love it’s only 4:00, we’ve not to go visit your parents until 6:00!” He laughs despite himself. He was lying down on the hotel bed, probably exhausted from the long flight from his hometown to yours. Not to mention having to deal with his relatively large family consisting of Nicki, Dominic, Paddy, Sam, and Harry. 

They were currently getting settled into their rooms, most likely equally exhausted. You and Tom had been together for over a year, and you were beyond excited to have your boyfriend’s family and your family finally meet. You only hoped that they got along well. 

“Awww, is someone scared to meet the folks?” you put your hands on your hip, a teasing smile on your lips. 

“Pft. Me? Never. Can’t wait to meet your family darling.” 

You knew deep down he was probably nervous. Your plans for the day probably wouldn’t help.

“Well… In that case do you wanna know what we’re doing today?” 

“Oh? You already made plans for love?” 

“Yes sir. We’re going shooting!” 

His face blanched. 

-

An hour or so later, Tom and his family were sitting in your family's kitchen, introductions already sorted and small talk being engaged in. Your dad was getting along with him well enough, and your mom seemed to be completely taken with him. 

Manners go a long way with her, and Tom was a perfect gentleman.

 Tom’s brothers had taken to running off with your older sister who had offered to show them the four-wheelers and take them for a spin. Tom’s mom and yours were also getting along famously, no doubt swapping embarrassing stories about their children. You couldn’t have imagined this little gathering going any better. 

“Are you guys sure ya’ll don’t want to stay here? Plenty of room!” your dad gestured to the house and threw an arm around your shoulder. 

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want to crowd around you guys. Besides, the rooms are already payed for. Next time?” Tom’s mom smiles gently. 

“We’ll hold you to that.” Your mom stands on the other side of you, pulling you into a half hug, effectively sandwiching you in a parent trap. 

You smile, and then suddenly remember the plan you had. You duck from your parent’s hold, going to stand beside Tom. 

“Ya’ll ready to go shooting?” You look up at Tom, and depsite looking nervous, he looks excited on your behalf. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Your dad’s smile widens. 

“Well I’ll go get everything ready,” he points at Tom “Gun safety training time for you, kid. Follow me.” 

You kiss Tom on the cheek, urging him to follow your dad into the garage where the gun safe was. 

-

“Alright Tom! You’re getting better with every shot!” Your dad claps Tom on the back, who still looks a bit nervous being around a firearm. 

“Alright sweetheart, you ready to have a go?” 

You smile, nodding. Tom makes his way over to you, shaking his arms out. 

“Quite a rush isn’t it?” Tom smiles, you laugh and bump him with your hip. 

“It is.” 

You make your way over to the table your dad had set up, grabbing a pistol and a clip. You put on the safety ear muffs and double check the gun. Once it’s ready, you go into position, aiming at the paper cut out target. 

Multiple shots ring out, the recoil moving you slightly. You slowly put the gun down, clicking the safety back on. You laugh, Tom was right. The rush never gets old. 

Your dad grabs the paper target, pointing at the middle bullseye where one big hole had been formed from your shots. 

“That’s my girl! Look at that. Right in the middle of the damn thing.” 

You smile, giving your dad thanks. You pull the ear muffs off, turning to Tom. His mouth was open, still looking at the target. 

“You-” he chuckled. “Your amazing. How long have you been doing this? God love you’re a perfect shot! A little sharp shooter aren’t you?”

He pulls you into his side, kissing you on the head. “That was incredible!” 

You swoon underneath his gaze and praise.

“It’s no biggie, I’ve been shooting since I was a kid.” 

“Don’t let her play herself down, Holland. She’s better than I am and I have years on her. Amazes me everytime.” 

Tom’s little brothers suddenly come running over, your sister in the back. 

“Woah! Y/n did that?” Sam esclaims. 

“Sick.” Paddy comments. 

You laugh and thank them, blushing under the attention you’re receiving. 

Suddenly you hear your mom yelling out from the house. You all turn, seeing your mom and Tom’s standing at the back door with dishes in their hands. 

“Dinner kids! Come help set the table!” 

Tom’s brothers take off, shoving each other playfully on the way. 

“Thank you Tom.” 

“For what love?” 

“For having such an amazing family that gets along with mine.” You look up at him and smile. He chuckles. 

“Of course, my little sharpshooter. He begins to walk towards the house, pulling you along with him. “C’mon. Let’s go help the moms.” 

-

Requests | Feedback :) 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bio-Terrorism

The gaping maw was the most imposing location on the entire planet of Savan VI. 

Since the dawn of Gillden’s civilization it had been an almost holy place for their people. A place that judgement was cast upon the accused and should they be found wanting their bodies would be cast into the bottomless hole and their memory erased from existence; a fitting end for those whose crimes were monstrous enough. 

As the ages had passed and the Gillden’s had become more technologically advanced building was built around the maw which became known as the “Hall of Justice” while the surrounding area became known as the government district of the world. While more modern facilities were built as the Gillden entered the galactic stage they still held to their old beliefs and still held trial for their most severe crimes at the maw. 

Criminals were led into the hall from a narrow walkway to a grav unit podium in the center of the room. As the accused reached the podium the walkway would retract leaving the accused on the floating island of the podium while being observed by those around them held aloft on similar grav unit benches and stands. 

In the event the accused was found guilty the podium they stood upon would slowly tilt sideways until flipping upside down and casting the guilty into the gaping maw below. Before righting itself again for the next case.

The hall of justice today was a chorus of hushed voices; its occupants speaking in hushed tones, eyes darting at the nearest sound louder than a whisper. 

The Arbitrator General sat atop a large stand opposite the podium slowly going over papers strewn across his desk.His thin fingers slowly turned each page with the dexterity of a archaeologist handling the find of a century, the thin strands of his hair being casually flicked out of the way more by reflex rather than conscious action. 

Finally having read enough, the Arbitrator gave a subtle nod and the doors to the hall opened opposite him. 

A lone figure was shoved forward through the door and fell to their knees. They wore the grey garments of a prisoner of Saran VI yet they themselves were not Gillden.

The human stood to their feet unsteadily and after a moments hesitation continued walking along the gangway to the podium. 

“Prisoner 47893″ the Arbitrator spoke as the human reached the podium and the gangway retracted. “You stand accused of crimes against the Gillden people. How do you plead?” 

Shielding their eyes with their right hand the human took in their surroundings for the first time. They saw the faces of the Arbitrator and the onlookers all watching them with their crimson eyes. It was like being watched by demons in the dead of night waiting for the campfire to die out. 

“Not guilty.”

The onlookers raised their voices in uproar at the humans words, waving their fists and some even trying to hit them with thrown objects. 

“SILENCE!” 

The Arbitrator’s voice was deafening and the onlookers fell silent like school children. 

“The prisoners stance is recorded. Accuser, you may begin.”

One of the onlookers stepped out of the benches and on to a separate platform that drifted towards the center of the room. 

“Noble Gilldren’s,” they began as their platform slowly spun in place so the Accuser could see all of the onlookers, “I have come here before you, to our most holy sight, to prove that this human is a monster beyond all recognition.”

The Accuser pointed at the human with what the human thought was meant to be an intimidating star but if stares could kill than this Accuser’s was about as deadly as a water pistol. 

Pulling up a data pad, the Accuser hit several runes and large hologram display panels appeared overhead. “State your name for the record.”

“Silva Torris.” the human spoke. 

“What is your profession Ms. Torris?” 

“I am a biochemist.” 

“And what does a biochemist  do?”

Silva cocked her head to the side. “Are you people fucking stupid or have you not advanced past the dark ages yet?”

More clamor came from the onlookers but a slam of the Arbitrators fist against their stand silenced them. 

“Permission to treat the prisoner as hostile?” the Accuser asked the Arbitrator General. Receiving a subtle nod the Accuser pressed another key on their data pad and the shackles of the human sent a strong jolt of electricity coursing through Silva’s body.

The suddenness took her off-guard and she recoiled as if she had just been punched in the stomach. She was bent over when the Accuser repeated the question and she straightened herself out. 

“I study the chemical reactions of living organisms.” 

“Do you know why you are here today?” 

She shrugged. “Clearly not for my sense of humor.” To which she was then shocked again by the Accuser. 

“You are here,” the Accuser began as his platform circled Silva’s podium slowly, “because you released chemical agents on Savan VI that have resulted in the deaths of more than 400 souls.” 

They leaned in close to Silva. “Do you deny this?” 

Silva looked at the Accuser, matching his stare. “Before I answer your question, would you answer one of mine?” 

Silva received another shock but this time was better prepared for it. 

“You can shock me all day but you won’t get an answer from me until you answer my question.”

The Accuser was about to shock her again when the Arbitrator held up a hand to forestall it. They looked down at Silva with a inquisitive look. “What is your question, human?” 

Relaxing slightly at not getting shocked again, Silva rolled her shoulders to stretch them out and looked at the onlookers. 

“Is a human or Gillden more biologically perfect?” 

The onlookers and Accuser laughed and even the slamming of the Arbitrator’s fist was not enough to silence them this time. 

Floating in front of her again the Accuser looked down at her. “Gillden’s are clearly superior to humans.”

“And how do you know that?” 

The Accuser looked at the human in puzzlement. “It is a simply a well know fact.” 

“Do you have proof of it? Reliable sources” 

The Accuser seemed unsure how to answer and coughed before attempting to regain the initiative. 

“We are getting off topic now. I have answered your question now you mus-”

“But you haven’t.” Silva cut in, “You have answered my question with a statement supported by nothing but ones beliefs. Belief does not change the world around you. I could believe that I can fly and escape this prosecution but that does not make it fact nor will it change my situation. Therefore your belief that you are superior holds as much weight as your belief that I am guilty.” 

The only sound to come from the Accuser was a series of starts and stops of replies of sentences of rebukes and counter arguments not being made and dying in his throat. Rather than say anything the Accuser reached for their pad and triggered a shock causing Silva to bend over again in pain. 

When the shock finally stopped Silva coughed several times before spitting out a blotch of blood on to the podium. 

“Is that how the Gillden do things?” she mockingly said. “When you are proven wrong by facts you seek to undermine those who have proven you wrong? Do facts mean nothing?!”

The Accuser was bristling in rage now. 

“Since you seem so keen on facts let us bring up some.” 

With a wave of his hand the holograms changed and showed footage of a crowded plaza near the market district. The footage was from a floating security drone that monitored the area so the quality was immaculate.

Out of the corner of the busy plaza came a large moving van. It came to a stop on the outskirts of the plaza and the drivers cab door opened just as the Accuser paused the video. 

“That is you Ms. Torris is it not?” 

“It is.” she confirmed as the video continued playing. 

Hopping out of the van’s driver side door and approaching the back she slapped the side of the van three times and the back opened up. Two cargo bots stepped out carrying between them a strange metallic cylinder. Once it was set down Silva stepped forward and began twisting and turning several nobs on the device before leaving it and returning to the front of the van. 

The two loader bots hopped back into the van as the back closed and the vehicle drove away leaving behind the strange device. 

Several seconds passed and everything on camera appeared normal until an elderly Gillden collapsed to the ground near the cylinder. Those nearby rushed to their aide but upon getting within a foot of the collapsed Gillden they too began to spasm and collapse to the ground. 

Spreading out from their like a wave as the seconds passed more and more of the people in the Plaza began to convulse and collapse to the ground clutching at themselves wildly. Some tried to grab their young and carry them to safety only to fall and crush them under their own weight. 

In a matter of minutes the entire once bustling plaza was left littered with the bodies of the dead. 

The Accuser turned back to face Silva. “The fact is that three days ago you entered the market district and unleashed a deadly chemical agent. Within the hour the entire district was sealed off as the contagion began to spread from person to person like fire and rages on even now.”

They glared down at her, her mask of disinterest all the more infuriating to him as he seemingly nailed her to the wall. 

“Do you deny that it was you in the video who murdered those Gillden?” 

Silva shook her head, but before the Accuser could pronounce her guilt she continued. 

“That indeed was me in the video but it was not murder.” 

Rounding on her in surprise the Accuser had to stop themselves from physically striking her.

“What else would you call such madness?!?”

She once again shrugged her shoulders. 

“A scientific experiment.” 

The Accuser’s mouth hung open in disbelief so Silva continued. 

“For centuries the Gillden people have proclaimed themselves as you have just now to be the most supreme species in the entire universe. I put that question to the test with a common mutagenic from my homeworld and released it into your populace to study the results. I was unimpressed by the results.” 

The calmness in which she casually described this horrific act shook everyone present to the core. 

Wrongfully thinking she had correctly assumed the expressions of those around her Silva continued. “My first case was somewhat inconclusive as you interrupted me before I could finish gathering data so I prepared a second test to further disprove your superiority belief and replace it with hard facts.” 

This was a surprise to all present. “What do you mean “second test”? Have you planted another device on our world?!?” 

Silva shook her head. “This time I thought it best if I witnessed the results first hand.”

Before the Accuser could continue his line of questioning he felt his muscles begin to tense. His eyes began to become blurry and he wiped them away as he tried to focus. He looked down at his sleeve to see to his horror that it was smeared with his blood as his eyes became blurry once more. 

Coughing and gurgling could be heard behind him and he turned to see the onlookers and even the Arbitrator General showing similar side effects as their eyes began to bleed and their muscles locked up. He saw the Arbitrator begin convulsing rapidly to the point they lost balance from their stand and fell into the great maw below them in a silent scream of horror. 

The Accuser collapsed to their platform and nearly fell themselves before they grabbed hold of the edges. He looked up through blood clotting eyes to see Silva kneeling over him looking at him with an ponderous gaze. 

“The chemical agent is neutral in liquid form,” she began calmly as if the Accusers dying gasps were nothing but a nuisance, “but once the liquid evaporates it becomes active and turns into an airborne agent. Frankly rather hard to design chemically but I would settle for nothing less for my experiments.

Silva slowly knelt down and drew her finger across the dried blood she had coughed up earlier. “It is amazing when one species is so completely immune to something they can even carry it in their body as if it was nothing more luggage.” She looked over at the Accuser with a look of disdain. “Your people really should have spent more time doing medical checks than beating me in prison.” 

The Accuser attempted to make a lunge at her with one of his free arms but missed as his body suddenly convulsed. He lost his grip with his other hand and to his horror he could feel his body begin to fall into the gaping maw below. 

“I guess you weren’t as superior as you thought.” 

Silva’s final words to the Accuser rang out to him as the darkness of the maw swallowed him whole.  

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics.  He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.  

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY:  SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it. 

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked  Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side.  The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer.  I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.  

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission.  The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family?  Family is whoever you say they are.  

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow.  He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time.  Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.  

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”  

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

                                                  ********************

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward.  She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 25: Sailboat

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of this Pirate AU, feel free to message me/send an ask/ mention it in reblogs/leave a comment.

Taglist: @sleepysnails

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

Tommy and Tubbo row their little sailboat to get somewhere. They go for so long that Tubbo gets tried.

“Get some rest. I’ll keep guard.”

“Mkay.”

Tommy takes off his coat and drapes it over his friend’s tired form. “Good night Tubbo.”

“Night Tommy.” He snuggles down into the coat. “Don’t let us get eaten by monsters. Okay ?”

“Of course Tubzo.”

Tommy honestly didn’t know where to go. They had been living the pirate’s life for two years at this point, but it was much simpler to find a job at port than on the ocean. Tommy decided to head due west; he knew there was land that way.

Eventually, hours later, as dawn cusps on their backs, Tommy sees another ship on the horizon.

What to do? They didn’t have any provisions and had no idea where they were. All Tommy knew was that they were probably in pirate waters because Wilbur hated riding the official channels and they had just set off two days prior. They couldn’t have gotten too far. Now to wonder if the ship was friendly or hostile?

Tommy glanced over at Tubbo.

He’d have to chance it.

Tommy went forth and started rowing towards the ship. He was still a good distance away when a voice yelled down at him from the starboard. “Halt!”

Tommy looked up to the banister, where he saw a woman with pink hair and a brown caplet looking down at him through the barrel of a gun.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“Safety!” Tommy yelled up at her. He brought the oars back up into the boat. He shifted closer to Tubbo and obviously put his hand on the pistol at his side. “Who are you?”

“You first boy! We don’t take stowaways.”

“But we haven’t even stowedaway yet,” Tommy joked.

The lady gave him an unamused smile.

“Tommy! Tommy Soot!”

“Soot?” The lady lowered her gun slightly. She then brought it back up. “You aren’t a Soot,” she accused. “Captain Soot has no family.”

Tommy put one hand up in a placating manner; but he did so in a way that provided cover for Tubbo. His other stayed at the gun. “I took on the name!”

“When?”

“Within the past few months! I was a deckhand aboard the S.S. Sally for Captain Soot!”

“And your friend?”

“Him the same! We worked together!”

“Tommy what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

The lady moves to point her gun to Tubbo. “What’s your name boy?”

“Tubbo Underscore,” he answers immediately. “You?” he asks, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

She lowered her weapon and looked at them straight on. She saw them not as threats, but as two haggard and defensive boys on a sailboat. “Underscore?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

She pointed the barrel back to Tommy. “And what are you doing with the young Lord Underscore? Using the name Soot no-less.”

“Living!” Tommy responded.

Tubbo smacked his arm.

“I won’t be harbouring rich boys on my ship.”

“Wonderful,” Tommy yelled. “Can we go now? Pretty sure you don’t want to me the lady who kills us either!”

She lowered her weapon, but kept it pointed at them. “You worked for Captain Soot?”

“If you’re gonna keep us just to turn us in for cash we don’t want your hospitality!” Tubbo shouted. “We know he’s a wanted man! We won’t turn him in.”

“A pirate’s life is no place for a Lordling,” the lady says.

“It’s been two years and I’m still alive!”

She turned to Tommy, “Why’s you call yourself Soot?”

“Aren’t we all entitling to our reasons?”

The lady sighed deeply. She brought her gun back over the banister. “We’ll find out your secrets young man!”

“It’s been two years and I’m still alive!” Tommy parroted.

“Do you boys have any helpful skills?”

“Steady hands!” Tubbo said. “I can tie a good knot.”

“I’m a good shot!”

The lady took them in once more. “I’ll go speak to the Captain for you boys. I’m Niki.”

“Hi Niki!”

“I’ll throw you a rope. Stay close.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Tubbo grabbed the rope when it fell to their level. “Thank you Ma’am!” He dragged Tommy back into his seat. “Why did you call yourself Soot?” Tubbo scolded.

“Like I was going to tell a pirate that I’m Tommy Blade,” he scoffed.

“So you decided to say Soot?”

“What was a supposed to do? Say I’m an orphan with no last name?”

“Yes!”

“Then what the fuck am I doing with a protective arm over Lordling Tubbo Underscore?”

Tubbo finished tying the knot and glared at him. “But you literally did that! You just gave yourself a fake last name.”

“Look I just said the first thing that come to mind.”

“So you admit to not thinking?”

“Look.” Tommy put his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “That name will get us something okay? And it’s not a lie. Wilbur was calling me his little brother. It’s fine. We’ll have his good word when we find him again.”

“Or this other pirate Captain isn’t going to want an enemy on their ship!”

“Captives are kept safe,” Tommy countered.

“Yeah but I’m Tubbo Underscore, we were gonna get held captive anyways.”

“Oh yeah, why didn’t you bother lying about that?”

“My face is plastered on missing posters all over the country. Wilbur recognized me instantly. There’s no point.” Tubbo sat back in his seat while the vessel they were tethered to started moving. “I don’t know how you get away with it. Your brother is far more famous among men then mine it liked by his favourite supporters.”

“Techno kept me hidden Tubbo. No one even knows I exist. I grew up in your estate. Remember?”

“Yep. That over there is just Tommy innit?” Tubbo nudged his shoulder jokinhly.”Nothing special about him. He’s just working with the guards.”

“Oi shut up!”

“What’s Techno gonna think when he finds out you took a pirate’s last name?”

“Ugh. I’ll deal with that later.”

“Young Lord Underscore!” Niki yelled down.

“If you’re going to call me that please call me Lordling,” Tubbo yelled. “Also please don’t call me that!”

“The Captain is letting you and your friend aboard. We’re sending down a net. Climb in.”

Tommy and Tubbo scrambled into the net. They held on tight as they were hoisted up onto the deck. Tommy jumped up first, and he held out an arm to help Tubbo up.

“This way.”

They then followed Niki to the captain’s room at the stern.

The door opened.

“Captain Puffy.” Niki gestured to the lady with the long rainbow hair in the middle of the room. “Lordling Tubbo Underscore.” Niki winked at Tubbo. “And his friend who calls himself Tommy Soot.” Niki turned to face Captain Puffy directly, “Let us hope Captain Soot can back the claim young man.”

“He can’t,” Tommy admitted. “But he’ll vouch that he knows me.” Tommy looked to the side. “If he made it out of the attack alive,” he muttered.

“Attack?” Captain Puffy asked.

“The ship was attacked. Wilbur sent Tubbo and I on our way.”

Captain Puffy and Niki shared a troubled look.

“Where is he?”

“Don’t know,” Tommy said. “We’ve only been on the sea alone since yesterday afternoon.”

“Was he hurt?”

“He didn’t have a bullet wound when we left.”

Captain Puffy stepped away from her desk and into Tommy’s space. “You called yourself Soot?”

“Yeah.”

“You referred to Captain Soot as Wilbur.”

“Yeah.”

Captain Puffy turned to Tubbo. “Did you do the same?”

“Yes Ma’am. I called him Wilbur.”

“Your friend’s name isn’t Soot is it?”

“No Ma’am.”

“What is it?”

“No Ma’am.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Did you meet him before or after leaving your estate?”

“He grew up on the estate with me.”

“With you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Captain Puffy turned back to Tommy. “So you admit that Soot it’s your name.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why did you say your name was Tommy Soot to Niki?”

Tommy looked back to Captain Puffy. “Got us on the ship didn’t it? I mean it was probably Tubbo’s name, but it worked.”

Captain Puffy and Niki shared another look. “Are you boys okay sharing a cot?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“You each get half rations before you prove yourselves. If you do, you’ll get full rations and a place on this ship if you want it. If you don’t, you’ll stay with half rations and we’ll drop out off at port.”

“Thank you Ma’am.”

“We won’t let you down Captain Puffy.”

[flashbang-througthe-door]

Well since you tagged me let’s do something really wacky.

19: Shepherd x Soap

A/n: Sam I've been cackling since I've read this and I love it, send more if you'd like 🧡

Tw: guns, swearing (but that's like 97% of my fics), mention of death

Shepherd slowly raised his hands in the air smiling "For once, I'm not the bad guy here" he kept his hands up as Soap slowly got closer "Come on Mactavish, would I lie to you?" "Yes!" Soap didn't know what game Shepherd was playing but he wasn't here for it "Let's talk man to man, put the gun down Mactavish. I'm unarmed, and I don't intend to hurt you" Shepherd's smile disappeared as he showed Soap that he had no weapons on or near him "Now put the gun away Mactavish, I'm not the bad guy your after... I'd like to think this is the enemy of my enemy type deal" Shepherd had Soap with that one compared to Zakhaev, Shepherd wasn't important. Zakhaev was supposed to be dead after the bridge but his name was once again floating around. "Sit, I won't bite" Shepherd's smile returned as Soap took a seat across from the other his pistol was still out but the safety was on so progress.

"I heard from a bird that you have Intel on Imran Zakhaev" Soap didn't want to mess around he wanted what he need and to get the fuck out of here, Shepherd on the other hand was like a cat playing with a mouse "First your going to answer some questions of mine" Shepherd smirks as Soap let a long sigh out he didn't have time to beat around the bush "Depends on what you want to know" "See Mactavish that progress, not a no this time" "Ask away" the room fell silent as Shepherd studies Soap's pissed off face still smirking "Didn't you lose a man to Zakhaev?" Shepherd's smirk disappear he didn't want Soap get the wrong idea, he would never be happy if someone semi cared about lost a friend. "Yes, Gaz, a fine soldier and friend" Soap smiles for a second then frowns "Gaz? An interesting name" "Gaz was an interesting guy, Didn't you lose men to a nuke?" Soap put the pistol on the table in-between them "Yes, many lives were lost...I uh" Shepherd looks down seemingly he's been placing the on himself all this time

Soap was less angry now, kinda felt like a dick "I'm sorry... losing that many people must be harder to deal with" "It's okay I'm used to it being a General they expect you to have no emotions when you lose soldiers" Shepherd explains looking at Soap and then shook his head "Zakhaev, is in Russia on Wrangel Island" he sighs softly "Hopefully you get him this time for Gaz's sake" the room went silent again as Soap slowly stood up "You're not as bad as I thought..." Soap holsters his pistol "Well give me time, who knows how you'll feel tomorrow" Shepherd chuckles "Oh and Mactavish, If you need something me and my boys are willing to help. Now go get that bastard, For Gaz" hearing this made Soap smile "Of course, same goes here...if you get stuck in battle me and my boys will come running”

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 4/9 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Roy Harper, Lian Harper, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

Lian looks proud.  “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason.  “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

***

(romina)

The view has changed.

When Romina Falcone was a child, she had stood in this very office at the right hand of her grandfather and looked out this very window, down into the sprawling urban jungle. She’d thought Gotham City was beautiful. Carmine had a story for every building, every street, every truck and car and pedestrian. The businessman who needed funds to keep his product line moving, soon to be in debt to their family. The district attorney’s office who wanted to cut fiscal corners on an exterior remodel, soon to enter into a contract with them. The gas station at a particularly desirable intersection, soon to be abandoned and auctioned off - the delivery van pulling up to the pump, soon to motivate the owners to abandon it. There was nothing, he said, that was out of reach for them. There was no one who could afford not to answer their call.

She sits in the seat he once sat in, her brother at her right hand, the city laid out below her, and she sees none of it.

“Romina? Are you listening?” her brother asks, angry.

“Obviously not,” she tells him. Who would she pick out of this crowd, if she was her grandfather? The woman in the suit, maybe - a journalist, ambitious and easily bought. The corner bistro, in the red for the third year in a row, about to be turned down for a loan extension. The restless pawn shop security guard, washed out from the police academy, in need of a better outlet to exert his will upon the public.

One by one, she thinks. One by one, they will all be within her grasp.

“ - drives me fuckin’ insane,” her brother is complaining, now, to their cousin Antoni and their new employee, Tiberius. “Never listens to a goddamn word I say - “

“Mario.” Romina turns in her chair to face him.

“What?” he demands.

She raises a dark eyebrow.

He straightens, and appears to compose himself. Much better. “Sorry, Ro. There’s a situation at City Hall that I’ve just been made aware of.”

When he doesn’t immediately go on, she feels a flash of irritation. “Well?”

“It seems that several records were accessed over the weekend - the logs were deleted, but our alert system was set off before they covered their tracks.” A dark look passes over his face. “They were looking into Uncle Vincenzo.”

Romina understands. Vincenzo Rizzuto, her mother’s half-brother, is the name they’ve been recruiting under, a name relatively yet-unknown in Gotham. They hid the real Vincenzo well - Romina had Antoni remove her uncle’s head and hands after he killed him, and since the man had been in the country illegally from Montreal, there should have been almost no way to identify his body. The city coroner’s office hadn’t managed it, but obviously, someone else did.

She taps her fingers against the desk. “How inconvenient.”

Tiberius looks curiously between them. “Think it was law enforcement?”

Antoni barks out a laugh. Romina has to agree - besides, she’s been given the distinct impression that Gotham PD is more than willing to welcome them back into the fold.

Unruffled by their scorn, Tiberius moves on. “Surveillance?”

“Plenty,” Mario says. A vein begins to throb in his forehead. “Doesn’t appear to be tampered with. There’s a camera pointed directly at the terminal that was accessed. Didn’t pick up shit.”

“Ah,” Romina nods. An invisible researcher. This explains Mario’s bad mood. “A meta-human, then.”

“Fuckers,” Antoni grumbles.

Tiberius glances around at them, faint amusement in his pale features. “Can I speak freely?”

“No,” Mario spits, but Romina holds up her hand.

“You may.”

Tiberius cracks his knuckles. “I know your family is more...traditional, let’s say, but you guys aren’t seeing the big picture. A lot’s changed since your grandfather was in charge, not just in Gotham. Meta-humans are a resource. A fucking gold mine. You can hire them, create them, sell them, buy them - as a commodity, they bring a higher return than almost anything else out there. And the scope of the industry is unlimited. The Russians are already in the process of cornering the market in Bludhaven. You could have shipping routes all the way out to - ”

He stops, suddenly, because Mario’s patience has expired. He advances heavily on Tiberius, clicking the safety off on his pistol. Romina wonders idly whether it would be more prudent to buy off or to threaten the city clerk to alter their records. It’s too late this time, but it would do well to have someone in City Hall working for them, in the future.

“How many times,” her brother seethes, “do we have to tell you, Tiberius. We’re taking the metas out. Your freak squad has been running this town for too goddamn long.”

“Hey, they’re not my freak squad,” Tiberius protests, putting his hands up. “I’m just pointing out a business opportunity, shit.”

Antoni looks between them, interested. Romina sighs.

“Enough,” she says coolly. “Mario, stand down. Tiberius, you’ve overstayed your welcome. If I want business propositions from you, you’ll know.”

Tiberius straightens his jacket, glaring around at them all dispassionately. He’ll not last much longer, she thinks.

“Antoni, when are the trucks coming in from Chicago?”

“Should be within the hour, boss.” He grins at her. Romina feels a wave of affection for her younger cousin, all bloodlust and mania. If their grandfather had known him, he would surely have adored him as well.

“Go meet them,” she instructs. “Take Tiberius with you. He should meet our cousin Nicola, since he’s so interested in the family’s shipping routes.”

Antoni grins wider. Perhaps Romina was too careless with her phrasing - if Antoni can tell she means to replace Tiberius with Nicola Viti, then he can probably guess it as well. No matter. With both cousins watching him, he won’t have an opportunity to betray them.

Once they leave, Mario comes to stand next to her, turning his gaze out the window to mirror hers.

“It looks different,” he says, sliding his Beretta back into its holster. “That’s what you were thinking about, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replies. “But I find that the longer I look, the less different it seems.” And indeed, the view is becoming clearer. The run-down garage two blocks over, its owners tired and brittle and all too willing to sign away to new management. The half-finished housing project, abandoned by the city and looking for a new developer. The drug dealer squatting in its basement, hungry to ally himself with a steady supplier.

After a moment, Mario clears his throat. “We need to get rid of Tiberius. His ideals don’t align with ours.”

He’s right, of course. It won’t do to have one of their own sowing discord among the lower ranks. Romina has made one thing clear in their recruitment process - they’re not making a power play for Gotham’s meta-trafficking trade, not entering into competition with Scarecrow or Riddler or whichever absurd character is putting on a show to engage the Batman this week. They’re eliminating them. Meta-humans and theatrical villains might be an inescapable reality of their world, but Gotham belonged to their family first.

“I’m not ready for you and I to go public just yet,” she tells him. “We need Tiberius for one more thing, first.”

He doesn’t argue. “I hope it’s Susie. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Romina scoffs. “She’s lucky that’s all I’m doing to her, after she disobeyed me. No, I’ll have him fetch her in a few more days. Do you think he’ll suspect the trap?”

“No,” Mario snorts. “He’s too convinced of his own importance. Didn’t even blink when I pulled my piece on him. He thinks he’ll wear you down, eventually.”

She nods, satisfied. “That was my read as well.”

“Is it really necessary, though, to risk alienating Susie?”

Romina purses her lips. “She was instructed to leave no survivors,” she says. “I served her an opportunity to settle a score up on a platter, and she repaid me by doing the exact opposite of what I asked. She knew there would be a cost.”

Mario looks skeptical. “Seriously, Ro, it was just a baby. It wouldn’t’ve even remembered its parents.”

“It doesn’t have to remember.” Romina thumbs over the scar on her wrist, the memento from all those years ago. “I don’t like giving orders to kill children, and I don’t expect Susie to like doing it, but it’s necessary to do. The Maronis left us alive, and where are they now? Scrambling in the shadows like rats, terrified to show their faces. You have to be prepared to hunt the children of your enemies, Mario, or they’ll grow up to hunt you.”

Mario grimaces. “It fucking creeps me out, when you talk like that.”

“It’s something our grandfather understood,” she tells him. “It’s practically colonial.”

“Jesus, Ro.”

She smirks. “Don’t like that comparison?”

“You know I don’t, but you’re right. Fuck,” he sighs. “Fine. I’m guessing you want to put Antoni on it?”

“It can wait, for now.” Antoni is reliable as a triggerman, with no limitations to speak of, but he does have a habit of going off-script, and Romina doesn’t want any more deviations in this particular directive. “As you said, it’s only a baby. It can’t pose a threat to us for some time yet.”

Mario exhales, relieved.

On to more pressing matters. “Do you know, I think it’s time we started recruiting in Bludhaven.”

“I agree,” he says, immediately. “The Russians have been struggling to gain a foothold since losing Intergang. It’s the perfect time to strike.”

“And once we deal with them, the entire canal will be ours,” she muses. “Start looking for someone to run the cement factory, will you? I want that housing project on 15th.”

Mario grins wolfishly. “You don’t think it’s too early for city contracts? We can’t take them out under Vincenzo’s name, you know.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s nearly time.”

The view is shifting, the longer she looks. The points of connection are starting to take shape, the lines of power that her grandfather once saw so clearly all leading back into the palm of his hand. Recruitment is child’s play - the people of this city are as tired of the Bats and the Jokers as she is. It’s more than a mission, it’s her birthright. Her father was too foolish and weak to recognize it, but Romina was born with her grandfather’s soul. Now, in his office, with the city laid out before her, she begins to understand how he must’ve felt, back then. She can almost taste it in the air. Gotham is ready to come back to them, and Romina is ready to seize it all.

***

(jason)

“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt,” Roy says, throwing a sideways look at Jason.

Jason’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s gonna follow up with something obnoxious, but he gives him an indulgent glance over his coffee cup all the same. “Yeah?”

“That you didn’t call me, you tool. Why wasn’t I the first person to know about this?! Instead I gotta hear it from Donna, who heard it from Wally, who heard it from Dick!! Not cool, dude!”

Jason feels a headache coming on. They’re out on the balcony outside Dick’s room, and it’s as spacious as a balcony for a single bedroom can be, but it’s starting to feel claustrophobic all the same. “It was need-to-know, okay? I was going to tell you, obviously. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”

Roy isn’t having it. “You know how Wally knew? Because Dick called him to ask for advice. Because Wally is a father. Kind of like someone else you guys know, right?”

“I did call you,” Dick says from the balcony doorway. Dani is awake in his arms, and Roy’s five year old daughter Lian is at his side peering up at her in fascination. “You didn’t answer.”

Roy flushes slightly. “Well, without a text, how was I supposed to know why you were calling? I figured it was something like, world-ending-cavalry-calling thing. Can’t blame me for wanting to sit it out.”

Dick nods at Jason. “But you’d answer for him?”

“Hell yes I would. I happen to like him better, no offense,” Roy says, offense clearly intended. Dick rolls his eyes.

Jason doesn’t exactly know what went on between the two of them, except that it happened when he was dead. Roy hasn’t been forthcoming about it, and he’s never bothered asking Dick. Clearly it’s not completely water under the bridge just yet, but Dick looks happy enough to see him, and Roy didn’t even blink at letting Lian run off with him, so Jason thinks they must be starting to make up. Really, it’s the last thing he should be hoping for. Dealing with either of them one-on-one is bad enough. If they get chummy again, he’s done for.

“You’re shit out of luck, then,” he says to Roy, about half a second before he remembers the guy’s daughter is standing right there. “Crap. Uh, sorry, Lian.”

“Daddy says ‘shit’ all the time,” Lian replies, shaking her dark hair back from her face. “Shit is just poop, really, so it’s not such a bad word.”

Dick laughs. “So wise.”

“When can baby Dani learn to talk?”

“Um…” Dick looks at Jason, who shrugs helplessly. “Probably not for a while, I’m guessing. She’s only four months old, so she has a lot of milestones to hit before then.”

Lian tilts her head comically. “What’s mile-stones?”

“That’s just a name for important things that babies learn to do, sweetheart,” Roy tells her. “Things like rolling over, grabbing their feet, sitting up, and standing up. You hit all your milestones right on time.”

“Grabbing their feet? That’s silly, Daddy.”

“Hey, it’s an important motor skill, kiddo. Just as important as first words. You were a foot-grabbing prodigy, so I should know.”

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

“We’re not - I’m not her dad, Lian. She’s not my kid.” Jason should probably just shut the hell up, since he doesn’t think Roy would be too happy about him explaining why Dani is in their care in the first place to his young, already somewhat traumatized daughter.

“We’re just taking care of her,” Dick adds, gently. Lian looks puzzled.

“So you’re babysitting her?”

“Exactly, yeah.”

“Hey pumpkin,” Roy says, reaching over and patting her on the cheek. “We’ll talk about this more later, okay? Let’s not ask too many questions to Dick and Jason, you know how silly Bats are about their secrets.”

“Oh, right,” Lian giggles, looking between them all conspiratorially. “Especially Mister Bruce, right, Daddy?”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “You told your daughter Batman’s secret ID?”

“You wanna fight about it?” Roy asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of real challenge in his eyes.

Lian looks confused, and Jason takes pity on her. “Guys, knock it off.” He shoves Roy’s shoulder lightly, and shoots a hard look at Dick. “Not in front of the kids, come on.”

Dani, fortunately, diffuses the tension by spitting up in a truly spectacular fashion all over her onesie and Dick’s arm.

Roy bursts out laughing. “Okay, I gotta say, I do not miss that.”

“Did she just barf?” Lian looks horrified.

“No, this is something babies do a lot,” Dick reassures her. “Usually it puts her in a much better mood when she does it, so it’s actually a good thing.”

“Okay…” Lian says uncertainly. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Kind of,” Dick grins. “I’ll just go change her, and, um, wash up.”

“Can I help? Can I pick out her clothes?” Lian looks at Roy excitedly.

“Sure, you’ll be a lot better at picking them out than me,” Dick beams back at her. “Be right back, guys.”

Once they’re out of earshot, Roy turns to Jason. “I didn’t tell her Batman’s secret ID, just so you know. He told her himself a couple years ago, after the attack on Star City. We were all up in the Watchtower, and he didn’t have his cowl...it was such a crazy day, I honestly never thought she’d remember it.”

Jason nods peaceably. “I don’t really give a shit, to tell you the truth.” It’s not quite the truth, actually, but hopefully Roy won’t call him on it.

“Just saying. Anyways, Jaybird, what the hell is going on with you and Dick? Are you fucking?”

Jason almost spits out his coffee. “What?”

“Is it really that weird of a question? You’re living here all of a sudden, raising a baby together, I mean.” Roy tilts his head, looking remarkably like his daughter. “Okay, I guess you’re not fucking.”

“We’re not anything,” Jason says, more harshly than he means to. “Jesus Christ.”

Roy gives him a look of dawning comprehension, which Jason doesn’t like at all. “I see.”

“Do you.” Jason narrows his eyes. “Well, fucking don’t.”

“All right, all right. I’ll cut you a break since I remember what it’s like to be up to your eyeballs in diapers and sleep deprived as hell and being expected to deal with your asshole friends like everything’s normal.” He leans forward to pour more coffee in Jason’s mug. “Talk to me about the kid, then. You said she’s not sleeping very well?”

Jason shakes his head. “She was sleeping great until this past week, I have no idea what changed. Every single noise in the room wakes her up. And if she catches sight of me, it’s all over. She just cries and cries until I pick her up, and she wakes up again if I try to put her down.”

“Damn,” Roy says sympathetically.

“I haven’t gone out in four nights,” Jason tells him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dick’s got Russians to deal with in ‘Haven, so he hasn’t been able to take a night off, and I can’t…I just can’t leave her. Doesn’t seem right.”

“You shouldn’t, anyways, if your head’s back here,” Roy says. “Learned that one the hard way.”

“I don’t know what the fuck to do, then. It’s not a fever, she’s not hungry, or wet, she just won’t sleep.”

Roy leans forward. “Listen. This is actually a totally normal, completely awful thing called a ‘sleep regression’ that nobody fucking tells you about before you have a kid. They go through them every couple months, usually before hitting a major milestone. It’s fucked, but it’ll pass, I promise.”

Jason stares at him in surprise.

“What? I know things, fuck you.”

Jason kicks him lightly under the table. Not the best demonstration of thankfulness he could’ve come up with, but it’s all he’s got. “So what do I do, until it passes? Just keep holding her all the time?”

“You could try, but honestly, I think that’ll just make it worse. Do you have a white noise machine?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried really cranking that sucker up?”

“Yep.”

“Have you tried putting her in the swing?”

Jason frowns. “They’re not supposed to sleep in there.”

“What, really? Says who?” Roy looks incredulous.

“The fucking American Pediatric Association, that’s who. It says so right on the box. It’s a suffocation hazard.”

Roy’s forehead creases with worry. “No shit? Damn, no one told me about that. I used to put Lian to sleep in that thing all the time when nothing else was working.”

Jason spreads his hands. “Any other ideas?”

“Yeah, actually. Babies have REM cycles, you know, they’re just different from ours. When they’re in a sleep regression, you gotta wait until they’re deeply asleep to put them down. Give it, like, ten extra minutes after she falls asleep.”

“I can do that,” Jason agrees. “Doesn’t do me a lot of good, though, if she wakes up as soon as I fucking cough or unload my gun.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy cocks an eyebrow. “We’re unloading rubber bullets now?”

Jason kicks him again. “Shut up.”

“Shit, Jay. I just can’t believe Dickie is okay with it.”

Jason can’t quite believe it either. He keeps the loaded gun hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Dick hasn’t noticed.

Roy stretches his arms behind his head. “Sure nothing’s going on between you two?”

“Roy, I’m not having this conversation,” Jason says.

Roy grins. Jason hates that grin. “Alright. So, if she always wakes up when you’re in the room, don’t be in the room. Get a monitor and sleep in Dick’s room. Problem solved.”

Jason takes a long drink of coffee, trying to calm the sudden hammering in his pulse. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”

“Why? If there’s nothing going on between you…”

“Roy,” Jason growls.

“Daddy, look! I helped baby Dani get dressed!”

They both turn to look at Lian in the doorway, standing in a superhero pose with her hands planted on her hips. “Ta-da!” she announces, leaping aside with a flourish. Dick appears behind her, lips pressed together like he’s trying hard not to laugh, Dani presented forward in his arms in a little red dress, red bloomers, and little red socks with white hearts. A little red bow is just visible among her tufts of black hair, and Jason’s heart throbs violently in his chest.

“Wow, sweetie!” Roy opens his arms and gives her a big hug. “Red, huh?”

“I think it’s her favorite color,” Lian says, shyly glancing at Jason. “It’s mine, too.”

Jason swallows. “Where the hell did that dress even come from?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, he doesn’t have a clue where any of Dani’s clothes come from. They seem to just materialize in her drawers, and he could probably pinpoint who purchased each item if he laid them all out and put his mind to it, but he finds it’s much easier just not to think about it.

“I don’t remember who got this one, actually.” Dick peeks at the tag. “It’s Ralph Lauren. Maybe Helena?”

“Hey Dick, I was just spitballing ideas with Jason,” Roy says, suddenly. Jason goes to kick him again, but damnit, he’s still holding Lian. Using his own kid as a shield, the fucker.

Dick looks up from bouncing Dani, his eyes widening innocently. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, about your kid’s sleep issues. Jay said she’s startling easily, once she’s down.”

Dick looks at Jason apologetically. “It’s been rough,” he admits. “Sorry, I know you haven’t gotten much sleep either.”

“Apparently it’s totally normal,” Jason says quickly, glaring at Roy. “Roy says it’ll pass in no time. Don’t worry about me.”

“I was suggesting, actually, that she might have an easier time if Jason wasn’t clattering around all the time and waking her up,” Roy goes on, pulling Lian up into his lap. Jason is going to kill him. “You’ve got room, right, Dick? Makes more sense for you two to share so she can get some peace and quiet.”

“Oh!” Dick spares Jason a fleeting glance. “That does make sense...we have the video monitor, after all. You are kind of loud, when you take off your armor.”

Jason crosses his arms. Everyone’s a fucking critic. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor, whatever.”

Dick makes a face. “Jason…”

Roy gives him an exasperated look. “What is this, cooties? Are you twelve?”

Lian tugs at his sleeve. “What’s cooties?”

“It’s what Jason’s scared of getting if he sleeps in the same bed as Dick, sweetheart. It’s super silly.”

Dani has apparently had enough of being held on display like a doll, and fusses loudly, kicking out towards Jason and curling both hands up toward her face. Jason can tell she’s a few seconds from a full meltdown - they’ve been coming on faster and faster, since this whole “sleep regression” started. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and Dick passes her over without a word. It’s a little terrifying how used to this they both are, Jason thinks as he brings Dani up to his chest. She’s already bigger than the tiny ten-pound bundle that had turned up at the Manor just a few weeks ago, and she’s outgrown the first sets of pajamas they’d put her in. He pats her back soothingly, feels the patch of drool on his shirt that indicates she’s stuffed her fingers in her mouth again. Normally, he’d drop a kiss on her head, but he finds himself reluctant to do so in front of Roy. He doesn’t want Roy to read anything into it - he’s already given away too much during this visit.

“Awww, she’s so cute,” Lian giggles, leaning against her dad. “I wish I could hold her, Daddy.”

“Maybe next time, honey. Baby Dani just wants her grown-up right now. You know how that feels, don’t you?”

Lian nods, looking up at Jason. “Yeah.”

Jason feels ridiculously exposed, under their twin gazes. If it wasn’t for Dani, he’d have jumped over the railing already.

“What are you guys up to for the rest of the day?” Dick asks, rescuing him from their unnerving combined perception.

Roy gives his daughter a nudge. “What are we doing, pumpkin?”

Lian lights up. “We’re going to see Donna!”

“Her favorite,” Roy confirms, grinning down at her. “They’re having a girl’s night, apparently. I’m not invited.”

“Maybe when Dani is bigger, she can come to a girls night with us,” Lian suggests wistfully. Dick looks sad, and Jason doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s never going to happen.

“Hey, wouldn’t that be fun.” Roy ruffles her hair playfully. “You’d have to share Donna, though.”

Lian pulls back to give him a reproachful look. “I know how to share, Daddy.”

“Sheesh, okay. Anyways, I’ll be around, if either of you needs a wingman,” Roy says, looking between Dick and Jason hopefully.

“I’m staying in,” Dick says. Jason blinks, this is news to him. “Russians are laying low, and no one’s sprung our Falcone cousin from jail yet, shockingly. I know you’re going stir-crazy, so I’ll stay with her tonight.”

Jason feels a surge of warmth towards Dick. He is going nuts, and not just from sleep deprivation. It’ll do him a world of good to get out and get some real exercise, check on all his favorites in the neighborhood and put the fear of the Red Hood back into all the local dirtbags. Tim’s been doing a more than decent job on keeping him updated, and Jason’s grateful, but there’s something to be said for good old fashioned violence when it comes to keeping his people in line. Jason’s itching for it - he hasn’t been back in the field properly for way too long.

“You up for it, Jaybird?” Roy asks. His eyes are practically sparkling - Jason can already feel the beginnings of regret. “It’s been a minute since we teamed up.”

Jason sighs out heavily. “Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Roy laughs. “It’ll be fun! I can impart more sagely parenting advice, you can, um - ” he cover’s Lian’s ears “ - b-a-s-h some s-k-u-l-l-s, it’ll be real therapeutic.”

Lian swats at his hands. “Daddy.”

Jason looks at Dick. “You sure B’s okay with you taking a night off?”

“I’ll make him okay with it,” Dick says grimly. “Besides, I miss her.”

God help him, Jason’s going to miss her too, when he’s out for the evening. Not enough to want to stay in, but damn close.

He looks down at her, dozing lightly against his chest, one round cheek pressed flat, the other drooping onto her curled up shoulder. An image flits through his mind - Dani, older, her tufts of hair grown out long like Lian’s, a wide, toothy smile on her face and her big brown eyes crinkled up at Jason. Calling to him, reaching for him. Daddy. It feels like a bullet piercing his heart, but he can’t stop imagining it. Can’t stop imagining her laughter, the solid feeling of her body in his arms…and someone else next to him, strong hands held out to catch hers, sweetheart sounding out in a voice he’s gravitated toward since he was thirteen years old -

“Jason? You having gas or something?” Roy sounds half amused, half concerned.

Fuck. “Headache,” Jason manages, shoving the intrusive images as far back into his subconscious as he can. God, does he know how to torture himself.

“Well, get rid of it. Imagine how embarrassing it’d be if you got k-i-l-l-e-d by some punk in the Bowery because you were off your game.”

Jason shrugs. “You’d avenge me.”

Roy laughs. “Damn right I would. I’d have to fight Dick here for the honor.”

“To get back at some Bowery punk? Nah, Dickie wouldn’t bother.”

Dick rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twisted with humor. “Hey, I might, depending on how embarrassing your demise was.”

Roy claps his hands. “See, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Dick goes pink, but he looks happy, at least. Jason imagines strangling Roy, to avoid anything revealing coming out of his mouth.

“I’d better go tell little D he’s got my patrol tonight,” Dick says, after a mildly suffocating moment of silence. “I’ll stick a bottle in the warmer for when she wakes up.”

“You are the worst person alive,” Jason tells Roy, once Dick is gone. “The worst. I literally don’t know why we’re friends.”

“Jason’s joking, sweet pea,” Roy grins at Lian.

Lian huffs dramatically. “I know that, Daddy.”

How the hell Roy Harper created such a great kid, Jason will never know. “What are you and Donna doing for your girl’s night?” he asks her, rocking Dani gently.

“So many fun things,” she tells him seriously. “I have a new Lego set, so we’re gonna build that, and then maybe we’ll play princess school? Or animal rescue school, or maybe both...and we’ll definitely watch a movie! And eat popcorn, of course.”

“Of course,” Jason nods.

She smiles at him, her nose scrunching adorably. “What are you and my daddy doing for your boy’s night?”

Jason makes eye contact with Roy. “Well, I doubt we’re gonna have as much fun as you.”

“No,” Roy agrees, tweaking her nose. “I think we’ll still have a pretty good time, though.”

***

Jason’s prepared for the worst, when they arrive in Crime Alley. He’s expecting his safe house to be trashed by squatters, his civilian apartment to be robbed, and all the local hot spots to be generally on fire. Well. Maybe not on fire, it does seem like Tim’s been doing a pretty good job covering for him. But still, he’s not expecting to roll into his territory and find it…quiet.

Roy takes to the rooftops, and Jason goes to the first busy street corner he sees. “Hey, Ginger,” he calls, jogging up to a working girl he’s got a friendly rapport with. “How’s it going?”

Ginger looks surprised to see him, but not unhappy. “You finally remember your address, Hood?”

“Doesn’t look like I needed to, though,” Jason remarks, glancing around. “Your girls are all good? Any problems that require my attention?”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Ginger looks over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to be there. “No Red Robin tonight? Damn.”

Wow, so that’s how it is. Jason’s already chopped liver. “Ouch,” he says in mock offense. “You know, it was me who told him which blocks to keep an eye on in the first place.”

“You can take that white knight shit straight back to wherever you’ve been hiding out, honey.” Ginger sounds unimpressed. He swears he was more intimidating a few weeks ago. She gives him a meaningful look and makes a shooing motion with her wrist. “It’s good to know you’re still in one piece, baby. Now run along, before you scare off all my customers.”

Taking the hint, Jason moves down the block to his favorite bar, a hideous dive run by a neighborhood relic called Mac Deveroux. Back when Jason was a kid, Mac had frequently paid him to make deliveries, taking alcohol and sometimes food to his customers who weren’t in a position to come and get it themselves. Most of the deliveries were superfluous errands that Mac could just as easily have run himself, but he liked Jason’s observational skills, and the real value of the trip was the gossip Jason was able to pick up along the way. Jason has no idea if Mac remembers him - it’s possible he had a dozen kids on his unofficial payroll, it’s equally possible that the years and the drinking have written Jason’s existence out of his mind. But the man is just as congenial and just as all-knowing about everyone’s business as he’s always been, so Jason makes it a habit to visit him and trade information.

“Hey, Mac,” he calls, pulling off his helmet and sliding into a seat at the end of the bar. He doesn’t always order a drink when he comes here, and he’s not planning on it tonight, but Mac seems to prefer talking to him in just the domino. “Been a minute.”

It’s early, so the place is still mostly deserted, except for a handful of local drunks in various stages of stupor. Mac looks startled for half a moment, then pulls his ballcap down and goes back to being inscrutable. “Glad to see you alive and well, Red.”

Why is everyone so surprised to see him? He’s only been off patrol for a week or so, and he was checking in every few days before that. “Some reason I shouldn’t be?”

Mac side-eyes him suspiciously. “Not especially. People talk. That friend of yours - Red Robin - stupid fucking name, by the way - he’s okay too?”

Jason picks up his helmet and switches the comm on. “Red Robin, Red Hood checking in. Are you dead or injured?”

Tim’s voice comes through almost immediately, annoyed. “Uh, no?”

Jason switches it back off. “Yep, still kicking. Pretty sure Batman hasn’t bit it either, but the night is young. What’s with the sudden concern for my well-being?”

Mac shakes his head. “Folks been talking lately, that’s all. Lots of shit about taking down the Bat, all the rest of the capes in Gotham. Can’t blame me for wondering.”

“People around here are always running their mouths,” Jason says dismissively. “Half the time they tell me about it to my face. Since when are you sweating shit like that?”

“Since it started seeming like more than just talk,” Mac says, serious. “I mean it, Red. You ought to watch yourself out there. And be careful who you talk to, too. I appreciate all you done for me, but it’ll be better if I don’t see you in my bar all too often. You need to chat, you’re better off coming in the back.”

Jason recalls how quickly Ginger had hurried him away, and feels his blood run hot with anger. So these fuckers think they can come onto his turf and threaten his people? They’re gonna be needing more than new kneecaps by the time he’s through with them.

He cracks his knuckles. “Right. Let’s go to the back, then.”

Mac meets him next to a stack of boxes behind his delivery door. He pulls out a joint and starts patting his pockets down, looking for a lighter.

“Here.” Jason fishes one out from his coat pocket, tosses it to him. Not like he’s lighting up much of anything these days.

“Appreciate you, man,” Mac says, catching it. “You want?”

Jason shakes his head briefly.

Mac nods, as though he expected Jason to decline. He exhales a stream of smoke. “Gives me a reason to be back here, you know.”

“Sure.” Jason leans cautiously against one of the stacks of boxes. “So, what’s all this chatter that’s got you and everyone else so spooked?”

“Hmm.” Mac takes another long drag off his joint. “Just a few too many mouths telling the same story in my bar, I’d say. I’m used to hearing guys talk big about taking you out. But this is different, they’re all telling the same story about somebody else taking you out. Taking all the Bat folks out, and the Jokers and the Scarecrow gang too. Saying it’s gonna be open season on all the capes and metas in Gotham, that sorta thing.”

Jason really doesn’t like the sound of any of this. “Who’s supposed to be taking us all out, exactly?”

“That’s the thing about it. No one wants to say, I don’t think most of ‘em even know. You heard about that bloodbath down by the docks, a month back?”

Jason tenses. “Uh-huh.”

Mac looks shrewd, suddenly. “You know who did it?”

Jason can tell from his tone that he doesn’t know, but that he’s dying to. “If someone like you hasn’t found out yet, Mac, I think it’s because certain people want it that way. Just like certain people don’t want you talking to me.”

“‘Certain people’ can kiss my ass,” Mac grumbles.

“Here’s a question, totally unrelated,” Jason says. “Does the name ‘Romina Falcone’ mean anything to you?”

Mac stares at him, dumbfounded. “No....Romina? Mario Falcone’s little girl?”

Jason shrugs one shoulder, trying to appear casual. “You heard anything about her being back in town?”

“No…she’s been gone from Gotham for years. Sad story, really. You know it?” Jason does, but since this is a casual inquiry, he motions for Mac to go on. ���Her daddy was Carmine Falcone’s son, a real straight-shooting type, good student, honest, the whole nine yards. Never touched the family business.” Another long inhale off the dwindling joint. “When Falcone first went to prison, gotta be over twenty-five years ago now, the Maroni family took over. Mario wouldn’t throw in with them, so they killed him and his wife. The kids, Mario Jr. and Romina, went to live with relatives in Chicago, last I heard.”

A mob orphan, Jason thinks, just like Dani. Except that Romina and her brother hadn’t gone to live with just any relatives - they’d gone to live with the Viti family, headed by none other than Carmine Falcone’s bloodthirsty sister. “So, no one’s heard from her since then?”

“No one heard from her before then, either. She couldn’t’ve been more than eight or nine when all that shit went down,” Mac says doubtfully. “You sure your intel’s good?”

Jason’s deep in thought, suddenly. “Didn’t say anything about intel,” he tells Mac. “Just asking a question. I gotta go, though. Okay if I slip out the door here?”

Mac gestures obligingly. “Hey, be my guest. I’m gonna do myself a favor and forget this whole conversation now.”

Jason snorts. “Good idea. See you around, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch your back out there, kid.”

Jason’s out the door before Mac’s parting words echo back to him. Watch your back out there - what was he, eleven? Twelve, the last time he heard those words?

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or, maybe Mac Deveroux has a better memory than Jason gives him credit for.

He puts his helmet back on. “Arsenal, status report.”

“All good over here, Hoodster,” Roy replies brightly. “Knocked out a handful of drunk and disorderlies outside a Buffalo Wild Wings just now. Didn’t realize the Bowery was so gentrified already.”

Ugh. “Not all of it is,” Jason sighs. “But, yeah. Sure isn’t how it used to be, over there.”

“No kidding. I’m watching this girl steal a souped-up Camero right now. Ran the plates, and based on the owner’s resume, I might let her get away with it.”

Jason snorts out a laugh. “Works for me. I’ll come meet you over there, just give me ten.”

He’s barely made it two blocks when Oracle’s voice sounds in his ear, her tone making him snap to attention at once. “Hood, we have a situation.”

He stops still on a dingy government housing rooftop. “Go ahead, O.”

“It seems Susie Falcone was sprung from jail earlier today - we missed it because her release was processed under another name, but I have the video feed, and it’s definitely her.”

Oh, fucking finally. Jason was starting to think he wouldn’t have a chance to get any real exercise tonight. “You got a name for me?”

“Guy by the name of Tiberius. Albanian, according to Red Robin. I’m running his face through Interpol, but it takes time.”

Jason hops onto a nearby fire escape and swings up to the roof of an office building to get a better vantage point towards the harbor. “Is B gonna crap himself if I take the lead on this?”

Barbara’s quiet for a moment. “Do you care?”

Jason flexes his hand over the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh. “I mean, no,” he starts to say, knowing as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it’s not entirely true. “Just...it’ll be a pain in the ass if I have to fight a whole fucking mafia, plus him, that’s all.”

Oh, incredibly convincing. Jason’s surprised he doesn’t hear her laughing down the line.

“I think you know how to avoid his ire,” Barbara says. “You’re closest, so I’m putting you on it.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Jason adds, feeling more like an idiot by the second. Forget Dick, talking to Barbara always makes him feel about twelve fucking years old. At least she’s not openly judgmental about it. “Hey, Oracle. One last thing.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“Can you do some digging into the Viti family? I feel like there’s gotta be a reason Romina came back to Gotham now, when she could’ve made a play for the city years ago. If she’s been in Chicago all this time, it’s probably something to do with them.”

“…Yes,” Barbara says, slowly. Jason hears a flurry of typing. “Since they trade over state lines, that data will be with the Feds…it’ll take me a little while, I’ve got my hands full with some more urgent things right now. But it’s a good idea, Hood. You’ll know more as soon as I do.”

“Okay,” Jason agrees. “Thanks,” he adds, lamely.

She lets out a short huff of amusement, and Jason’s past self cringes at him in embarrassment. “Oracle out.”

Right. Tiberius. Jason’s been waiting for a chance to take on this ostentatiously-named asshole. From his own observations that night with Dick, and from Tim’s reports, the guy is a particularly sleazy type of hired muscle. Fantastic. Jason needs the workout.

He gives himself a shake, and then takes off towards the police impound lot. Within ten minutes, he’s found a suitable bike and is on his way to the East End, changing comm channels in his helmet to call Roy. “Arsenal, are you good to finish up my patrol? I got a lead on somebody in this mob case I need to handle.”

“Wow, Hood. And here I thought we were having a boy’s night.”

“Hey, if nothing’s going on over there, you’re welcome to join.”

“Yeah? Hey asshole, stay down,” he snarls. “Maybe I’ll meet you after I finish up.”

Jason hears a moan and a thud on Roy’s end. “Anybody interesting?”

“Just some model citizen I found trying to drag a passed-out woman into his car. Said she was his girlfriend, but he neglected to mention she dumped his ass two months ago.”

“Break his legs,” Jason proposes, feeling a mild rage rising in his chest.

“Red Hood says I should break your legs,” Roy tells the guy. “It’s not really my style, but I’m just temping over here. You’d better leave town, because if he finds you doing this shit again, you’re gonna wish I took him up on it.”

Please, man, Jason hears in the background. He hadn’t honestly expected Roy to take his suggestion. Turning onto a side street, he hears an alarm start to go off somewhere close by. Robbery, sounds like. Exactly what he’s looking for.

“Alright, I’m starting my manhunt,” he says to Roy. “You’ve got my coordinates if you need to find me.”

Roy makes some kind of hooting sound that Jason takes to be acknowledgment. “Make me proud.”

Jason kills the bike in an alley and parks it under a staircase, slipping a loop of electrified wire over the handlebars. Easy enough to disarm, but he’s not planning to be gone long. The store being robbed is a liquor store, and the goons smashing it up aren’t criminals so hardened that they’ll take any effort on his part to crack. He storms in the front, grabs the first guy, and throws him over the counter. The second pulls a gun on him - he shoots it out of his hand a split second later, then fires three more shots into a glass case of upscale liquor, to fairly spectacular effect. The remaining guys all hit the floor, visibly terrified. Jason holsters his gun.

“Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing this little party you’re having,” he calls, kicking the fallen gun to the side. “I need to find a guy by the name of Tiberius. First one to talk gets to walk away.”

They all goggle at him. “Did he say Tiberius?” one of them whispers.

“We don’t know anybody called that,” the one he tossed behind the counter says.

Jason clicks his tongue. “Wrong answer.” He fires a rubber bullet into the guy’s shoulder, and he goes down. By the time they realize it’s not a live round, he’ll be in the wind.

He holsters the gun again, and turns his attention on the one he’d disarmed. “Your turn.”

“We don’t know where he is,” the guy says quickly. “I only met the guy once. He doesn’t give us orders.”

“Who does he give orders to,” Jason counters, advancing on him menacingly.

“Dealers, mostly? My cousin Zion reports to him, he slings down by the Wharfside Pool Hall. Swear to God, man, I haven’t seen Tiberius since he moved us all off the docks.”

Jason looks around at the wreckage of the store, realizing something. “You guys aren’t robbing this place, are you.”

They don’t say anything. Jason doesn’t need them to - their silence is confirmation enough. They’ve been tasked by Romina and her lackeys to trash this place and force the owners to sell. And now he’s helped them do it. Fuck, this is why he hates mob cases.

Nothing to be done about it now. Once he puts a bullet in Romina’s skull, maybe he can come back and see that these people get their store back. First, he’s gotta find her.

“Be seeing you, gentlemen,” he says, tossing out a couple smoke pellets. “Don’t expect it to be as painless next time.”

It’s a quick ride to the Wharfside Pool Hall, and Oracle sends him a photo of Zion Lee on the way. He finds him immediately, parked on the corner by the emergency exit. It’s a short conversation. Zion doesn’t know where to find Tiberius either, but he does tell Jason where to find his supplier, and once Jason takes a look at the supplier’s rap sheet, he decides there’s not going to be a conversation at all. Kidnapping, trafficking, sexual battery - hell, if Jason can’t find Tiberius tonight, at least he can take his aggression out on this piece of garbage.

He roars up to the supplier’s house on the stolen bike and throws a smoke bomb through the window, the rush of impending violence like fire in his veins. Then, as luck would have it, he sees a familiar muscular figure rushing out the back door towards a Jaguar that’s parked in the shadows at the end of a driveway.

Tiberius, in the flesh. Looks like Jason’s date with this supplier will have to be postponed.

Quickly, he considers his options. The adrenaline junkie in him is tempted by the prospect of a good old-fashioned car chase, but this area is just a bit too residential for him to be strictly comfortable with it. Too bad. He lets Tiberius get to the end of the driveway, and then he shoots out the Jag’s tires. Tiberius returns fire immediately, which, again, is not the most desirable outcome in a residential neighborhood. Jason aims a shot at his firing hand, but the guy is already ducked down and reloading.

Fine. Jason will just have to throw something bigger at him, he supposes. He revs the bike’s engine, kicks off and guns it towards the Jaguar, bailing off to the side when Tiberius stands up to shoot at him some more. The bike keeps going, propelled by momentum, and crashes beautifully into the driver's side of the Jag, knocking Tiberius hard to the pavement when the open door that he’s been using as a shield swings violently sideways with the rest of the car.

He doesn’t stay down, of course. Before the impact is even finished reverberating through both vehicles, he’s hopping back up, more nimbly than Jason would’ve expected, given his size, and taken off running down the street. Jason pushes himself up and hightails after him, the thrill of the hunt making him practically giddy, his heart accelerating with the pace of his boots against the concrete.

Damn, but it feels good to exert himself. Jason’s been cooped up for too fucking long. Tiberius is seriously in shape, and fast, almost as fast as Dick, too fast for Jason to catch without playing dirty. He’s running too hard to aim with any real accuracy at a moving target, but he squeezes off a half dozen shots at the car windows Tiberius is running past, and the resulting spray of breakaway glass slows him just enough that Jason is able to launch a kick at the back of his knees and tackle him to the ground. They tussle - Tiberius pulls a knife and manages to wedge the blade under Jason’s chestplate, but luckily the tip of it catches on the kevlar, and Jason is able to knock it away before it does any real damage. He headbutts Tiberius savagely, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling out over the basement landing of a boarded-up tattoo parlor.

Before Jason can get up and draw his weapon, Tiberius is on him again, fists coming in like hammer blows and seeking out all the soft spots of his suit with frankly impressive accuracy. Jason’s pulse is pounding in his ears, he’s always gotten a kick out of fighting guys that are bigger than him - though, admittedly, most guys he went up against as Robin met that qualification. Fighting Tiberius is a little nostalgic, in that sense.

How did he used to do it? Bruce had taught him all the fastest ways to incapacitate someone, and Jason’s lived enough by now that he can admit that more often than not, Bruce’s way works just fine. Maybe with a few embellishments, depending on the perp. He’d need better footing, but he could do that here. He could snap Tiberius’s collarbone with the flat of his hand, knee him in the balls, and finish him off with a punch to the throat. But before Bruce, before he’d had his street fighting skills polished and streamlined, a younger, scrappier Jason would’ve had a different strategy. Back then he’d had to be patient, had to last out his enemies and watch for the moment they overextended themselves, the moment they let their defenses slip because they were sure they had him. A school bully, taking his attention off Jason long enough to call to his friends. His mother’s heroin dealer, pausing at the top of the long brick staircase to tell Jason not to bother checking on her. Batman, parking the Batmobile in an alley and just leaving it there.

Nostalgia wins, and Jason waits. He takes the punches and waits until Tiberius gets cocky, having landed a few well-placed blows to his ribs under the thickest parts of his armor. He rears up over Jason, sneering, hand going to Jason’s throat, arm fully extended and vulnerable - and Jason moves. He rocks up into a crouch, catches Tiberius’s wrist in his hand and wrenches, shattering the bones in it easily and dislocating his shoulder in the process. Within a couple of seconds, they’re back on their feet, but Tiberius is unsteady, his breathing thick and labored, and Jason takes the opportunity to kick him square in the chest, sending him crashing down into the walk-out landing and through the building’s flimsy door.

Then he follows Tiberius into the basement, and before he can dodge, a bullet catches him right in the thigh. Shit. He’d assumed the gun had been lost back at the car, but he hadn’t actually checked - an embarrassingly rookie mistake, Jesus. His armor stops it, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. “Real cute,” he snarls, stomping on his opponent’s broken wrist and picking up the gun. He debates shooting him in a few non-lethal places, but Dick’s face suddenly pops into his head, and then Dani’s, and the worst of his anger ebbs away. He empties the clip instead, pocketing the gun. “Now that that’s out of the way, you and me, we’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“Fuck you,” Tiberius seethes, curled up and clutching his wrist in pain. There’s blood all over his face, dripping onto the floor.

“Better men than you have tried, Tiberius.” Jason rubs his hands together. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you. I know you’re working for Romina Falcone. I know she’s back in Gotham, and I know she ordered the hits on your old boss, and most of your old coworkers. I know you sprung her cousin Susie out of jail earlier today, and I know she’s got you running the drug trade down here. So don’t bother telling me any of that shit. I just want to know two things: what her endgame is, and where I can find her.” He steps on Tiberius’s knee, puts just enough pressure to make him cry out. “Talk. Now.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Tiberius gasps, kicking out uselessly with his other leg. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, just let me up.”

Jason stands back, ready to kneecap the guy permanently if he goes on the offensive again.

Tiberius sits up, panting. “Shit. Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“Hood, I lost your GPS signal,” Roy says in his ear. “Fortunately, the trail of destruction was pretty easy to follow. I’m on the warehouse roof outside, across the street.”

“She set me up,” Tiberius goes on. “She fucking set me up, that bitch.” He looks up at Jason, shaking his head. “Yeah, Romina asked me to bail Susie out of jail today. Probably so one of you fuckers would come after me. She’ll be pissed as hell that she didn’t get Batman.”

Jason grinds his teeth. “Arsenal, we’re gonna have incoming soon,” he barks into his comm.

“Thank God, I’d hate to get bored up here,” Roy replies easily.

“Whatever backup you have, it’s not gonna be enough,” Tiberius says. “Romina doesn’t take chances. I can’t tell you where she is, couldn’t even tell you the neighborhood. I’ve had two meetings with her at her office, they had me drugged and blindfolded coming and going. Drove for a long-ass time, too, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine,” Jason snaps. “So you’ve had meetings with her. Tell me what she’s after.”

“What she’s after? She’s after everything,” Tiberius says bluntly. “The whole goddamn city. Thinks it’s hers by right, because of who her grandpa was. She’s fucking nuts, even for Gotham.”

Everything. Jason turns it over in his head. She’s not just seizing control of the East End, not just the canal, but everything. They’ve got an overachieving mob boss on their hands. Out-fucking-standing.

“I’ve got twenty guys coming in hot, Hood.” Roy sounds tense. “More trucks pulling in. I can take down most of them, but I think they’re just the first wave. We don’t have enough ammo for this.”

“She hates you guys,” Tiberius laughs bitterly. “If you get away, she’s gonna lose her shit. Sucks I won’t be around to see it.”

“A real shame,” Jason agrees, distracted. He can hear the sound of fighting outside. Time to bail. “Who else is - “

“Hood, we have to go, now.”

Jason pulls the gun from his shoulder holster. “If you survive, I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promises, voice low and deadly. The look on Tiberius’s face tells him just how likely he thinks that is, and Jason can’t help but agree. The blindfolds, the errands, the lack of family connection all add up to one thing: disposable. Tiberius is no made man, he’s just a hired hand, and it’s clear Romina has decided to terminate his employment. Jason remembers Tim’s story about Tiberius passing around photos of murdered kids to the grunts at Intergang, and he feels no sudden impulse to drag the guy to safety.

Outside, he and Roy shoot their way through the dozen or so remaining mobsters, Jason aiming as non-lethally as possible. Roy’s taser arrows cut the last few down, and then they hit the street running, down the block, through a boarded up ice cream shop, down an alley, and up to the rooftops. Jason hears a few gunshots below them when they make the jump over a particularly wide gap, but he keeps them running north, away from the harbor and towards the river, hoping to lose their pursuers on unfamiliar turf. It works. Romina may have her sights set on all of Gotham, but most of her henchmen have seldom ventured more than a few blocks out of the territory they grew up in.

After about half a mile, they stop to catch their breath, and Jason sits down to massage his thigh where the bullet had struck earlier.

“How’d you get over here, anyways?” Jason asks. They’d left their bikes in Jason’s storage unit on the west side of Crime Alley, Roy’s borrowed from Dick for the evening. If Roy left the bike next to a shootout, Dick’s going to be mad as hell.

“Helicopter arrow,” Roy deadpans. Jason looks for something to throw at him. “No, I just took an Uber. Grand theft auto’s not really my thing, these days.”

Jason stares at him. “Since when?”

Roy shrugs. “Since Lian started asking questions about it, I guess. It’s just like...whenever she hears about a crime, like finding out why we lock the car doors when we leave it, she asks me all these details about it. Sometimes she asks if I’ve ever done it, and I can’t lie to her, you know? I want to be able to tell her what she wants to hear, which is ‘no, Daddy hasn’t stolen any cars lately’.” He points at Jason accusingly. “Whatever. Don’t judge me. You’re just lucky yours can’t talk yet.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Jason protests. He objects strongly to Roy referring to Dani as his, too, but that’s probably exactly why Roy did it, so there’s no point bringing it up. “I’ve got a safe house not too far from here, next to a chop shop. Does it count as stealing to Lian if the car is already stolen?”

Roy laughs. “Not sure she can parse the nuance there. How about you do the stealing, and that’s the technicality I can skate on.”

“Fine.” Jason gets to his feet, wincing slightly as his thigh burns.

“You all good?”

“Yeah, just got a lucky shot in. My fault for not checking to see if he still had the damn gun.”

“Hey, at least in the Manor you’ve got all the whole Bat Hospital at your disposal,” Roy grins. “Among other perks, of course.”

Jason is very glad Roy can’t see him blush under the helmet. He was just thinking about how he wants to get back and see Dani - how he’ll need to take his armor off to check out the damage to his leg - how taking his armor off always wakes her up, so he’ll have to do it in Dick’s room - how the offer is on the table for him to sleep in Dick’s bed -

Business appears to be booming at the chop shop, and Jason decides on stealing a flashy little Lexus coupe that makes Roy whistle in appreciation. They drive back through the Bowery, stopping once so Jason can beat the crap out of a bouncer-turned-wannabe-pimp trying to sell girls outside of a gentlemen’s club. Then they get back to the bikes, and he checks in with Oracle to see if there’s any other action they need to investigate before they call it a night.

“I think you boys have stirred up enough trouble tonight,” she tells him firmly. “There’s been surprisingly little action in your neck of the woods, actually. Bludhaven is the hot zone tonight, I sent Black Bat and Spoiler over there earlier to help Robin out.”

“Fingerstripes will be sorry he missed it,” Jason says. “Russians again?”

“Arsonists, this time. At least five of them.”

“Shit. Sounds more like a Gotham thing than ‘Haven.”

“It does,” she agrees. “It feels choreographed, somehow. I’m going to keep looking into it, along with the Viti family. Oracle out.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “Arsonists, huh?”

Jason snorts in surprise. “You hacked my comm line?”

“Let’s put it this way: Babs let me hack your comm line.”

True enough. “Sounds like they’ve got everything in hand, at least,” Jason says. “Don’t really feel like dragging ass all the way to Jersey’s armpit. You sleeping at the Manor tonight?”

Roy scratches the back of his head. “Thought about it, but I think I’m gonna text Donna and quietly crash girl’s night. Whenever I get shot at, or almost blown up or whatever, I just kind of need to see Lian. Tell Dick I’ll bring the bike back tomorrow.”

Jason nods. “I’ll catch you later, then.” In truth, he knows exactly how Roy feels. He’s dying to get back to Dani as quickly as possible, to see her and touch her and make sure she’s okay. It doesn’t make sense - he’s the one who got shot at, she’s been in arguably the most secure location in the whole tri-state area. But somehow, in spite of his bruised ribs and what’s sure to be a wicked hematoma on his thigh, all he can think about is keeping her safe. He’d walk through fire to make sure of it, he knows without a doubt. Fortunately, all he has to do tonight is make the trek back over the Robert Kane bridge.

Roy gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then takes off in the direction of the old Titans bunker in Robbinsville. Jason parks the Lexus in his storage unit, arms the security system, and then kicks his bike into gear, making a beeline for the highway and the bridge, which will take him back to the Manor, and back to Dani.

***